a word for love that is best and only truly understood by you

The nominal you, I love. I can fairly guarantee that it is the solar waves of a summer heat that gets me glowing enough to spout off of the top out from the top o' my hairy dome with affectionate rays, these sapphire bullets of pure love, to paraphrase the Mahavishni... and They Might Be Giants... and a band that's actually called sapphire bullets of pure love: as stated previously, at a base level you are all-right in my book. Beyond that, right now and here; you're a delight and I'm grateful.

I've been dreaming; in actuality, trying to have had a dream of a; jellyfish: this is the closest thing to what I think of a jellyfish when I think of you.

You know; when I get down, I try to remember that Celine likes to make people laugh: I'd bet her butler loves her.

I cruise an inadmissable amount of vintage hairstyle photo archives, but, when one contains an album entitled The Italian Boy Look, I listen.

Patricia Piccinini first came to my notice based on some sculptures she did of these hybrid hairless homonid types (I see images of them turn up in those impulse banner ads from time to time: "Is this a nuclear mutant hybrid result of genetic testing? Click here to find out the answer and apply for an online college at the same time.). Her short film The Gathering, kind of brought me to a halt for a second.

I like Martin Parrs's stuff; his Bored Couples series reminds me of this Jon Brion lyricv: Setting traps out in advance/So we could spend the weekend staring in a trance.

The Boton Public Library's photostream is amazing.

Louisiana, as well...

and lastly a dash of Ottoman Calligraphy; I'm hung-over and need breakfast.



I'm doing most of my posting at frightenedfields now. Hope to see you there