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seth green, ian holm, band names, writing, algieria, atmosphere one on one, armenia, archive, foto, danny, beverly d'angelo, plans, gift set, artists, community, iraqi, fairuza balk, judy davis, larry charles, fullmetal jacket, jordanian, jayne houdyshell,
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Especially your average Joes on the street, your working stiffs with dark complexions. Delivery boys lust offer me rides on their bicycles. "God bless America!" bums say as I amble by. "Lemme in there, momma, and lock the lust door!" When I strut down the street in my jazzy outfits, men fall like drunken squirrels, clutching their lust nuts. None of this offends me the way it's supposed to. Au contraire, it makes my day. Someday it will all collapse, of course, face and body at once like a black hole imploding, but not as long as the money holds out, which it should do forever since I've made so much of it, far far more than anybody expected. Clemmy helped me make it, before we split up. We wrote scripts together, and eventually did quite well at it, too, but our love affair ended and our partnership after that and since then we've both been between pictures: in this netherworld, this dead zone, this timeless gray place where everyone looks the same and every thought, every act, every so-called feeling runs together and turns to mud like a watercolor somebody's worked on too long.
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