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princessdestiny
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Name: Princess
Birthday: 1/1/1900
Gender: Female
Interests: fine jewels, fine wine, mutton, brocade, PBR, good lighting, and all manner of shiny things
Expertise: cajoling, canoodling, and crushing populist uprisings
Occupation: Supervisory
Industry: Government
Message: message meEmail: email me
Member Since:
11/24/2004
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| ever tried reading extremely dense marxist political and economic theory and then just when you kind of get the jargon down, some brainiac, red-goateed midwestern professor tells you to think about it in the context of slavery but not really because pretentious jargon kills your ability to comprehend the gross human bodily suffering occasioned by the almighty dollar and its ghosty pal speculative finance?
just a question. | | |
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summer camp -- when the army won't have you, they will.
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| it's becoming increasingly obvious to me that i must have been playing
quite the joke on myself when i decided way back in september to do a
mini field essay on torture, pain, embodiment, and political
subjectivity, focusing loosely on abu ghraib. bc...1) reading is
torture and it puts a body in pain...2) holy shit reading is
hard....and 3) abu bum lives on down my street at the corner of saint
marks ave and fifth ave.
oh abu bum! in my mind's eye i see your crazed and grizzled visage
turning in blank, unnerving suspicion as i walk the dog past your cart
full of crap...but i wax poetic. abu bum has a towel, some old
cassette tapes, a stack of torrid romance novels, and some tarp.
he also has a black hooded robe and looks like he should be covered in
electrodes and standing arms spread on a box, hence his name: abu
bum...hey, but just cause i have a dog and a man with a black hood in
my life doesnt mean i'm lyndie england. i dont have a
camera. you cant see what i do.
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new highs on a brooklyn saturday nite: singing tom jones via oxygen on demand kareoke with agua, princess, hawg and dawg.
carry on, good people. carry on...
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| i get the call today that my family's going to spain for the
holidays! now we might seem all cosmopolitan and such, but please
be advised my parents haven't been on a family vacation since our 1987
trek to the lovely and exotic Dollywood...mmmm....breasts. tasty,
succulent breasts! about fifteen years ago my father bought an
oil painting of a spanish lady dancer with a heaving bosom and tried to
pass it off as "art" that should be prominently displayed. my
mother promptly hung it in my dad's computer room (read: storage closet
accessorized with a tempermental computer he built himself out of pluck
and tin cans). You can catch him there every night obsessively
monitoring his vanguard mutual fund performance and swooning beneath
our spanish lady's languid black eyes. i have a feeling she's the
extra push that occasioned his holiday extravagance. i wouldnt be
shocked if he met me at the gate in barcelona with his arm around her
golden baroque framed shoulders. actually, i would. he's a
stingy little man and he'd never pay to ship a painted lady on a
transnational holiday. i mean besides my mom. yeah. | | |
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