i've turned another year over.
most memorable gifts:

the cure. disintegration
hipster haiku. siobhan adcock
a new bicycle. purple
simone de Beauvoir. les belles images
treasure map. ditch money

a few haiku's are necessary at this point:
i only kissed you
because i saw the playlists
on your damn iPod
extra-small sweater
reveals a complete lack of
muscle tone, or fat
when i said i've 'shown'
at that gallery, i meant
'shown up for work there'
fuck your SUV
my vespa gets good mileage
you're a dinosaur!
write on my tombstone:
'never bought a greatest hits
compilation disc'
chan marshall, you fox
where do you get your lip gloss?
you're always glinty
gone, gone are the days
when we spoke derisively
of nine-to-five jobs
my fantasy bar:
the jukebox is all b-sides
all emo, all night
wait, it's four a.m.
is that too late for me to
get into your pants?
sometimes i worry
i'll be the only grandma
with no bicep tat
the end.
the rain poured against our windows today.
he's eating his hockey stick chocolate while playing, i sit in his leopard blue pants and grey vest while we comment on the Talking Heads playing behind us.
Lucky Bar, you're so cool and friendly. why can't i enjoy you for more than twenty minutes?
the lastest issue of Sports Illustrated is out.
competition ensues everytime we go to buy our vegetables.
look another way.
write. write more. smoke, no. don't.
the ymca lives closeby.
maarten registered us, and now we're headed to Bommel to find his roots.
that and visit Roskilde. i can't even pronounce it.
at least it's not Norsk.


the Zeps are back in the top five for sure.