Everyone's waiting...

The people who has any idea who I am and has watched any movie/TV-program with me knows that I basically hate the majority of movies/TV-programs. This includes but is not limited to LOST( Oh, nothing happens and everything is completely irrelevant and you never ever give a straight answer so why the fuck should we fucking care?) Desperate Houswives( You are all very unrealistic and boring and I hope you all die) and Letterman Show( YOU SUCK! YOU FUCKING FREAK!!!)

In the entire world, I have only one TV-show I am a die-hard fan of, and it is Six Feet Under, which is, sadly, finished.

Finito. The end.

This show really came to be a big part of my life, which is of course a really pathetic thing, but true nontheless. It was one of those things, searching so avidly for anything real in a world full of plastic, that when I first found it, I was just stunned.

I think I could say it affected my life in a way I had not experienced up to that point, and I can really say that the sheer beauty, creativity and just forcefull truthfullness inspired me hugely and have been an enormous influence on me.

Many times I used to imagine myself working as a writer on the show, and I really know the names of all the writers, which is also really sad, and I am a big fan of Jill Soloway, even though her book was very expensive off Amazon.
I haven't bought it yet, by the way.

So now that is over, and, teaching that everything ends, so did this show. Mournfully and clad in my black funeral suit, I dig with the shovel and pour warm earth over it.

Never was a cornflake girl

but my feet are really cold...

Nails and teeth and cherry blossoms...

Once I thought that my first book should bear any of the three names above, and I just thought about it now because my nails are really starting to get long.
You can file that under irrelevant.

I tried to find a picture using google and using "irrelevant" as the search term, but I just found a lot of crap, so I am sorry to all those who feel that reading stuff is much easier if you have a picture or two, but I couldn't find a picture.
You can also file that under irrelevant or possibly "wasting the readers time".

In other news, I just bought a new Tori Amos CD, Under the Pink, and I love the number 3 track, Bells for Her.
It is very poignant and haunting, and when they do the film of the book, I know exactly what scene it should be it and how the shoot should look. It is at the very end, the chapter called "A woman and the sea".

I am going to listen to it now.

There is so much horrible, malicious crap out there

that when something good comes along, I am just really excited. Susie Bright is one of these things. Of course, she is not a thing at all, and she hasn't recently strayed into my life.
She has been present for some time.

For anyone not familiar with Susie Bright, she is really this extraordinary feminist sex-writer, this liberal, fighting-for-everything-good-and-true champion of free speech sort of person.
And I really love her.
I would be lying if I said I had actually read any of her numerous erotic stuff, so I am about to order them of amazon.co.uk. What I have read, however, is her blog, which is this beating heart-string about things going on in the US, which I of course wish I could be a part of but really can't, because, basically, I am stuck her and don't have the guts just to leave it all and become a waiter in LA or whatever.

Anyways, I really admire the strenght of her voice and her crusade against this malicious sex-struff coming from the conservative lair, and especially against anything seperating itself from white male and female in one sex-position with the lights out and the woman hating every second of it.
I hope to mirror some of the oppinions we have in common in my own work

"Keeping people neurotic and depressed and ignorant and self-doubting is oppressive. "

So, clits up everyone, and sex and freedom and enjoyment to everyone out there, even those who sleep with branches in their beds and climax by rubbing themselves against trees.

Here are som friends of mine:

This is a friend I met on the internet posing as a fifty three year old Catholic priest, and her name is Shaniqua.

This picture was taken on a day we were out looking for butt-pluggs and we went to Wal-Mart and she found this fucked-up Winnie the Pooh thing and she said it looked like it had Downs and then I took a picture of her and I said that, on the picture, it looked like she had Downs and then she hit me with the fucked-up Winnie the Pooh thing and she was raped by three Venuuelean guys on the parking lot.

This guy used to be a female spinning-instructor until that fateful night when he woke up and found that he had been in a coma for sixteen years.
I took this picture of a freak on the beach where I usually hang out and have sex with children, and my friend just popped up.
(You didn't think the guy I was talking about is that disgusting old person with the tooth? It is the freak in the background! Jesus, some people are soooo sick, assuming I am making fun of people because they are ugly as sin!)
Anyways, that woman sort of leaning in is the mother of the taxi driver of that guy in the movie who was the slutty neighbour on the WB.

I don't have any more firends than these two!

Fruity yet strong

Freak out!

Anyone taking buses on like a regular basis has a few alarming/upsetting/horror stories/anecdotes of their own. It seems an inescapable fact that the dregs of humanity linger in the buses, drawn to the cheap décor and the furry seats, it’s almost their natural habitat. It is where they can have sex with their brothers and eat cat food.
It’s like that game where you have to have the chess-pieces and you go through a bus to get to the police station( the one person who got that reference: You are seriously fucked-up!)

So, aaaaanyways.
Here I was, on the bus, a fat man having me trapped against the window and the radiator so my thigh is slowly burned to crispy snacks.
He gets off, in fact, most of the bus gets off because only freaks and women live where I live.
And I, because my legs are as long as other things that are long, like long things, rest my long legs delicately on the set across me.
A freakish, ancient man tells me, shaking and quivering with anger, to get my feet down. I look at him a long time with what I imagine must be my signature shot, like:” Who the fuck are you? Do you really think you can talk to me?!” And I just sort of snicker, sort of evilly, sort of poison green/venom dripping from my fangs sort of snicker and I don’t move my fucking feet an inch!
And then!
AND THEN!
He walks over, sort of a wooden walk because his legs are erased from age and his heart pumps blood only two times a minute, he walks over to the driver and tells on me!
Can you believe that?
It’s so petty it deserves another color.

Petty.

And here is the most annoying part, the fact that I seriously should have freaked out and screamed at him and most people know that if I just open my mouth, the most amazing things can come out( like the new wonderbra) but I just froze!

Fuck!

Shit!
Ass!Penis!


In other news: Oh, who am I trying to kill, I mean, kid. There is no other news!

For anyone still caring...

The first draft of my book is finished and I jused three hours yesterday rewriting one third of chapter one. And now I hate it.

Sometimes I wonder if it is all worth it.

And I can't give myself a prostate-orgasm, no matter what!