August 31, 2005

Today I found my pink Strawberry Shortcake notebook in my desk’s left drawer. For over a year I poured all of my secrets and indecent thoughts into it, and now the time has come to share them with you. Here, then, are the things random things I wrote on sequential pages:

Technology is pornography; blogs are instruments of love.
The stains we leave on each other, tomorrow at 5 PM.
324-5918 - Helen. Rwanda Hotel. (Once we were going to see this movie together. Do you remember?)
Waterworks? Bridges? Central Island Ferry?
Histogram: a frequency diagram which uses a semi-open interval with the lower end being open.
“Tudor,” Jodi wrote, “Your notes are so boring! I expected poetry and drunken ramblings.”
Jason Shim attacked me with a plastic fork.
And speaking of groping orifices and probing fingers, there’s a Love Feast tonight in the Turret.
Babies often stare at me with blank indecency.
Oh, the pretentiousness of it all.
If liking boobs in my face is wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

Sudden narrative urgency…cock heavy as lead and murderous beneath layers of clothes…
“Let’s jerk off in bubble wrap,” I said.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“Why? Is this not the place to walk around with an erection?”
“Fingers in ears,” she said.
I feel too much in the summer — blame it on the leather jackets and tight asses.