basically all i do now i try to get laid.
so by now you've amassed a huge collection of paintings. you've seen frank bacon turn pope innocent into a monster. so you should be ready for my slight of hand. i'll show you fear in a handful of dust, i guess. you know, a couple of years ago, all these words had power. but i suppose that is what i get for going public on everyone. like i keep saying, revealed knowledge has no power. on a weird/not weird side note? i was betting on enoch root being a time traveller from post-diamond age turf? but the egon von liebnitz thing as the sole detractor is now added to the solomon cohen thing. or however stephenson is translating his last name. suffice to say: i like my book. & i like my girlfriend, even though there is no sex in the chapagne room for me. speaking of uh...shit, what was i speaking of? i know i had something. its gone now, sure, but...oh! another defeat: andrew. andrew was coming over, until he talked to carla. carla, of course, is intrested in andrew not developing a stag relationship with us. the big problem with that? carla lives on the upper east side, 90th st. andrew, on the other hand? since they've split residence? lives in brookly. like, down the street from us. it really is that simple. (notice how i talk about other people when i'm at a loss to talk about me? i mean, i'm not even people!)