Thought I'd fuck with the colours a little here. What you can't see are the pissy little codes I had to type in there to make that flaming red Jezebel. But nevermind that. I know you appreciate it. Oh, you do.
In the desperate hollowness and boredom which swallows me whole whilst at my place of employment I wuz sketching out this page of stuff I wanted to write to you here, once I got home. I could sit here and try to put this all in some sort of order. But that wouldn't be FUN for me. And it wouldn't be in keeping with good ol' random thought process. So here I go.
I wuz sitting there on that couch, reading Tom Robbins (skinny legs and all), listening to Tom Waits (Mule Variations), and the incessant squawking of those children. And I got one of those "Oh my God, what a weird word!" moments. You know, when you actually stop, and think about some word, that exists in every day of your life, and you get this freaky, almost Zen like moment of headtripped-up daze where you're just thinking "Whoah. Wow. Wha-?"
The word that wuz freaking me out?
C H A A R A
People actually call me that. And they don't go into spastic mental seizures when they do.
How?! It blew my mind.
I just have one thing to say about that. Excuse me, Where wuz I? Why wuzn't I invited?
That boy's got it goin' on.
Perhaps you recall me ranting that I didn't want to hear anymore RAVE REVIEWS of the Tom Waits show? (the one I wuz not at) Well this guy spent the whole letter going on and on and on about how great the show wuz. On and on. In fact I don't think there wuz anything said in that letter that wuzn't related to the Tom Waits show THAT I WUZ NOT AT. He ended with: "I think you should know that leaving everything and hitchhiking across other countries would be a reasonable effort to witness the great man before you die."
And "Can you do me a favour? - Tell Jezebel to relax."
Oh well, okay.
"By the way, I saw you in that bookstore. You were indulging in the philosophy section. Do you remember that?"
Is it so wrong of me to be quoting this guy, unbeknownst to him? I love getting letters. Though I'd prefer they not take the tone of "WOW, YOU SURE MISSED OUT!" And this is a strange one I suppose. This guy lives nearby. And we're writing to eachother. Not e-mail. Not phonecalls. But old-school letters. We have eachother's phone numbers... But we're not calling eachother. Myself I simply don't call people. (You know that.) I don't know what his story is. Odd. Though I don't dislike it.
Everytime this song comes on I have to get up and dance around this room. It's on my winamp player so it comes on at least once a night. And is on now. I'm trying to dance in my seat. Not fun. I'm up! BRB... "Deeper Underground" -Jamiroquai. Oh no! And now Tori's lipgloss mix of "Rasberry Swirl" is on! I can't go on! I will drop dead of exhaustion...
Dream last night of eyeliner. I'm in the washroom of an old school of mine, trying to perfect my eyeliner. Over and over I draw these thick thick lines, then wipe them away. A temptress in training. Painted Jezebel.
Tom Robbins and Jezebel. A lesson in Jezebel this book is.
"Jezebel!" he yelled. "You cheap slutting cunt-whoring Jez-a-fucking-bel!"
That's a direct quote. Don't hold it against me.