Narcissisme

Sitting idly playing mahjong on the computer (which reminds me of Lawl Cancio’s crazy famjam parties in her basement). I started listening to podcast lyrics on itunes. The latest greatest: Sparklehorse’s “Pig”

I wanna be a pig, I wanna fuck a car
I wanna new face right now and I want it bad
I wanna new body that’s strong, I’m a butchered cow
I wanna be a stupid and shallow motherfucker now
I wanna be a tough-skinned bitch but I don’t know how

I finally sat down this week to listen to Of Montreal’s Skeletal Lamping, even though Darryl had been telling me to do so for the past year. I’m so sick of sucking the dick of this cruel, cruel city. I’m actually glad that I didn’t know Skeletal Lamping when I went to the show in October, because I probably would’ve cried or taken acid. It must’ve been great for people with ADD. I don’t remember it at all, except for when Kevin came out on a horse during “St. Exquisite’s Confessions”. Ah, who cares. I’m boring myself.

Beev sends me these things: http://www.theonion.com/content/radio_news/menu_describes_diners?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter
Anything from The Onion reminds me of Karl Spensen, the reporter alter-ego to Christian Larson.

Here’s something that doesn’t remind me of anyone: cleft lip babies.
It really makes you wonder about creation and the allotment of fate or Buddhism etc. Like what do you have to do to be reincarnated as a cleft lip baby, kill a puppy? I don’t even want to research it properly enough for the scientific reasons, because it makes me feel gross.

I admit, this baby is borderline humorous.

This dog is definitely funny.
It is the Robert De Niro of dogs.

Yadda yadda:
Took a drive up to Montclair Proper last night for a ladies’ night at Cafe Eclectic. Aside from driving through Newark and buying a poorly made veggie panini (squash and cheese? on rye? really?) it was terribly nice. It’s our ONE YEAR OF FRIENDSHIP on July 7th/8th. RIP our old apartment, the hub of love and Big Lebowski parties and an entire room dedicated to an enormous toilet paper pyramid.
After, Karen and Daria (and Eddie, briefly) came over at midnight for a fire in my backyard. I’m pissed at myself for believing lies. But I ask myself, what good will it do carrying the truth with me all the way to London?
Honesty is less of a fickle mistress than Fame or Luck, but I seem to be a huge fail.

AND YOU STOP AND THINK WHAT’S HAPPENED TO THIS YEAR? I WON’T DISAPPEAR.
Crap, I still love The Record Play by Mock Orange.
I wish I didn’t. I was going to spend the rest of tonight by translating the entirety of Yelle’s “Dans Ta Vraie Vie” but my job makes me feel dead inside. Lurking in the past is easier on my… brain? No. Feet? Yes, but no. Soul? Maybe. Know yr onion.

Just like in that old movie about Rebecca’s spell
I feel like Max never felt
MINUS THE DRAMA AND THE FRAUD.

Who’d-a-thunk? soon.