blogorrhea
Suddenly it's hard to find a journal that actually works. LJ keeps fucking off, xanga-style (as I type, there's that Warning above the text box that tells you it's in read-only mode and maybe will post your entry if it feels like it
( Read more... )
Indeedy, I'm quite the stalwart about keeping senselessly outdated phrases in conversational circulation. A gadzooks/ criminy where a for the love of fuck won't do. And the slightest hint of monkeyshines or hogwash might incite a donnybrook, a right brouhaha, if one knows not what's good for 'em. A real straight shooter, I am, it's the schoolmarm in me. On the other hand, any dame bringing me coffee and pie real quick-like gets a heartfelt applebottom slap with a thanks, toots and wink on top.
All your reading between my lines is making me blush. That kickin' video was actually from Maya Deren circa the intersection of her Technicolor and Mark Twain and Walter Cronkite phases (suppressed for obvious reasons, and also because her blocking and cutting is at least two frames off). Then all that cockamamie voodoo shit stole her soul. I actually can't stand any kind of Polly Esther's retro-glorification; my shot-for-shot remake would leave in only the familly tension and kick. And okay, that suit is bangin'.
Pics of me online -- those are harder to come by, thankfully (he says, hopefully). Feel free to stare at the words -- now that my ankle and forked-sandal foot've been bared, may as well sneak a gawk or two. But don't leave me or else my assa al-skeeze will get stoned.
Reply
Leave a comment