Ghost Season
Date: Feb 4th, 2005 2:57:01 pm - Subscribe
Mood: haunted
I always forget the February is ghost season. The time when all the seeds longlosts have planted start to sprout. My crop of perenniels. I don't know why the ghost crop comes in February, but it is true every year. Every February my cycle of dreams plays host to ghosts. Especially his ghost. My Banquo. To mix metaphors.
Banquo often covers me in scorn. But last night, he was sweet. In my dream.
My reaction to ghost season?
Hay fever.
I try to blow them away. I sneeze.
But that just disperses more seeds.
You haunt me, you flower, but you never come back to me.
Comments: (1)
father fixations
Date: Feb 3rd, 2005 4:00:43 pm - Subscribe
Mood: poppy seeds stuck in my teeth, papa can you hear me?
When a girl doesn't have a father figure, she fantasizes about various substitues.
Some of the men I fixated on as a child were:
the original male cast of Saturday Night Live
Steve Martin--funky Tut
Chevy Chase--daddy Griswold
John Belushi--Samurai Papa?
Bill Murray--wry, sweet, could dispatch scary ghosts
I am still in love with Bill Murray. He should have fucked Scarlett Johansen in the "Lost in Translation" movie. Every girl with a daddy fixation (you hear me, Sofia? You know you have one, too!) needed to see that happen. What a tease.
I would've stalked John Belushi, but he died.
Burt Reynolds. So virile.
Bill Cosby. So rich and tender.
Kenny Rogers--burly and bearded, and he could sing me to sleep
The Fonz...because he was so nice to "Cupcake"
Now I am attracted to anyone who reminds me of Henry Winkler.
Comments: (3)
lighting schemes
Date: Feb 3rd, 2005 12:23:04 pm - Subscribe
Mood: deflated like a lapsed souffle
"when you are unhappy in love you forget to turn the oven on."
-some old french fart in "Sabrina"
Forget about turning the oven on. My pilot's not even lit.
That's the problem with these gas models. Anybody got a match?
If only I were electric.
I used to be an Easybake--all I needed was a lightbulb and I'd be cookin'.
No lightbulbs pop over my head. The thought balloon sags empty.
I can't incandesce.
Comments: (0)
black dawn
Date: Feb 3rd, 2005 11:28:42 am - Subscribe
Mood: undercaffeinated
In a pivotal moment in"My Dinner with Andre", Wallace Shawn defined happiness as "waking up and finding that the cold cup of coffee you left out the night before doesn't have a roach in it, so you sit down and you drink the sludge".
Wallace Shawn may be even more depressed than I am.
This morning the smell of whiskey and coke pervaded my bedroom. I poured myself a stiff one last night, but couldn't bring myself to drink it. I was too depressed to get drunk. Maybe it will be waiting for me when I get home, flat, syrupy, and if I am really lucky, a fly or two may have struggled, given up the ghost and and be floating, an image of my despair, on the sticky surface.
If that is the case, I will drink it.
Comments: (3)
time for a change
Date: Feb 2nd, 2005 11:06:28 pm - Subscribe
Mood: wet
There's something about putting on a fresh pair of panties that just turns everything around.
Nice and toasty.
Comments: (3)