from Kier
__________
from tigersare/Guy Blackman
Hey Dennis, here's a belated Blog Birthday present.
It's a track recorded with Japanese folk psych duo My Pal Foot Foot and came out a month or two ago on a CD accompanying literary mag The Lifted Brow.
It's the awkward story of one of my first coming out experiences on school exchange on Reunion Island in the late 80s, aged 15!
Much love,
Guy
REUNION ISLAND MP3 by user3643108
__________
from Tender Prey
__________
from Justin
You have to have cake for a Birthday, so here are some cakes that have that Dennis Cooper vibe about them.
__________
from Jesse Hudson
I almost NEVER trust someone else’s book recommendations. Too often it has put me in the uncomfortable position of having to tell that person that I think their literary tastes are trash. Where the blog is concerned, my situation is the complete opposite: if it’s recommended, I rush (normally to the detriment of my bank account) to buy the book. It has yet to steer me in the wrong direction. So, here is Dennis’s list of favorite books, a list that I have, more or less, used as a shopping guide over the past year. Frankly, I can think of no better compliment than to tell someone that I’ve read several of their recommended books and loved them all.
Red=bought it, read it, loved it
Blue=bought it but haven’t had a chance to read it yet
Black=haven’t bought it because it is either out of print or far too much money for me to handle right this moment
120 Days of Sodom
Death Sentence
Funeral Rites
Good Morning, Midnight
Wittgenstein’s Nephew
Catcher in the Rye
Man in the Holocene
The Book of Lies
Great Expectations
Death in Venice
A Sentimental Education
The Atrocity Exhibition
Fable
Recollections of the Golden Triangle
Triptych
The Golden Fruits
The Wild Boys
The Counterfeiters
Story of the Eye
Mason & Dixon
Infinite Jest
American Psycho
Time Remaining
Present and the Past
Maldoror
The Freelance Pallbearers
The Compassion Protocol
The Outsiders
Death on the Installment Plan
Locus Solus
Eden Eden Eden
Event
The Flower Beneath the Foot
Life: A User’s Manual
Carpenter’s Gothic
The Blind Owl
Jack the Modernist
Shy
The Letters of Mina Harker
Jakob von Gunten
In Youth is Pleasure
If On a Winter’s Night A Traveler
Play it As It Lays
Exercises in Style
Snow Country
Edwin Mullhouse
Strange Landscape
Child of God
Ubik
Roberte ce Soir
And here are a number of other great writers that either Dennis, the blog, or a blog member has recommended:
Peter Sotos, Stewart Home, Matthew Stadler, Ben Brooks, Zachary German, Blake Butler, Gary Indiana, Lynne Tillman, Benjamin Weissman, Gary Lutz, Steve Abbott, David Wojnarowicz, Mark Gluth, James Greer, Derek McCormack
Plus ...
__________
from Math
dennis, well i'll take it
anyway, you choose to give it
__________
from Steven Trull
You are my favorite teacher. Have a bitchin' summer!
Love, Steven [Lightning Bolt] Trull
1) Happy Birthday, BLOG (don't ever leave me, BLOG, I will miss you):
2) Jeff Acosta dances for you, BLOG (buy his book):
3) All these sparkling lights celebrate you, BLOG (twinkle, twinkle, this is acid, BLOG):
4) Disneyland catches fire for you, BLOG (another reason why hate crimes are sometimes necessary):
5) The kids need you, BLOG (there's a lot of people who love you, BLOG, don't throw it all away):
6) Don't do it, BLOG, don't do it:
__________
from Michael Karo
hi, cooper people! here's a little song for the blog. i decided to consider this an anniversary rather than a birthday for some reason.
a big hug to all, especially our ever-gracious host, who give so much of himself to us every day!
love and peace from california,
michael karo
__________
from Blendin
Here's a something. One of the many things I've been working on / thinking about / fussing over. Wrestlers have been really getting me, lately.
__________
from Misanthrope
Roads
The little boy’s house was up on the hill, about twenty yards back from the tightest bend on the two-way back-road to town. Outside was a large plywood sign announcing his parents’ construction business. The house itself was no mansion but neither was it a shack. A modest colonial with large windows, any passerby could watch the family as it ate dinner, watched TV, swam in the pool out back, or made their ways to bed at night.
----Or watch the little boy playing his Wii, his brown bangs jumping onto and off his forehead as he hit this ball or blocked that shot. Or when he napped on the loveseat, bathed in the light of the muted TV, his baggy t-shirt and khaki shorts enough to warm his slight frame. Better yet was when it was nice outside, especially during the summer, and he’d be out, shirtless, doing some chore or running around the front yard, avoiding that ugly sign at all costs, while playing some sport or other. Or maybe just laying out on lawn chairs, the grill smoking, he and his friends joking.
----Then the man would drive by slowly, his windows all the way down, hoping to catch a glimpse of the boy’s high-pitched peel as he laughed. Or the abrupt barks, just as high-pitched, as the boy argued with his sister inside the house somewhere. And he would glare over, his knee steering the car while his hands were occupied, and whisper for the boy to look over. Usually, the boy didn’t turn his head. But sometimes he did, and squinting his eyes in the sun, he’d nod, his smooth skin glinting and bronzed, ready for the pedestal on which the man had placed him so many years ago.
----Even at night, like tonight – the moon full and bleary high above the boy’s house – the man steered with his knee as he passed again and again by the boy’s house, peering past the chipped sign in the front yard at the darkened house, where he knew the boy slept soundly, happy and naked under his sheets. Well, maybe not naked, maybe just in a pair of tight briefs that stretched with the boy’s burgeoning-
----The man hit the brakes with both feet, the car fishtailing silently, as the animal jumped in front of his car. But he was too late. His heart pounding, his hard-on suddenly soft from all the blood lost to his churning stomach, he lay his head back on the headrest and inhaled deeply. He checked him himself mentally – he was fine, not injured at all, thank God – then put the car in park as he glimpsed the animal lying in the brush beyond the other lane.
----He cut the lights, got out, and crept over to the carcass. And fell to his knees, breathless, as his cock hardened again with recognition. His hand trembled as he reached out and lightly traced the boy’s naked form with a finger: his face, his hairless body, his firm legs, his tiny cock and balls. In the moonlight, he could see that the boy’s lean, supple skin was unblemished with lacerations of any kind from the car but that it was layered with several, crisscrossing welts that couldn’t have been caused by the impact. He looked over his shoulder at the house, but the house was silent and dark, dead as the boy under him. A few strokes and he came in his hand, wiping his semen on his pant leg; his thigh pulsed with the blood flooding from his heart.
----The man pushed himself up to his feet and ran back to his car. He drove home without turning on the radio and under the speed limit, his shaky knee steering the car again. And knew it would be the last time he’d ever drive down this road. Because familiar roads require no imagination and lead nowhere.
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from Max Vernon
I hope this message finds you well. You may remember me from the Brief Encounter w/ Fame post (I wrote about an S&M fantasy with Jesus)...
Anyways, i just finished the George Miles cycle and wrote a song inspired by it. I haven't finished with the recording just yet, but I did make a drawing to go along with the single that I wanted to share with you. Also attached is a similarly inspired photo of me tied up from a recent music video. Hope you enjoy.
happy birthday,
Max-
www.myspace.com/maxvernon
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from Casey McKinney
Untitled (Mush) Song
14 cheerleader cold
feet hey, almost had
you there lines stolen,
lines lost a violin
in cast bronze a cross
'd camera trained onto
an actor trained not to
...trained I mean to
keep his trap shut
this mannequin
like mccarthy's
not bresson's
'speed on'
two chords to this outro
blends matches 'n nitro
glycerin and bath oil
motor oil in a tub
I mean
gasoline
or whatever
lean
lean into me, on me
through me, beyond me
scorch the earth
regurgitate birth
like DHA pills
fish coming back
flopping on BP smack
back in black they are
oh....
'it's not funny
...anymore.'
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from The Dreadful Flying Glove
I've prepared a couple of things. The first is a musical piece from a thing I'm working on. I don't really know why it's important that it's titled in Greek, except I'm sure it is.
κρήδεμνον by dfglove
The second thing is a very short story.
Happy blogday, and, you know, thank you for e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g.
---------
The Person Who Heavily Related To 'Do The Collapse'
It was sweltering. The pavement lay beneath him like it had been kicked there. He was walking along the road he'd walked along as a five-year-old in his little grey coat on the way to school, where the air had been full of the smells of the town brewery, the peeling bark of the cherry trees, and the ground so much closer.
He walked badly. His legs were short and from time to time he convinced himself that one was longer than the other. The idea that he was simply too fat was less controversial. The tops of his thighs rubbed together. He got out of breath climbing staircases, which in any case would snarl beneath him, wounded and alive.
There was nothing for it but to walk, and there was nothing to be said for walking besides his earphones.
"Living without you is difficult," said the American. It didn't matter what the rest of the words were. He didn't care. Living without you was difficult. Hearing it acknowledged was enough. There was something about "our dead dreams", as well. Flat sort of expression, really. Meaningfully so.
He often thought of scurvy. At the top of the street he came to a halt and prodded at the back of his hand thoughtfully.
Americans were the best people in the world for him, as long as they were tired and unhappy, but there weren't any of them left. He had endured painful sehnsucht for what he imagined 1970s Cleveland to have been like for the better part of a decade, and all for nothing. They had all got their shit together, and so he was alone.
He played that one song over and over. It wasn't very long. The band from Ohio played their instruments as if exacting a specific sort of retribution from them. As if they were trying, or had been told, not to be themselves. He put it on an iPod mini with Bee Thousand and all the Beta Band albums.
Years passed. The iPod mini was eaten by a washing machine.
The requirement to go on eating did for him in the end. With food and earning it came all sorts of complications and difficulties that distracted him from his truthful purpose. It became something that happened at a distance, like roadworks, rather than something that crawled under his skin. He learned to drive. There was plenty of death and sex and boredom. He began listening to the radio.
One afternoon at someone else's house, quite by accident, he heard 'The Family That Plays Together', and for the two minutes and thirty seconds of "She Smiles", absolutely everything that had ever caused hurt and confusion appeared before him in a luminous matrix of interconnected, benevolent meaning. There were also baked potatoes for dinner.
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from Alistair McCartney
Dear Dennis and the Weaklings,
Happy Birthday.
Just a dumb little card to let you know
Whenever I log onto this blog
It makes me happy.
It kinda reminds me of
that feeling I'd get when I was a kid,
of life in front of me
And everything art could offer.
All its majesty.
Lots of love,
Alistairxo
__________
from Gregory Pokarney
OCTOPUS
-----“every man wants to be a tyrant when he fucks”
------------ The Marquis de Sade
________________they stand there unadorned with periods and holds and cold positions. he calls for two men rub honey the nozzle of near boiling water. in evening, his cunt swarm trips and falls and swallow boys excite the flow. introduced beneath his ass remove the circle and skin behind him. power glue and rim the shit yet thoroughly drunk he fucks the throat. lay on belly lay being moment charged with bucks constrict the bull’s neck. smiles and hammer his nails but provide strip with weapons and most. most give him a hundred thrusts awaits instant fell landing and returns.
________________surround by cats and no pussy retains double payment for discharge. told him he believes and arrives but treat the point as advised his roof. pinching the tit stables the other animals he is deprived of. enjoying well hung tongs and pinches his naked pointing pistol coal. public property upon various places flesh head foot toe hair. flames and three times recline in mounds and same lashes pout his arms his deep. eat shit remove hand flatten wrist break foot scrape nails teasing the gland. he keeps the severed finger in his ass and straightaway he sits and.
________________likewise to cock to prick lack focus glass against ass no trace of ass. but does cross and either arm has standing and laying of eggs in him. same men both buttocks still jet and blinds and eye allow ultimate eye. he too eats meat and tongue ripens hot iron without food they fuck him. either foot cut off by a friend and he steadies the flog the downward. keep at work keep at work until leaves hanging and vigorous touching. the same man such furious blankets and steaming blood such a fine ass. a pretty word encouraged he lates and manages the night the other.
________________bad manners blocking out cock and tower dance denying the sexsleep. he once liked to fuck drowsy boys but now he does so much better now. a series of ducklings he says ducklings and poisonings otherwise. you break my heart and wonderfully kill what you present to me as fact. stomach cramps prove fatal buttfuckery he takes into his toils. scourge above the prick and asshole and that displeases them caress it. other belly again and frig and quick have with them each of their hands. blacken mother’s eyes and place palms of climbing locks and leave them to die.
To sympathize is to betray him. He approves of vendetta and has nothing to do with the cause. He puts his tongue to the tip, imitating intimacy. There is no way of measuring the truth of “everyone says” and matters of “you always do” this or that. We may kill ourselves but we cannot judge. If we scream, it is the suffering of our pleasure which keeps the torturer demanding. We are no longer masters of our arrogance. For every person separated from desire there is always a kind of predestination, or void, where we go to drink beer. The true relation between a man and man is the ability to disturb. Do we assume the burden of evil or presume the abstract goodness, even when everyone admits their hidden shames? And by violence we can only discover our own nothingness. The illusion of intellectual light equates to a terrifying optimism: if one could transcend the promise of happiness we would be insistent on the existence of separateness. Our blindness to suffering is the only way to be satisfied. The air is too choked with the impossible as it is.
________________bury the muzzle the prick and the trigger and fill it with sulfur. follow the agony and fuck the cavity with fingers and bone. giving the dance and dagger the thrust a hundred blows and rise until. deflate the charms the cost of his eye stoning the anus scalpel him. he won’t amuse himself by throwing up the drop the fine applied wind. his eulogy hangs by his hair and then kills his secret and shits back. several hands murmur and worry balls and bundles large vat stand sharpened. the fuck comes furnace and there’s an end overwhelming the gallery.
________________differ beyond cunt can’t rank fuck constant buried and then comes around. cold feet and totally fucked five years by side he is failed putty. smoke out tongue rotten and foreign sale for skeletal he failed him. voice not posture in the pyramid the quiet thoughts the torn love life. sound into sound conceal songs and mattress and still and sparkling. present tense he has legs and relaxed belly and committed lapses. with tongs and whipped cream dinner made drug and succumb terrible further. arrange interior of ass of interior brought and sold least frown.
________________miniskirts six and slow burning air between events like ma alright. hear up the model and hello and squint and shy the bus stop pick up. come crust towel bean tent fuckhouse hobby now it’s nineteen seventy nine. details our eyes our nerves our pronouns and verbs we work less than we did. elbow slice up caught in the throat and blow on the bed champagne and coke. choke him underneath off stage and machine plunge steel tips and slow succumb. boy lies two inches above the bed and his head is slowly melted.
________________mirror sooner or later flake saved what’s more plastic and so fluid. don’t worry about when it’s going to heroic and heroic. is not about is not about is not about anyway declares. still plenty of straight hits and cock can cook challenge space heat up those eggs. hook driven he is poisoned during recitals fanny pomade face. shave off the ears and fall emerges cylinder of iron passing. don’t sleep on shit moral dinner kind thus begins the long season.
__________
from Chris
Couldn't think of what else to send. I just spent a week on Virgin Gorda in the British Vergin Islands, a post colonial wonderland. I am a depressed lump today in Brooklyn after a crazy night of lot's of sex and a tedious day at work, so I thought I'd send you this pretty picture for your birthday.
Many happy returns!!!!
.JPG)
__________
from Ben Axelrad
It's the blog's birthday, for fuck's sake. I'm a long time lurker and have posted once or twice under the name Soulfrieda.
From Gertrude Stein's To Do: A Book of Alphabets and Birthdays
---Edith was born late, she was born a month too late.
---She should have been born the fifth of June and she thought that was too soon so she was born the fifth of July oh my. So everybody knew the day was wrong so they would not say she was born that day so she just had to get along and she made a song, which said, I am ahead I am ahead, for July is later than June, and the fourth of July would be too soon, and here I am not in June but in July, oh my why, but of course I know why, it is because the fifth of July is the day to try to see the sky. Edith always saw the sky. It was a way she had. Others might try to see the sky but she always could even in a thick wood nothing could keep Edith from seeing the sky, and quite right too. Why not. If not. Why not.
---The sky is made to look blue.
---The sky is made to look pink.
---The sky is made to look black.
---The sky is made to look blue.
---But when Edith saw the sky it was not pink or black or white or blue, Edith could look through and as she looked through she knew that green is not blue, violet is blue, yellow is not blue but black is blue. Anybody else might be confused about the colors of the sky. But not Edith. She knew why. And the reason she knew why was that she was born on the fifth of July. Birthday or not made no difference to her, she knew why the sky was blue, why the sky was pink, why the sky was black and blue. She knew.
---There was no use asking her,
---She would never tell.
---She said for her they rang a bell
---And that was because she had not been born in June which was too soon but in July on the fifth of July oh my.
---And she would never tell why.
---Never never never tell why.
----
__________
from no more teenagekicks & NB
"mark's video gift" or "nicholas cook's blog birthday sextravaganza, sometimes with this other guy"
----
*
p.s. Hey. So, today is the official and actual 5th birthday of this blog. Five years ago this morning, I was still living full time in LA when I wrote the 'I don't know what the fuck I'm going to do with this blog thing'-style paragraph that formed my first post. The transformation from that squib to what the blog is today is entirely your doing. I just sort of followed your lead and did my best to give you daily and decent reasons to read the blog or to do more with it if you wanted. Thank you distinguished locals and silent regulars, thank you more than words can possibly inhabit. Up above is your last batch of birthday gifts, and ... use them wisely? Okay, when I next see you on Monday, I'll be in Brest working on 'This Is How You Will Disappear'. I'll be there working until Tuesday, the 25th. Barring the unforeseen, the blog should run fairly smoothly and normally while I'm there. My p.s.es will likely be less talkative since my time is duty bound to the theater piece, and the posts might appear a little earlier or later in the day than you're used to, but, otherwise, you shouldn't notice too much difference. Oh, and I only this morning discovered that yesterday's post continued in the birthday party tradition by having a bad link that was entirely my fault. It was the link in Matthew Williams' post/gift, and it is corrected now should you want to backpedal a day and see what you missed. My apologies to MW, and to the rest of you. All right, ... ** Misanthrope, I love your gift, man. It's an awesome thing. Thanks for it and for always being the blog's heart and foil. ** Oscar B, Yeah, there was a little two-page Rimbaud comic in a Little Caesar, in the 'Rimbaud' issue, I think. Hm, I don't think I have a scan of it on my current laptop, but I'll check. And I'll call you later with the plan and coordinates re: the Palais de Tokyo shebang tonight. ** Chris (British), Hey. Listen, having gone through five plus years of an immigration hell you can't even imagine vis a vis Yury's hard fought and often losing battles, I know the severe stress and money draining of which you speak. Yeah, it's probably best to go the lawyer route based on my experiences. ** Scunnard, My pleasure, man. ** Paul Curran, Greetings, maestro. ** David Ehrenstein, Hey. Antonio lives on Facebook now. He moved uptown. ** Bacteriaburger, Thanks a lot, pal. Is everything going smoothly with the book, illustrations, and so on now? ** STOPHEREYES, Hey. Your blog is a young beauty, sir. Please keep feeding it. Everyone, STOPHEREYES, who provided us all with a birthday gift yesterday under the moniker Nicholas Messing, has taken the marvelous skills/ talent he evidenced in the gift and done kind of big bang number by starting up his own blog, and it's swell, and you should know about it. Can this blog be your blog's godparent? ** Empty Frame, Ah, you're still living the dreamy life that our dreams can barely fathom, are you? So nice. Are you there until you go to Berlin? Deerhunter just played here? That escaped me. Atlas Sound are playing here in a couple of weeks in the same festival where Galas is performing, and I won't be missing that, meaning Atlas Sound. Galas I can take or leave. Heresy, I know. Keep enjoying everything, man. ** Alan, Thanks a lot for the Le Maistre stuff! I'm going to start poring over it on my train ride tomorrow. ** Waiting for John, You have, first, flummoxed me, and, second, brought out my latent conspiracy theorist, and neither are easy to do. Welcome! ** Bernard Welt, Your secret is safe with me. ** Frank Jaffe, I'm a firm believer in the last minute. You have roused me from my slumbers re: 'Bad Lieutenant'. I think I know a friend who has a torrent. Please do eat one of those pizzas for me, if you haven't eaten it already, and, in return, I will do your taste buds the favor of not eating a veggie dog sandwich for you, ha ha. ** JoeM, Actually, now that Bowie never does hardly anything anymore, he's gotten some of that enigma back for me. Just a little bit, mind you. Yes, I noticed the name change to Abigail, or I guessed so after perusing the bowels of WfJ. Hasn't seemed to slow her down one bit, and, naturally, I'm liking the serial killer hunter turn. ** _Black_Acrylic, Hey, man. Have the finest weekend. ** Tristam's Mum, It's like old times around here today. ** Ken Baumann, My suspicion is that I'm going to come off more like the French Christopher Lee, but who knows. You're a fellow Poquito Mas convert? I sit here in mighty Paris dreaming PM flavored dreams. You must mean the PM just off the 101? Or is there a fourth one now? Dude, you, me, Poquito Mas, and the words 'Enter the Void' flying back and forth across one of their little tables asap ... you with me? ** No more teenagekicks, Well, now everyone knows what I've known about you for a few days. I feel lighter than air. ** Dennis Cooper, I beg to differ. ** Casey McKinney, I'm going to borrow me an acoustic guitar from someone in this building and write your poem a lonesome tune and sing it from the rooftops and make a million bucks and send your kid to college. They were gifs, yeah. On the reading, yeah, my advice is to choose to entertain and screw the selection's age or page-bound literary superiority. ** Bill, I have kneejerk positive feelings about nuns. I know it makes no sense. It must be Sally Field damage or something. Where are you now again? ** Jose, Hey, Jose! I've missed you, pal. Sorry to hear things have been weird. Gosh, if that pill helps you sleep, who cares what its target audience is, you know? Thanks for the birthday card! It's fucking beautiful! Everyone, here's a late breaking birthday gift/card from our old pal, the d.l. and writer/ visual artist Jose, and it's a stunner, and you want to see it, trust me. Wow, really nice, man. My novel is being difficult with me at the moment, although less difficult today than it was yesterday. It'll get done, it's just a brain fuck getting it to work. Awesome about the blog days. Much appreciated, and, yeah, very good to see you back, J. ** JW Veldhoen, Glum about the imminent trip up north. Understood, man. It'll be okay. It will. I read and really loved James Agee's novel in the ... 70s maybe? Your mentioning him has made me want to go back and see if I would love it as much now. ** Statictick, My planned hangover cure is just to get you guys back on the same old horse and tell you to keep riding. Hebb will find it wonderful. I mean, dude, it's wonderful. ** Math, Thank you, buddy, for the gift, of course. My boat has been very floated. Thanks about my curatorial finesse, although this batch of posts is almost completely chronological with a few exceptions and tweaks when the juxtapositions didn't jump enough for me. ** Quailty, Hey, welcome, thank you, and I like your name, and I like the background of your blog, and I await its filling, and do come back, and, yes, Changeling does slay, I agree. ** Sypha, Hey, man. 'Pnin' is a curious one, quite interesting, odd. ** Jesse Hudson, Hey, J. Thank you very kindly. For the kind comment, and, more importantly, for your amazing, half-very kind, half-disturbing birthday gift. Well, like I was saying to David E., I think Antonio finds Facebook to be a very frolicksome place, and he definitely is a master over there, but I'm sure he'll pop in here one of these days. Talk to you in just a bit. ** Uli, The show sounds to have been nice enough. I like Parenthetical Girls okay. Health worries are real even if there's no real reason, and there's no shame in being scared to die, right? I think ... I need to check back to make sure, but I think I pulled a quote from that very 'mapadasical' post. My H-pop post is pretty basic, just lots of quotes/talk and clips. I hadn't seen that Emeralds clip before. Very nice. Thanks a lot! Maybe I'll slip it into the post. Thanks! I quite like their new Mego album. Have you heard it? ** Chris Goode, I collect rusty eye goo. Can you save some for me. It's very good for you-know-what. And it's also really helpful when you're forced into a position of having to do you-know-what. Sir, your 'Hey Mathew' clip is not just incredible, a treasure, and an honor for here, it's also evil. Deprivation = cruelty. My fault entirely, I suppose. Can you also video record 'WHERE I STAND' to make my day and rub salt in my wounds? Thank you. ** Steevee, Hey. How are things with you du jour? ** Nb, I think you're famous now, yes. And notorious, which, in this Lady Gaga overruled world, is more important still. The clip is beyond. It's great too. And it proved the perfect way to close out this fest and get the assembled hot and bothered for the 10th birthday party. ** Justin, Oh, it's mom not dad. My mom was like that too for years after she threw my dad out. Awful stuff. Guilt tripping is pure evil. It derives from fear, but it really is. Well, I hope the week with your dad ends up being a relief of sorts. And I hope his health doesn't cause him major troubles. Do check in next week when and if you can, okay? I'll be looking for you, and I'll be thinking about you. And lastly but definitely not least, I love the cakes. I'd eat every one of them in a single gulp, especially that ashtray one. That one's genius. Thank you, man! ** 志穎, What would this birthday party have been with you? ** David, I think your card is the epitome of a sleeper hit, the 'Blade Runner' of the birthday party. I loved it, and I say tongues may not have wagged but dreams were haunted. ** Inthemostpeculiarway, Hey. You've gotten me all curious about Bendy's weekend. Hopefully he's not just going to a football game or something. Sad about your friend's break up. Hm, interesting about the post-rain ice cream longing thing. Next time it rains -- probably today -- I'll pay close attention to my appetite. I remember 'Extremities', but I can't remember anything about it except that she was good and looked a lot older in it than she had before. Whoa, those abandoned building photos are amazing. I love, love, love that kind of thing, and those are fantastic images. Especially this one. Everyone, click that link. I think I'd kill someone to be able to explore that place. Thank you, man. You made my birthday party. Uh, my day: I avoided working on my novel, and I think it helped. I worked on this theater text for our new piece that I've had to rewrite about thirty times already, and it's still not what it needs to be, and it has to be finished by Monday morning when we're supposed to record my voice performing it in Brest. At the moment, the plan is that I'm doing the voice/voiceover for Jonathan Schatz's character. Anyway, ugh, grr. I did some trip preparation stuff, but I need to do more today, and I should have done it yesterday because today I have that four interview and then I'm going to this wild event at the Palais de Tokyo in the evening. Ugh, grr. Later in the day, I got in a weird mood to go eat Nachos at Hard Rock Cafe. Oscar and Kiddiepunk were game, so that's what we did. The place was full of Swedish tourists, I don't know why. Nothing but Swedish tourists and us. I had Nachos, a veggieburger, and an iced tea. Oscar and Kiddiepunk had meat burgers and, uh, drinks of some kind. The entertainment was, of course, non-stop old rock videos. The ones I can remember starred, mm, Korn, Madonna, Led Zeppelin, NiN, The Killers (the token 'new' video), Madness, Red Hot Chili Peppers, Phil Collins, ... others. The NiN video was 'Head Like a Hole', and man oh man has it dated and man oh man did they look stupid and embarrassing in it. We walked back to the Recollets, parted ways, and I ... can't remember until sleeping. My guess is that there'll enough stuff this weekend to make my report on Monday less something or other than usual. But first, yours please? ** Steven Trull, You're not going to like this, but put that razor back in its plastic face-shaving device because you have been officially spared. It's your marvelous, Trull-ish gift that saved you, so you have only yourself to thank or blame. ** Little foal, Good luck at the leisure center, have a great time with your friend, be well, and see you on Monday. ** Bollo, Well, if you eliminate the ground and about six feet of air above it, your part of the city sounds kind of nice. No, I hope your weekend is the best thing ever. I'll be satisfied to be the weekend's Clegg. ** 'Stoopid Slapped Puppies', A frown is just a smile turned upside ... No, wait, it's supposed to rhyme. I guess it's the smile that's a frown that's tuned upside down, which isn't nearly so nice or appropriate, so forget I even mentioned it. I'll have fun, but you have to promise to have at least as much fun, and, boy, do I have a fun weekend ahead of me, so start pulling out your party hat, man. ** Tender Prey, Oh, such an exquisite drawing, Marc! Just so beautiful! Thank you tenderly. ** Now, you guys go close out the birthday bash in your inimitable styles, and I'll go hop, skip, and jump through my life in my inimitable style, and we'll reconvene here on Monday, I'm guessing. Thanks, everybody!
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