I am your voodoo doll.
the ten things you can't say
1) List ten things you want to say to people but know you never will.
2) Don't say who they are.
3) Never discuss it again.


Hmmm, all different people? Let's see...

1) I wish only incurable diseases on you, and every loose-lipped braindead whore you bring to your bed, you bleeding heart Robin Hood-wannabe self-righteous middle-class cracker. I let you get away with more than anyone in my life. You never "found" me. I was never lost. I rue the day I first spread my legs for you. My deepest condolences to #11.
2) Anyone who believes "it's better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all" is a fucking moron, and basically, I should never have indulged your fantasy. I wish I'd never gotten involved.
3) The fact that you live vicariously through me does not inspire me, but rather, makes me wish I'd never been born.
4) Why did you only surround yourself with dopey people? Are you that insecure that you can't be around someone with half a brain?
5) I hope you're getting ass-raped as I type this.
6) You're obviously a person of very low quality. You deserve each other.
7) I pretend I can relate to you, though you never even offer me that much.
8) Sometimes, I'm not kidding when I flirt. Shhh!
9) I'm really sick of feeling like I have to prove myself to you. Most people think I'm a decent friend, so what gives. It's getting a little ridiculous, and just say the word and poof! I can disappear too. I really don't think I ask for much, but maybe it's time I started.
10) I wish I could see just YOU more, not the two of you. I understand it's a package-deal now, but I feel somehow simulataneously left behind in childhood, and well past my prime.


Come to think of it, I think I could say all those things to 1 person bwahahaha. Going to see Iron & Wine with Calexico Tuesday night. Should be good, plus the venue is like 2 blocks from my apartment.

I skipped my jazz piano lesson last night...what did I to in its stead? I spent $80 at Tower (new Andrew Bird, Calexico, Low, Golden Palominos, and new Fiery Furnaces), then stuffed myself full of Mexican food, then took a nap. I've been pretty slack this week. Is it the drugs? The rock and roll? The (lack of) sex? The last is my fault, I suppose. I've officially broken up with the 19 year old. After all of 4 days being back together. Details not forthcoming, unlike your mother's twat. Oh, and hadara told me I had to write about getting high with a hot Spanish pianist at my apartment last night after rehearsal, and being forced to watch some DVD of flamenco, while he clapped and stomped his feet on the floor in rhythm. My poor downstairs neighbbors. I can see it now: all Thursdays in their calendar have a note reading "11 p.m., Flamenco Night in 12F."