cellular
i have to stand at the foot of my bed to open my window, and tonight as i did it, it might've been that the sarong tucked into the window blocked the view below it, but the moon popped into view in a way that i rarely see. i hardly look at the sky in new york at all, and only a little more at the tops of buildings—most of my attention is directed at people and whatever's in front of me or at my feet. it's at half mast, almost getting its crescent on, and even when you're looking at it over a tenemant building it's powerful.
today at church the rector giving the sermon talked about taking in the body of Christ, more than just ingestion—on a cellular level. i love that that word can still be used that way.
brunch was one of those nice occasions when you get to introduce friends who quickly hit it off and likely will become friends independent. then sitting in the park with them reading the paper, but differently from last week, a dj was spinning, so people were everywhere and drum 'n bass too. then soccer in another park–a whole day of parks, the way a spring day should freaking be–then my new addiction and finally home with the moon, some burgeoning insecurities about a certain boy, and radiohead. somehow those things are going hand in hand.
did i mention that i woke up to this cd yesterday? that too.
posted April 29, 2001 in delivery, music, speechparis-bound
new york was sunny and cool today, just the way i like it. after work i sat at bowery bar on the outside patio and drank a half-pint of guinness and tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to steer all conversation away from work and onto things like vacations and boys. then dinner and two bottles of chianti at a polish diner.
from may 4th to may 14th, i'll be in paris. for the last four days i'll be on my own. i don't speak french. i will be broke. any readers in paris wanna hang out while i'm there?
for that nice person who's been searching for "amazon" and "birthday" on my site, it's right here, baby.
posted April 27, 2001 in deliverywrapping
i was in the shower this morning at 7am (okay, more like 7:20am), and, still very tired, was trying to put together a poem about approaching a tree stump and wrapping around it. but quickly, like when you walk by something and move your hips over as you continue, so that your body only yields that small thing (abdomen, hips, ass, privates) instead of actually moving out of the way. and maybe wrapping like maybe you'll not avoid the stump at all, but pull yourself around it. like wrapping your lips around something; i couldn't help thinking of this line from kiss: "then, sex; as he's got me in a hold, i spin around and wrap my lips around his cock. it too tastes like sweat." that a friend who recently read my site pointed me back to.
posted April 26, 2001 in delivery, sexloves:
limonata, which i got hooked on while in milan. just discovered that dom's in soho carries it.
posted April 23, 2001 in deliverypark
sat in tompkins square park reading the paper with d. and jami, then jami and maurice, then jami and maurice and sunil. a fun time was had by all, and it made me feel a little bit more like i live in a neighborhood. so much of the time i feel like i'm surrounded by passersby, and that i'm one myself in this funny, noncommittal, horny little east village. sitting on grass while jami sips a chocolate egg cream, i read about wifebeaters (since everyone's doing searches on my site for that word now) in the nyt magazine, maurice languishes shirtless, with a bunch of people who live on lettered avenues, where they have to be a tiny bit less cool than they normally are, was good for our souls. and yes, i'm speaking for everyone's souls here.
then watched the sopranos for the first time. ok, i'm hooked, goddammit!
posted April 22, 2001 in delivery, printcumming with color
went to moma with d. today. the workspaces exhibit is a big snore, and i'd be surprised if the pleasantville patrons who it's intended for even found it interesting (look ma, a cell phone! i bet one day people will even use them to work when they're away from their offices!). it slops together present and future furniture and tools for working, but the present things are boring (think more cell phones and palm pilots) and the future things are often designed by people that don't know what it's like to work in an office to begin with (standing-height desks, cubicle farms with gaping holes all over them). andreas gursky's retrospective, on the other hand, makes me wish that i could afford to buy art. his stuff is practically cumming with color, and manages to get great human features and character into huge, sweeping perspectives of land and events.
posted April 21, 2001 in art, deliveryeverything posted April 19, 2001 in print
p.i.t.a.s.
dantewoo (11:24:10 PM): what's catherine's site?
wwjami (11:24:12 PM): aaron sorkin, the ep of the west wing, got busted for mushroom possesion. i love that.
wwjami (11:24:16 PM): catwoman.pitas.com
dantewoo (11:25:25 PM): what the fuck is a pita?
wwjami (11:26:23 PM): it's a weblog community.
wwjami (11:26:25 PM): pitas.com
dantewoo (11:26:38 PM): i thought maybe it was an acronym
wwjami (11:26:40 PM): like blogger or blogspot, except, i think, before
wwjami (11:26:53 PM): Push It Tonight Asshole, Sir
wwjami (11:27:10 PM): Playas Imagine Tight Amazing Sundays
dantewoo (11:27:14 PM): position it tightly against softy
wwjami (11:27:28 PM): People Ignore The Afternoon Sunrise
dantewoo (11:27:56 PM): poop in that arrogant snuffaluffagus
wwjami (11:28:01 PM): Please, I Think Andrew's Sleeping
dantewoo (11:28:09 PM): uncle!
wwjami (11:28:15 PM): that's hard.
wwjami (11:28:21 PM): that shit needs to get posted on your site.
wwjami (11:28:26 PM): with our glamor shot.
wwjami (11:28:43 PM): that ain't no rhyming with Lisa whateverthefuck
i was stuck at home sick today, but this sweet boy brought over saltines and ginger ale and flowers. 20 points, at least. ongoing obsessions: "something about us," daft punk. entire new radiohead album, courtesy of bootleg mp3s. and i have to admit, harry reems, 'cause i'm weak like that.
posted April 16, 2001 in crap, deliverytrust no woman
struggled through church (because of my 2-day stomachache, not religious issues) and then went to maurice's for dinner, camaraderie, and a screening of the 10 commandments, uncut. since practically all of my gay male friends are 5-15 years older than me, i miss out on a lot of the cultural/camp references that get bandied about; these viewings seem like lessons to me. i can't get into it in the same way, but i do admit that those outfits were pretty fierce. favorite thing: the forlorn pose that bythia strikes when the pharoah proclaims "trust no woman."
saw art yesterday with cinde and jami. insert picture here once it's scanned:
posted April 15, 2001 in art, crap, delivery, filminterchangeable
renée zellweger knocks 'em out in bridget jones's diary. after you've lived and dated in big cities, you need these kinds of urban fairy tale films to get you through the ups and downs of fun and sex and romance in new york. the one thing i don't get is why movies keep casting multiple white people that you can't tell apart—in this case, the evil colleague/girlfriend of darcy and the evil colleague/girlfriend of hugh grant. they're both skinny and cute and brunette and short-haired, right? interchangeable.
ignore this story, "coldplay: slouching towards stardom." the mic hit is something he does on purpose when he ends some songs, and if the band seems aloof, it might be because they're an aloof complaint rock band. and i didn't hear the line about this being their first completed concert in sex years, but that might've been because of the pcp proximity high i was getting from shaggy standing near me.
i've read this story, "stop," by charlie, a couple of times, but it always rocks me.
posted April 14, 2001 in crap, delivery, filmfog
fog everywhere in manhattan tonight, so much that car headlights glow over the street, hazy and invisible before you even see them driving up.
posted April 12, 2001 in art, deliveryjury duty
breakfast: metal detector, coffee with milk, blueberry muffin while sitting in jury clerk's room
mid-morning: more waiting, metal detector again (again it beeps when passing over my h&m big steel belt buckle), finishing the new yorker i was catching up with, cancelling 3:30pm interview (dammit)
lunch: the best thai food in new york, conveniently next door to the courthouse, started reading before night falls
afternoon: metal detector, getting released from jury duty for the next four years. yes. back to work, console my recruiter, clear inbox, reply to several dantewoo emails (lately i've been getting some frankly obsessive fanmail. it is flattering and scary, and don't worry, chances are it's not from you), complaining about my sore arms (trying to make my forearms bigger and the recovery is rough), leaving work early
pre-workout snack: another muffin (gotta stop that, but i was starving and wanted carbs for the gym), apple, thinking about what arenas was saying about the sexuality and violence and freedom of growing up in poor farmlands, thinking about the last time i was in a wide open field (even better in the rain, even better yet at night)
workout: 20 minutes of stairs, 10 minutes of bicycle (would've/could've done more but my calves were cramping up and i couldn't make them stop), 75 upper torso crunches, 30 middle crunches, 24 lower crunches (thanks jocko!) leaving to go grocery shopping, one of few errands that relaxes me.
dinner: tomato-based stew of italian sausage and kale, cherry coke
post-dinner:
post-love: unwind from fucking by listening to saukrates featuring common, "play dis":
shout out to honeys working them hourglass hipseat a tofutti cutie (new mint chocolate chip flavor) (but dante, you may say, you are a tofutti cutie), read the reesesworld.com mention, fire him off a picture, write this stuff, think about the taxes i haven't paid yet.
stay soprano, reading Cyrano
dramatic episodes, yo Common
let me play with niggas' brains like clay kits
when I rock stage hits
skip the rumors and lies
so you're under the stairs
when I drop my hip-hop, you'll be some Maytag repairman
and flip flop the fake, who thought the scared
and half-assed niggas sending you back to drawing boards
to deliver the real shit, al least we'll spit on you mics
i'm versatile like a plate of real grits, kid.
bedtime: sleep with the windows open. love that. posted April 11, 2001 in delivery
amnesiac
my new best friend shared the link to amnesiac, radiohead's new album. downloaded all the mp3s, took it home, put it on repeat, and played it all night as i slept.
but before that, heard all about jami's vacation through crappy waitressing and cute surroundings at centosette. have you told her how hard she rocks for quitting smoking? do it.
posted April 10, 2001 in delivery, musicsomewhere
awesome coldplay concert at roseland ballroom, followed by retrodinner.com at howard johnson in times square. coldplay played a good lineup of parachutes, some new stuff, some old stuff, and after they left the stage, piped in "somewhere" with a giant glitter ball descending. are they trying to come out to us, lord?
my hair is way shaggy now. a designer sitting near me insists it's "totally california surfer boy." parlor is looking for hair models. i think, if chosen, this could be the egotistical self-esteem boost that i'm talkin' about.
posted April 09, 2001 in delivery, musicuniversal joint hanging
books that stare at me from my windowsill, courtesy of secondhand stores in new orleans:
the limits of art, huntington cairns
the motives of proteus, josé e. rodó
choric interludes, mildred jones keefe
i know, and others agree, that posting your search logs is kind of a blog cop-out, but i just can't resist. i never knew so many people came looking for something along the lines of "me, giving a blowjob," "spread legs," or "on hands and knees." these too are 100% unfabricated:
- fuck me doggy style
- hardon in my shorts (yes!)
- tanline.jpg
- "flirt with guys"
- Hello Kitty Vibrator
- lump in his pants (yes!)
- asymmetrical shirts
- horny french girl
- Trinidadian fucking
- nan goldin 2001
- haricot etymology
- +blog +sex +blowjob
- lacoste "dress shirt"
- "lips around his cock"
- italian brooklyn ribollita
- penis rings
- french hyundai commercial
- dancing hardon
- kids squirting cum
- big ass dick
- "fuzzy ass"
- crispin glover wallpaper
- sucker bites
- universal joint hanging
- +mythology +comics +greek
- no no don't, please
- frottage
- thick ass
- please in Siamese
packing party at jami's as
packing party at jami's as she's off to san francisco. have fun have fun!
friends are losing their jobs left and right. everyone has been taking it way better than i.
-----Original Message-----
From: mouchette [mailto:[email protected]]
Sent: Wednesday, April 04, 2001 5:10 PM
To: My fan club
Subject: 7 interactive songs
Dear friend, dear member of the fan-club,
You have always known me as a web superstar, but now you will now discover me as a pop singer. I made music and I composed these 7 songs for you.
They have no words, no title, but I am sure you will understand their meaning. As tiny as they are, each of them is a complete song, a whole piece of interactive music which you can also see and touch. Their interaction is not so much in the mouse clicks than in your own reactions.
The last of these 7 songs will be my very last song. You may recall it, play it again, but it will link you to nowhere. Its lack of interactivity will leave you alone with your own reactions.
http://mouchette.org/music
--
*bisou*
Mouchette
http://mouchette.org
the way right friends
just got back from miami/south beach. who knew how much fun it could be? and all because of the right nightclubs, the right sunny, hot, humid beach weather, the right argentinians, the right puerto ricans, the right colombians, and even the right white boys. the right dinners, the way right friends.
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 bathing beauties willie and maurice |
 coy smiles on the flight home from maurice and frank |
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 iced tea, undershirts |
 dante woo squints |
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miami.
boy oh boy am i bowlegged. don't ask. do ask.
posted April 02, 2001 in delivery, sexand then i realized it wasn't about the kitchen sink
he meant for you to give it to me, j-no. ;-)
multi-stop flights purchased through priceline (first new orleans, and now miami) are good for one thing: catching up on my new yorker gift subscription (thanks branny!).
my new favorite celebrity: isabella blow:
| because she is a creature of passionate enthusiasms, and because she is willing, in the service of those enthusiasms, to make a spectacle of herself, isabella is perpetually at risk of falling into camp. she dreads that fate. she dreads becoming some mad, excessive, tragic gay icon. she aspires to elegance: her fashion heroine is the duchess of windsor. she doesn't want to be theatrical; she wants to be sexy, and she knows, when it comes to clothes, how conservative heterosexuality can be. she worries that she has been taking too much fashion advice from queens, who always want to pile more things on her, and not enough from straight men, who want to take her things off. now in her early forties, she is learning to pare herself down. "i used to shove on the kitchen sink," she says ruefully. "and then i realized it wasn't about the kitchen sink." |  |
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they may not know who she is, but they can see that, in a fashion crowd, she is a toucan among crows.
isabella recently drew up her own will, and in it she included a provision that her head be chopped off and delivered to her father in his vault, to symbolize the way he cut her off. her heart is to be cut out, placed in a heart-shaped box, and sent to detmar. she has already begun looking for a surgeon who will pledge to carry out this mission, and she wants to be sure that all the arrangemeents are made and paid for before her demise, so that detmar isn't left with a big bill. - larissa macfarquhar, "annals of style: the mad muse of waterloo," the new yorker march 19, 2001 |
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