basically my brain is the sort of fare they serve at the nursing home for old zombies; the undead's equivilent of soft, smashed bannanas or strained peas. eventually i just splash the word "anointed" all over the page. what's it fucking matter? i'm going to come back later & take the skeleton apart; this wasn't a brontosaurus at all! now lets put this skull over here where it belongs. of course, where it belongs starts getting tricky, cabals of dragonkissed all angry as anything at my stellar debut 65 million years ago.
jenny & i are going to move in together.
dear east europe. what the fuck is wrong with you. seriously. i mean, you've got the whole works of fucked up guys. you are the buffet of flesh, & i do not mean that in a pr0n way. kidding aside; what is up with dracula? frankenstein? the fucking tzimisce were not invented in a vaccuum, comrades. i mean, don't think i'm hatin'. fuck no, you sallow fuckers gave me half my genes! i wouldn't go bragging about that quite yet though; i'm the kind of asshole who ends up on the list right between the count & franky. i just gotta say re: this plastic surgeon cat? his name is doctor fucking volshteyn. i'll point out this was his plan: step one. cut open my face, cut open inside the orbit of my eye (under the lids), cut open inside the soft places of my mouth. step two. cut all the flesh, muscle, & connective tissue away from the bone & leave it disconnected for a few hours. step three. rivet the bones backtogether with titanium. thanks, you ghoulish cocksucker!
Q: don't you have anything better to do than update your livejournal all day?
A: no, fuckface, i don't. i'm fucking rapunzel, dig? get square with it.
jenny's mentioned the protrubance of her pubic bone to me. not that i need extra excuses to think about her that way, but for some reason it was on my mind just now & i remembered something. i remember being pretty young & seeing, i dunno, like the sports illustrated swimsuit issue or something. & all the girls had little bumps between their legs. just, you know, mounding. now its pretty clear that they wern't hiding anything unusual in their bikinis, but at the time i was utterly baffled, & probably a little bit sickened. i couldn't understand it, because my understanding of sexual anatomy was limited to "boys stick out, girls go in." the end.
five to six (5-6) weeks of physical therapy (ultrasound?) three (3) times a week. fucking whatever. i've decided i like dr. volshteyn & that he's a sort of confidence inspiring madman. i told him "thanks for putting my head back together bionicly." the new doctor is a slump-faced monster who speaks no kind of language i understand. fucking hell. but at least i'm going to have a good reason to go for walks. to the M (or W, but fuck the W) train!