i like my women the way i like my coffee: covered in BEES!
In a Past Life...
You Were: A Gorgeous Beekeeper.
Where You Lived: Chile.
How You Died: Typhoid fever.
Who Were You In a Past Life?
recognize.
the sky was a giant bruise as we cruised the strip,
the golden mile...the leaden highway
neon signs in my way of seeing stars....what can you do in this town besides go to bars?
diner. coffee. dessert. christine in a 10 second flash of blinding brilliance writing the best worst poem in the history of human language:
pancakes on the wall
syrup is my blood
darkness.
a little bit of fucked up wiring creates hilarity: HOME depot becomes HOMF depot.
before this, quality time with my mother: a long drive in the country, the blues and greens of the day almost too beautiful for me to take, family gossip, tempura and miso soup, sneering at the lack of suitable fall fashions. not minding her calling me fat. hearing "nice ass!" hollered from a passing car.
after and after: finishing the book assigned for summer. getting a drunken call from my new york buddy.
now: drinking gin and diet coke. about to go back to my favorite book, the book which was the only non-school related thing i read for most of sophomore year, just over and over, which i havent read in two years because fucking kirkwad took my copy. now i have gwen's and i am going to go scare myself shitless. oh, overactive imaginations.
for those not aware, my icon is from the movie heathers, which is the best teen movie ever made. go to the store, get yourself some corn nuts. rent it. watch and eat, eat and watch. tell me how much it fucking owns.
this whore says goodnight, lovers.
good night.
You Were: A Gorgeous Beekeeper.
Where You Lived: Chile.
How You Died: Typhoid fever.
Who Were You In a Past Life?
recognize.
the sky was a giant bruise as we cruised the strip,
the golden mile...the leaden highway
neon signs in my way of seeing stars....what can you do in this town besides go to bars?
diner. coffee. dessert. christine in a 10 second flash of blinding brilliance writing the best worst poem in the history of human language:
pancakes on the wall
syrup is my blood
darkness.
a little bit of fucked up wiring creates hilarity: HOME depot becomes HOMF depot.
before this, quality time with my mother: a long drive in the country, the blues and greens of the day almost too beautiful for me to take, family gossip, tempura and miso soup, sneering at the lack of suitable fall fashions. not minding her calling me fat. hearing "nice ass!" hollered from a passing car.
after and after: finishing the book assigned for summer. getting a drunken call from my new york buddy.
now: drinking gin and diet coke. about to go back to my favorite book, the book which was the only non-school related thing i read for most of sophomore year, just over and over, which i havent read in two years because fucking kirkwad took my copy. now i have gwen's and i am going to go scare myself shitless. oh, overactive imaginations.
for those not aware, my icon is from the movie heathers, which is the best teen movie ever made. go to the store, get yourself some corn nuts. rent it. watch and eat, eat and watch. tell me how much it fucking owns.
this whore says goodnight, lovers.
good night.