sex with you is a really kafka-esque experience.

11:27 p.m. x 2004-12-04

i went so freaking neurotic last night, for the past several nights in fact i've had a different issue to plague me before going to sleep and thusly, i have not been sleeping. i have instead been sitting lamely in front of "media-shelf" and feeling bad about not having read some of the books i own. little has been done about it, though.

i feel like i should cry about something, expunge a little. maybe watch "titanic". last night i got all wound up for the dumbest reason and went down stairs to tell my asleep mother about it, and she said "have you written today? not in a diary, go upstairs and write something graphic and horrible about it".

i love my mom.

this brings me to my next isn't writer's block, really, i just came out of a large-scale editing project, but i cannot think of a decent situation. my writing is fine, it just has no vehicle. i'm not in the mood to revisit plot ideas. i want to work on something new.

this sort of thing always brings me to things i'm resentful that i didn't think of. "mulholland drive" life with the thrill kill kult...clamp campus detectives. that peter sellers biopic is on hbo tomorrow. ooo.

if anybody should ask i'm going to a seminar
pieces of the moon
sensitive heart, you're doomed from the start
(& etc)

anybody can be just like me, obviously.
not too many can be like you, fortunately.
KL 02-11