Syd Barrett passed away.

STORYBOARD FOR A MOVIE

the plot is at the end

Our heroine finds out that Johnson & Johnson has stolen her %more advertising strategy. She knows she is the marketing genius.

The executives can't believe they've been found out.

She spends her time in disguise, as windex

Jennifer does not like this at all.

Xenia doesn't like that Jennifer doesn't like this at all. She thinks: YOU eat shit and YOU die dick.

She learns the secret of absolute power from her friend: Joe. The secret is that there is only one 'a' in 'Megadeth'. See... just like that.

When she first spells it right she goes to heaven... Just like that.

Tara finds Xenia in the clouds through the trees, and she says... aww, Xeen, eat shit and die, you dick.

Xenia eats shit. But she doesn't die. She just lays there underneath the Filipino flag.

And never learns to resize images.

People are really into building really fancy pools and then saying things like "I don't like swimming," .... "You get wet." I can't tell: do I WANT to visit LA and feel like everyone is a bunch of weird aliens or do I NOT WANT to visit LA and feel like everyone is a bunch of weird aliens... and I don't care that "PAPER" Magazine really really really likes L.A. No, I don't care at all.

I found this particular line from the article about "pools" to be like a poem:

Las Vegas-style amusements:
remote-controlled flames, sound-activated
dancing lights
and the illusion of endless water

more pictures of pools that people don't swim in

A little gift from me to you:



The above pictures showed up when i google-imaged a word. All of these imgs showed up on page three. What word do you think it was? COMMENTS PLEASE!

EVERYTHING AND ENDINGS

At times I think I've had a rough year. I quit a job that I loved because I was forced to be self interested. My love left me for other cities and state funded educations. My best friends stopped talking to me. The oil light in my car turned on. I could not concentrate hard enough to do yoga. All of my art fell lazy and unmotivated: to an audience of no one.

So I slept [10] - [12] hours every night... until I added it up and wrote this paragraph:


We used to talk about stamps and automobiles. He left me in the first quarter of the game while I was adding up all the hours I had slept and converting that into days. It was raining outside when I found out I was sad. I missed my grandmother. Although she was alive, she was waiting to die. For several months up until this moment, I had slept almost ten hours a night and the darkened sky made me lonely. I gave up drinking after I couldn’t forgive myself for all the sadness I had caused.

Here's the math:

2 extra hours of sleep a day x 7 days a week = 14 hours a week = an entire waking day of my life gone

considering all the healthy food, teas, coffee, reading, work, and exercise I tried with all of my heart and conscience to relieve this purposeful forfeit of a days worth of time.... it came down to only one thing: I was scared of people.

I could hide in Sherman's March and Bruno Shulz's the Street of Crocodiles. I could think about Janet Jackson's Rhythm Nation and read Nicole Krauss's THE HISTORY OF LOVE or write quiet paragraphs and pray to the glowing saint while rearranging my bedroom with graph paper quotations of Dostoevevsky's Brothers Karamazov (that was called Brothers K by 3 people in one day.)

Or I could realize that reading about loving people isn't the same as loving people, and that loving people's work isn't the same as loving people...