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.