You. Fucking. Dickwhacker.

4.3.06
3:27 PM
I just opened a letter from the Museum of Modern Art with membership info and stuff like that. Like most places in the vein of MoMA they have different levels of membership for different amounts of money. Part of me wants to cut a check for $2,500 just because that same part of me feels like not only should I be a member, but I should also get special privileges and such. I could do it, but I can imagine a serious bout of (irreversible) buyer’s remorse kicking me in my throat some time soon after the check was cashed.
The film is done. I have to record a soul-tearing scream or two but the shooting is over. I feel mixed emotions, mostly good, but whatever. I have never truly trusted my emotions. When your emotional climate can be altered by candy, you shouldn’t trust it.
I don’t know if it’s the weather, the pancakes, the end of the film or the Nine Inch Nails tickets, but I am feeling spiritually tall at the moment. I feel a picnic coming on. Like a pre-game for BEECHOUSZATRONICON XMAX. Oh, also it could be the fact that I have my trip booked to Florida for the opening day of Silent Hill with Phil. I feel light and fluffy like clouds. Tall, sexy clouds.
Will is a gay robot. And I think he knows what the problem is…
This light feeling could be from something much bigger. Something that my mind is only allows hints of. Like the shadows of giants. Something cosmic and good. Something that makes me feel eight years old.
I shall arrange a picnic soon. None will be spared, gaze upon the terror of my picnic plans and tremble. My only regret is that Kaitlyn will not be at this picnic. She HATES to see me happy. Actually, she hates to see me period, but seeing me happy? That’s like HOT glass in her eyes.
I’M OFF!