Jesus, Watersports
Watching videos of women talking about their dominatrix experiences in my parents basement while they’re at Mormon church.
Exhibit A: Karley Sciortino, naked in a bathtub, discussing pee-guzzling burps and the many clothing layers of kinky hasidic jews.
CHRISTMAS!
Circles
It’s fucking freezing. The kind of cold that makes you wish you could barricade yourself in your house for the rest of the winter and do some booze-fueled hibernation.
This October I was sleeping in a park with gutter punks and train hoppers and transient hippies, poor travellers - Interesting people. The nightmares and outcasts of society that needed (according to republicans) a shower and a clue and a job. I melded into them. I stomped around looking like a dumpster diver, swiping signs through the air outside the financial district of my city with the zeal of being young and catching your first righteous zeitgeist-cupped wildly in your hands like a firefly -nothing mattered but having the conviction. Fire in your bones.
Why are you here? Because it’s time.
Actually, I had plenty of free time because I was in between roommates/bestfriends (“fuck you if I never see you again it will be too soon”) and in between boyfriends (dumped him, still miserable). LONELY FEMALE PERSON HAVING A CRISIS - Guy Fawkes needs YOU!
I quit my terrible job impulsively and fell wholeheartedly into unemployed occupation. I remember shouting SHAME ON WELLS FARGO at the top of my lungs, outside their towering, imposingly alien building, a mothership stretching into the sky, shouting like my lips had been waiting for those words my whole life. Grinning at the bewildered businessmen - each face a little inside joke - with manic glee.
Recently I got a job in a building one block away from those banks. I dress up every day and pass these same generic men on the street. It’s actually incredible how identity is so malleable, presentation so crucial. Just put on a nice shirt, make up some shit on your resume, and VIOLA! You are the proud owner of a desk job. I look up at The Mothership every day now as I wait for the tram and laugh.
How circular. How absurd.
Yesterday I was wandering around a Target, feeling like death, when a homeless 18 year old I befriended at the occupation called me. I hadn’t talked to him in months, but I picked up. He called to tell me about his new job and wish me a merry christmas.
Brainstorming
depraved ways to make rent this month with my most depraved friend.
I love people with imagination.
