i'm technologically dumb. i was excited to share my photos of the debauch, but apparently they won't work. and to make matters worse, i do not know how to delete them off my journal. paul? can you help?

oh, at least you can see the condom veil. which i'm pretty happy to have (both old and new) off my head. veils hurt! i have sore spots behind my ears! but wow, i'll never wear a veil again. unless i decide to have a death shroud. which i just decided. why, yes. yes i will have a death shroud......

so i will wear one again someday.

a HUGE thank you to all involved in the speakeasy party pour moi--i had a smashing good time, everyone looked extra more fabulouser than as per usual, hopefully i can get the PICTURES up asap.

summer is a girl i have been friends with a super long time. it's cool cause we've both changed a lot and because of a real easygoing acceptance of each other's core selves, still have stayed pretty tight without ever really going too deep into what or how we've changed. we're both kinda like, eh. you're you, and i like you, and i'm me, and i like me. she's pretty awesome, and a long time ago she and me and some others compiled a little soliloquy of all the spanish we know gummed up into one nonsensical and american stupidism. it goes a little something like this:

la cucaracha nueve la cucaracha. queira montega? si rosa montega. si. chi chi's taco bell.

pretty dumb, but i like summer cause i can be dumb with her and it's funny. like once i saw this van, and on the side of it was "such-and such rentals: what don't we rent?" summer would be just the person to call up and ask to rent a cat, or a clown nose, or a dildo. when the person says, inevitably, we don't rent those, she'd put up a good fight about it, like "your VAN says what DON'T you rent, and now i just fuckin.....came up with three things, sooo.....maybe you better tell me what you DO rent, huh." is what she'd say, or something like it. she does these long pauses after fuckin when she says it.

whoa. that came out of nowhere.

tonite i relaxed with el cigaretta. bad news. this is how those fucksticks pry their way into your life again, though by no means should i delude myself that i have javelined them out completely either. nothing, and i mean, zip, goes better with le biere than le cig. and so the solution is to stop drinking beer as well, which is terrible.

aquarius: just so you know, you're not the only ones who have your zodiac sign in a song. there is also this beastie boys song in which one of em (i can never get it straight, which one's mike d again?) proclaims his scorpio-ness. BUT- the good news is-- your song, the dawning of the age of and so on, IS the most famous!! i (and the stars) encourage you to go out and CELEBRATE your astrological FAME with a cigarillo or mudslide of your choice. isn't it awesome to be famous???

scorpio: see above. your sign too, is in a song, just a really obscure one!! mike d (screech's older brother-ha!)'s line is "i'ma scorpio, so, y'know i'm very sexual." damn right! like a neon heartthrob, you'll pulse a soft pink light into these waning summer nights, infusing them with sexualness. your sexualness will be like a polyester peach nighty on a sweltering humid midnightscape, shiny and sticking to the skin. like a sandy beach, you'll have a tendency to get in people's crotches. watch out for vd. and pirahnas, of course.

pisces: we may lose and we may win, but we will never be here again. so pack it up i'm climbin in, and take it eeeeeeee zeeee.

virgo: you should spend some time channeling the power of your unknown missing body part this week. what might it be? a rigatoni shaped appendage for displaying glass baubles bought at mysterious art fairs? a flagellum for moving oneself out of a confused state or a lumpy couch? a stamen for impregnating airborne ideas? it's so up to you, but whatever it is, it has tremendous power. channel it baby.

aries: there is an elaborate expressionist art plot in store for you. be cued by any thick black lines in your life, begin to walk through doors as though they were askew a la cheap carny funhouses. love, eat, and talk slashily this week. welcome the slants, and life may begin to take on a very edward scissorhandish quality. i mean the mansion and stuff, not the pastel suburb part. ahem. i thought he was kinda hot, that edward scissorhands.

AND RAT-A-TAT-TAT-T-DOW!!!!


phew, that felt good. plus i'm cracking myself up over here. i looooove cracking myself up. ask paul. he totally knows.

like the chinese and japanese and some other cultures i'm sure except that i don't know anything about them at all, i would like it if a "letter" (character) meant a whole word or even a whole phrase. here are a few in the language del trisha

this is the character for what jessica simpson, inc. did to britney spears, inc.


this one means "you can't go to the bathroom right now"


this means "the stars at night are big and bright, deep in the heart of texas"




does anyone want to start a goofy olympics with me? watching them on the teevee makes me think that these people are superhumans with amazing powers liken to gods, and i forget that myself and the people around me all have special powers too. the olympics is bad for one's self esteem, is basically what i'm saying. so what, so i can't do triple backflips into a 360 half twist into a three quarter pike off of an eighty foot platform from a handstand position. (that makes no sense to you fans of diving out there but that's beside the point). so that makes me MERE?? that makes me PLEBIAN? screw you, all you athletes of the olympics, and all your lifetime of hard work and relentless training, i'm special too dammit cause i can.........umm........i can........mmmmmmmmm........MAKE UP MY OWN LITTLE LANGUAGE!!! yeah. take that, bitches. so if anyone can think up goofy events that we can goofily "compete" at, with a goofy scoring system and those delicious chocolate discs covered with gold medal foil as the prize on high, let's go for it. ha! athletes can't eat chocolate......

ma soeur est enceinte
elle est seulement seize
le coeur de ma grand-mere palpite
chaque fois elle parle d'il

so last night for the second time, i exchanged exhilaratingly sexually loaded witticisms with my little black haired ponytailed vixen, who teases and flirts me up to no end and for whom i "have to wait till sunday for", when i'm coming over to "walk her dog" (her words). a sunday that may never come since this is basically a thunderstorm of my subconscious, conscious, id, ego, superego, and what have you. i am sleeping soundly during these tart trysts "in real life". what is that though> and where> and whence?

there are many suspicions i have about dreams. come visit me, mr. freud, and we shall have a nice chat.

my life is consumed as of late. i suppose by the ordinary of getting through. but again, to what> and how now? perhaps the little moments of transcend, which are something i often have to coax my sense and senses into realizing, are all that life truly has to offer. i do not mean this glumly, not at all, those little moments come from everywhere and nowhere and are wonderful, but quiet. almost ordinarily so. i don't know quite what i mean. perhaps that the dazzlesparklewhirr isn't quite doing it for me anymore, yet in its true form i'd like it to, yet i know that i'm not capable or even very willing to chase it around anymore.

does anyone out there know of a sweat lodge that doesn't have a problem with strange random people just showing up? i am very much in need of one.

i think it's advertising
and/or the man
some kind of sunday blues
a never used to be
no aloneness please
help if you are human i need you
just the sight of a face will do
(and i hate that about me and about you)
so like gum on the sidewalk
must teach myself how to melt
only to become solid again
maybe at night when the world has cooled down.