older
guestbook
profile
|
tu a du boeuf avec moi?
On 2002-02-08 at 5:09 p.m.... I shivered, and the evening was not as cold as previous nights but snow still clustered on the sidewalks and the people we passed still had the winter hurrying in their steps, and a high and brittle set to their shoulders which were gaunt and bare beneath darkened, glittering wool. Oh Ernest Hemingway, you bullfighting Nazi nutter. I wish I could write in 'the nouns were adjective' for AN ENTIRE FREAKING BOOK, and still make the people who read my stuff want to conquer the world. But then, right. I am not a bullfighting Nazi nutter. However, you are Ernest Hemingway. Damn. Quote of the day: 'Great idea, Magellan.' Kara to Molly, upon the latter's idea to practically free-climb a shale cliff. I still can't feel my hands. So I'm really homesick at the moment, and am thus veering wildly between deep, bilious hatred for countries where the money is all the same colour, and melancholy re. the absence of my friends and cats. But really, it's hard to feel bitter when you're in an enclave of privilege like this. Dear brain: Absolutely not. No. Not after last time. signed, Eon.
|