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two words: birthday tomorrow. what do i want, you ask?
first of all, some help getting my *@#$%ing DSL connected.
walked down east houston street today unaccompanied by music. i say that because i've been listening to things (meat beat manifesto: let the beeeeaattt, furrrreee...) all memorial day weekend. groove armada too, but i haven't heard a song of theirs yet that has a slightly ridiculous hook that i can spell phonetically like that. a concert is coming up in the city with the likes of common, talib kweli, and tribe called quest; more good hip-hop, but in this case also more homophobia, than you could shake your booty at. should i go anyway? kenyon and i have discussed this before, and i'm going to ask him again.
why didn't anyone freakin tell me how fine david silveria of korn is? it took a big calvin klein dirty jeans banner with mr. korn's bare with a few well-placed hairs chested, pierced-eared, bleach-blonded, handsome face and bod to alert me.
how many hyphens can i shove in? there are more and more mornings like this: waking up before my alarm goes offalarm(ing) ... is a word that sticks and hurts, i discovered, when a friend asks you if his back needs waxingpoking out from under new cotton jersey sheets and next to a cheetah-print pillow, looking at my not-bare-anymore walls finally, my dick sore from beating off a lot lately but once again hard as a rock top-of-the-morning-to-ya, muscles right above my armpits and the center of my back sore from the gym. a friend once recognized depression in a friend of hers when the friend started sleeping all the time, and i wonder if i caught some mutant strain of this that gets me up at 8:30 on a sunday.
i get to church about fifteen minutes early, and my new deacon and one of the priests are practicing tasks. the priest is speaking really quietly, but the microphone is over his head and flecks of vocal sound bounce around. as the service is ending, a homeless woman is weeping loud enough that it mixes with the sound of the organist's postlude.
this blog (i finally admit it, filename change and all) is brought to you by rHEio, would wrote me the following:
occupation: publishing scum, half-assed writer
citystate: Brooklyn, YO!
country: US of A
website: dantewoo.com & www.djparis.com
direction: i stalk you
comment: Papi, by now you know I'm stalking your ass... seriously, I love what you do, just wish you'd do more (but of course, I understand).
mailing_list: add me to the mailing list!
i interpreted this as "asking nice," plus the man has the good taste to list me on his yahoo profile, which introduced me to some of y'all here. so here ya go, big boy.
purchases of the day: calvin klein wifebeater. fruit of the loom (their URL really is fruit.com) briefs. activities of the day: woke up and read a few pages of the hours. great, quiet, leisurely breakfast at my favorite corner coffee spot. horrible brunch a few blocks north (i don't eat like this every day, scout's honor). one workout at nysc. more coffee because it's a weekend and it's ok. gave away printer. hung pictures on walls. checked out competitor's website. listened to live battle between fat boy slim and armand van helden.
in queens with matthew, dropping his nephew off at parents. two girls, about 13 years old apiece, ride by on their bikes. it's blustery for may, and one says to the other, "fuck! my nipples ahh so freakin' hahhd!"
kids these days