asses of note

jennifer love hewitt

allira cohrs

mine

girl needs some ass, other wise it just doesnt seem to work. nothing seems to work. nothing.

living as he did; the life of a vagrant poet hustler vagabond, prone to self deceit and oft in need of a bath, considering jail as a good lifestyle choice, but only managing the act of masturbation to qualify him as a recidivist and serial onanism is merely self harm, if that; writing clumsy over punctuated prose, reading others work and wondering how they managed to be so clear, and funny too, he decided to write clumsy incorrectly punctuated poetry...

doom, the myth of sydney man, epic, work in progress

he woke in the morning. he felt tired. he turned the light on because his room didn't get much light. he stretched his arms up to the ceiling. his finger tips almost touched the ceiling. they scraped the air against the water mark on the ceiling which looked like a flying ibis with beak and all. he would stare at that water mark for an hour at night, lying in bed, waiting to go to sleep. he yawned and let out a noise. he thought about Germany before the war, mark rothkos fuzzy rectangles and dog shit all, seemingly, at once. he cried a little from the yawn and levered himself out of bed rolling back first and then using the momentum to carry him forward and then sideways and on to the floor. the cold tiles didn't startle him, he was used to them.

it occurred to him that he would die one day. he felt neither sad nor relieved by this, he merely carried on. inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. inhale. exhale. cough. TB? inhale. exhale. he ate breakfast: toast. he sighed and thought about the day. it was sunny. nice. really nice.

the city he could hear, he could hear it . the buzz, insistent like a low ebb: the tide, the waves of the infinite ocean. he was a blip, he was a dot in a collage which would out live him a thousand million times. make your mark, he said in his head, make your mark today!

his house mate burped loudly. why did she do that? they' re disgusting her burps... lyrics? for a new song? perhaps. he had a band and song lyrics of quality were always hard to come up with. he found himself always thinking of band names as well, "mixed business" was one, as was "just another day at the office". when he mentioned these to other people, however, they didn't seem to appreciate them in the same way that he did. they were ironic, he would say, ironically daggy, well obviously he would think, how could anyone think I was a dag?

he wanted out sometimes. he wanted out of the city.

my space scares me. its so fancy. everyones got all these shiny bits of writing and things that flash and stuff. they all have photos of all the other people on myspace as well. and they are all beautiful people, whats more. i guess it doesn't help that the people i know on my space all seem to live in bondi, though, so i guess that being eye candy is just par for the course. what i cant understand, however, is that they all live in bondi!! so they probably see each other every other day anyway!! do they really need to be reminded that each other exist , and that they live such glamorous lives by the beach, and that they all seem to be having such a fucking great time all the time, swimming and being buff and brown and wearing bikinis and laughing and taking drugs and laughing and smiling and playing land sports in the water, and sun baking and having sex and laughing and talking about the "fame game" and swimming under water and taking photos underwater and laughing underwater and having six packs and round pert tits and tight asses you can crack wall nuts on and the dudes are tanned and they have pecks and they have great senses of humour- i can tell because in some of the photos they are wearing, like, yellow afro wigs and fake dirty sanchez moustaches and, like, 70s porn star sunglasses and stuff, phew! its so hilarious! and they look like they are having a really great time, drinking and partying and stuff. and they are laughing. at each other. so i guess they must be funny.

i guess you wouldn't put photos of yourself taking a shit or photos of you in the throws of a heroin addiction, or in an ice induced rage, or if you were hideously ugly you would wear some kind of mask or put a photo of a dog on there or a movie star or something.

or if you really were hideously ugly i guess you would just blog.