doing almost everything in a kind-of sort-of style.
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maybe i am currently...
listening to:
iron and wine
the sea and the rhythm
obsessed with:
one year and sixteen days from today.
looking at:
letters making words making sentences making stories.
flirting with:
success.
wanting to:
just fucking do it and stop pussyfooting around.
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pretty pictures
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archives
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coygirl archives
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other junk
buy me stuff.
tell me stuff.
mirror me stuff.
blog me stuff.
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i made this for you so you can link to me because i love you when you love me and etc.
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elsewhere
alan
richard
ben
boingboing
bryan
denise
claudia
greg
robert
doctorow
dakota
daniel
douglas
megan
josh
van
halfempty
anonny
emory
ted
jennifer
laurel
katie
keith
kottke
justin
lisey
maura
nick
nedia
jason
peter
pippa
kristen
rebecca
cory
charles
albie
tammy
toadboy
thomas
andre
gregory
lauren
matty
opus
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|
5.31.2001
- link note: this was back when i was still using a futon for a bed. so there we were, in the throes of passion, really rockin' the casbah, when one side of the futon frame sort of cracked. it was definitely jarring, but we couldn't be stopped. we were on FIRE! eventually we had to stop and institute a temporary solution to the sagging frame. i propped an old milk crate under the broken part and we got back to business. at this point we were in this groove where nothing was going to stop us. not rain, nor hail, nor dark of night was going to prevent us from finishing up at this point. nothing, that is, except for a giant, horrendous cracking futon that snapped in half and folded us into it. "don't stop...god, please don't stop right now. this is the worst time to stop. i am RIGHT THERE!" he pleaded. "ahahahahahahaha. haha. ha ha ha ha hahahahaha." i replied, squished between the two sides of the futon. "don't laugh. come on. focus. concentrate. i'm begging you!" he said, gasping for breath. "ahahah. i can't breathe! ahahaha haha ha ha hahaha haha!" i answered again. and that was it. the end of the sex, the end of the futon frame...but the fucktaco lives on. i am still stewing in a funk, but at least i'm doing so proactively. addendum: vanilla vodka and coke works quite nicely as a pick-me-up. you see, our generation (20-somethings) has been raised to believe that space travel was to become something bigger and better than it currently is. it was to be for more than just astronauts or unlucky school teachers or millionaires who charm the russians. it was to be for civilians. it was to be the mode of transportation to take us to our next exotic vacation locale. space was going to provide us with answers to such problems as overpopulation, overpolution, overweight-ness. with regular infusions of oxygen and some dehydrated rocket food, space was to be the greener grass on the other side of the sky. on the train the other day, all those dreams i grew up with were shattered. crushed by the realization that i, dana j. robinson, would never get a chance to go to space. i will never be in a space ship. i will never be weightless. i will never burn up while trying to re-enter earth's atmosphere. damn it, i will never land in the ocean and hope my little shuttle remnant is rescued. i am earth-bound, and i am not pleased. what's that? you say children aren't delivered via stork anymore? what? well, i don't know how you expect me to get this little sister i'm so anxious to hang out with. i guess it's back to the drawing board. apply within. no phone calls, please. (unless they're saucy. really, really saucy.) |
