journaliste

Yesterday, I said the following:

"Hey Kris, you wanted that nut graph about the East Village to stay high up, right?"

I am a nerd.

ann coulter always has been and always will be a diseased cunt

Like Christ ministering to prostitutes, Falwell regularly left the safe confines of his church to show up in such benighted venues as CNN.

Yes, Ann. CNN is exactly the direct equivalent of pre-Christian prostitutes. I think she must have a minion whack her in the skull with a bat every morning, just so she can keep churning this shit out.

Horse-faced bride of the devil with delusions about her "good-looks" and "morality" and "righteous indignation." God, I hate that cunt.

Not the sun

Everyone is a masochist.
I have to take control of something.
No more.

That doesn't matter, so here's a poem that's appropriate.

The Blackbirds are Rough Today
by Charles Bukowski

lonely as a dry and used orchard
spread over the earth
for use and surrender.

shot down like an ex-pug selling
dailies on the corner.

taken by tears like
an aging chorus girl
who has gotten her last check.

a hanky is in order your lord your
worship

the blackbirds are rough today
like
ingrown toenails
in an overnight
jail---
wine wine whine,
the blackbirds run around and
fly around
harping about
Spanish melodies and bones.

and everywhere is
nowhere---
the dream is as bad as
flapjacks and flat tires:

why do we go on
with our minds and
pockets full of
dust
like a bad boy just out of
school---
you tell
me,
you who were a hero in some
revolution

you who teach children
you who drink with calmness
you who own large homes
and walk in gardens
you who have killed a man and own a
beautiful wife
you tell me
why I am on fire like old dry
garbage.

we might surely have some interesting
correspondence.
it will keep the mailman busy.
and the butterflies and ants and bridges and
cemeteries
the rocket-makers and dogs and garage mechanics
will still go on a
while
until we run out of stamps
and/or
ideas.

don't be ashamed of
anything; I guess God meant it all
like
locks on
doors.

Open letter

Dear MySpace,

With all you're supposed to be doing for my internets, would it kill you to incorporate a login bar at the top of your page (like livejournal)? If I have to sign in to look at someone's pictures, put it on the same damn page. I don't use MySpace for anything else; I don't even have a real profile. Interface. Look into it.


(Also, if you could maybe figure out something where I didn't have to look at flashing neon backgrounds, listen to bad country/hip-hop or watch stupid videos, I'd be cool with it. Oh, and if my browser didn't crash one out of five times when I visit your site. That would be awesome too.

Hearts,

Sarah