Who knew I had so much in common with Fred Durst?
If you don’t understand does that mean I don’t understand. Jamble and awkward unit of stances. Uncomforting misconception. Means really not.
When I think. I think. And when I think really. Sincerity turns to absurdity. Systemically jam the system with dynamite. In Mishima’s sky. The heartbeat of the nonsunrise. Because I was pitter-pattering talking with you by talking with me. The sun. Son. and the Network. was Interactive.
Dinned in a glamorously prerecession fashion at the Prime Rib with a group of eight tonight. Ordered the London Broil.
Got drinks with Peter @Rugby last night. We talked about Long Island. Then I watched Donkey Punch and found the plot believable.
The music projects a lot of noise. People pretend to be entertained and their pretending leads the way to actually being entertained. The police break up the party and everyone disperses. Some people, though, remain and with them I waste away the rest of the morning.
Bartend a party on Q Street with Max and mix incredibly potent drinks. A couple people complain. Around midnight, we go to a dive bar where we meet a girl who fell off Key Bridge (50ft+). And survived.
Max is sick. Emily is anxious. I am arid. The conversation at the dinner table treads and bends and dips. Topics include but are not limited to the following subjects: outer space, whether Barnard College is better than Smith, how good the calamari is, how sharp Max looks, how upset Emily is that her silk dress is stained, a clown that goes to Vanderbilt, the difference between vocational clowns (e.g., Ralph, the Great, Metzler) and avoctional clowns (the clown @Vanderbilt), politics as a vocation, parties tonight in Georgetown, how bad the swordfish is, the summer, digital photography, and so on.
Movement towards, removal: thanatos, der zielpunkt!
