Absinthe Extra-Supérieure J. Édouard Pernot.
Sadie Frost uber alles. I hope you are happy, if you complain about being after the title I will fly to London and marry you.
¦¦¦
I have this fixation with cities, I like to describe their touch, their feel, the sex I've had in their underbelly. It goes without saying that I also hate everywhere I go. Seriously: Paris is a piece of shit, Mexico makes me sick, Rome makes me want to die, and Toronto makes me want to light myself on fire with cheap Canadian gasoline. Above all I hate LA.
LA is the only city in the world where you can wave at one of your friends across the street and automatically be having sex with them in every newspaper within a 90 mile radius. LA is the only city in the world where real life does not exist. Las Vegas in the only city in the world run by the mafia and LA is the only one run by the paparazzi. There in not a drop of truth that leaves this awful city, for all you know LA could be a figment of the media's imagination; like carbs or Britney Spears.
There really was no point to this.
¦¦¦
It's been a while since I've made an appearance in the news. I knew it was too good to be true, the media is still in fact stalking me. You should really never believe the filth that comes out of my mouth. I was in NY last week, but it wasn't entirely random. I did stop by my flat to make sure that the maid had been doing her job and not stealing my things, but it was all just a diversion so that I could take care of a little business in Brooklyn.
It was the part of the deal where I sign my life away to the theater, again. I also got a second-rate tour of St. Ann's Warehouse. I'm not complaining, I was actually excited, if I was capable of some sort of gymnastics I would have skipped through the hallways or done a somersault. Not to mention that we had to be all smiles around Charlie Kaufman and his fucking award, I told Meryl Streep that we should hide it on him but she slogged me.
The papers make all this sound so haute classe and just generally conceited in the french variety, but it's not. As mentioned above, now that I'm imprisoned under contract, I can't really tell you what Theater of the New Ear is about, but I can tell you that you will fly out to Brooklyn and spend the $50 on a ticket. Don't go all incognito on me and just ignore this post, you know who you are. Take that red permanent marker that you've been huffing out from under your pillow and circle April 28-30 on your calendars. Don't fuck with me, do it.
Of course I will have to move back to NY at the beginning of April, which pissed me the fuck off. Maybe I will be able to convince someone to come and live with me by then. The good thing about all of this is that I don't have to learn any lines. Seriously, we will all have our scripts on stage. It will be glorious.
¦¦¦
I have this fixation with cities, I like to describe their touch, their feel, the sex I've had in their underbelly. It goes without saying that I also hate everywhere I go. Seriously: Paris is a piece of shit, Mexico makes me sick, Rome makes me want to die, and Toronto makes me want to light myself on fire with cheap Canadian gasoline. Above all I hate LA.
LA is the only city in the world where you can wave at one of your friends across the street and automatically be having sex with them in every newspaper within a 90 mile radius. LA is the only city in the world where real life does not exist. Las Vegas in the only city in the world run by the mafia and LA is the only one run by the paparazzi. There in not a drop of truth that leaves this awful city, for all you know LA could be a figment of the media's imagination; like carbs or Britney Spears.
There really was no point to this.
¦¦¦
It's been a while since I've made an appearance in the news. I knew it was too good to be true, the media is still in fact stalking me. You should really never believe the filth that comes out of my mouth. I was in NY last week, but it wasn't entirely random. I did stop by my flat to make sure that the maid had been doing her job and not stealing my things, but it was all just a diversion so that I could take care of a little business in Brooklyn.
It was the part of the deal where I sign my life away to the theater, again. I also got a second-rate tour of St. Ann's Warehouse. I'm not complaining, I was actually excited, if I was capable of some sort of gymnastics I would have skipped through the hallways or done a somersault. Not to mention that we had to be all smiles around Charlie Kaufman and his fucking award, I told Meryl Streep that we should hide it on him but she slogged me.
The papers make all this sound so haute classe and just generally conceited in the french variety, but it's not. As mentioned above, now that I'm imprisoned under contract, I can't really tell you what Theater of the New Ear is about, but I can tell you that you will fly out to Brooklyn and spend the $50 on a ticket. Don't go all incognito on me and just ignore this post, you know who you are. Take that red permanent marker that you've been huffing out from under your pillow and circle April 28-30 on your calendars. Don't fuck with me, do it.
Of course I will have to move back to NY at the beginning of April, which pissed me the fuck off. Maybe I will be able to convince someone to come and live with me by then. The good thing about all of this is that I don't have to learn any lines. Seriously, we will all have our scripts on stage. It will be glorious.