I just got through watching Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind with
Francis, who had never seen it. I love that movie, so well
done, so creative and a such a flexing middle finger to the normal format. I think people
hate it because they recognize themselves in it. Or maybe they think people aren’t that pathetic.
But they can be, and they are. And pathetic actually wouldn’t even be the term I would use. I would
use human. People really are just human, paralyzed by weakness need desire. Inspired by these same factors,
people exist beautifully imperfect in their flaws.

Most people, anyhow. Lots of sphincter babies throughout all of the pretty flowers, as we all know well. As I have said before
though, these people validate my existence, only because I am not that callous, nor that mean. Though that terrible word has been spontaneously hemorrhaged back into my life like unwantingly. Oh how I’ve missed you, that I consider the most vile word in the dictionary. So intense in your meaning, though the impact has a more direct relation from the width of back, or spine, to the recipient. I have used it less than a dozen times in my life to describe a situation. But where it fits is never a joke, and nothing is ever more appropriate.

Now on is probably what was Jennifer Aniston’s rave intro to a successful acting career:
Leprechaun, which is pretty terrible considering both the concept and
execution.

My favorite new picture pretty:

“the sky descending upon our heads like the shadow of a falling piano in a cartoon.”

And yeah, I know it’s fucking pretty picture, criti-cunts, my sexiest new word yet.

I molest the New Yorker
sometimes, while secretly apologizing for much of my indignation
towards it lately, worried about the state of financial and
health-insurance related endeavors. Those kids at the hospital told me
they could write some of my medical debt off, but I wouldn’t dare
believe it until I see it. But yes, this magazine, though the mean age
of readership hovers around 50+ sometimes kicks much ass, my knowledge
increased with the additions of susurrous and caesuras to my context
vocabulary. You see people freak out about my use of what I guess are “large
words pretentiously thrown around”, but I do happen to read pretty
heavily on a daily basis and have become obsessed at points both with
language and sound. Becoming entangled in words and meaning in
reference to expression is something that I value. There was a time not
a few years back when I wrote nothing but poetry-prose, and nothing else. I
wrote in pictures, made-up words, inverted verb and noun places,
imagined my own adjectives and did pretty much what I wanted all of the
time. Now my writing is a little more structured, based more on
dialogue both real and imagined.

And isn’t it true that that is exactly what a journal is supposed to be, a dialogue with oneself?

Anyways, off the point: in terms of reading and writing, this magazine
coupled with Arts and Letters Daily is pretty much all you need to
exercise your brain on a daily basis. Throw the Times in, and you’ve got a fancy
frosted cake head.