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Wounded Child Prostitute
I like some people so much, their whole way, and being, that I can't say a word for fear of wrecking it. So if you see me standing across the room, not looking, I'm probably in love with you. Damaged, benzo surfer...
Currently reading
Why We Love Sociopaths: A Guide To Late Capitalist Television
Guns, Germs, and Steel: The Fates of Human Societies
The Enormous Room
Uses for Boys
Elizabeth Bathory: A Memoire: As Told by Her Court Master, Benedict Deseo
The Price of Inequality: How Today's Divided Society Endangers Our Future
Recollections of the Golden Triangle
Like walking inside myself. Where I live, or even like a dream I often have where I am lost in the city, I can't find the right bus route, and the very air around me is golden. One comparison that comes to mind is being Diddy in Sontag's 'Death Kit'. But never mind, you either go or you don't. What you think or say about the recollections afterward is pigeon dandruff. We're talking about golden here.
