angiex
brad pitt says you should never pick a fight in a basement
in that tennessee accent
and the disturbing moustache
i want that cookie in the basement
moist and damp
not crispy
as it should be
crispy like diane kruger's golden blond hair
fixed in place with hairspray
in that movie
that wonderful movie
inglourious basterds.
when i see his face
i'm a believer
although i have short term memory loss
for the instant
the planes of his face shine
my hero
gives me faith
willowy bodies bend with grace
skin gliding over joints muscles bone
lean mean sleek
self reliant
excess is excess
—"my back hurts me"
—"i don't particularly care"
—"i like your flannel shirt"
—"thanks"
—"can i wear it"
—"no"
let it touch your nose your eyelids your lips soak into your ears the backs of your hands and concentrate, focus every fibre
the old boy pontificated as he walked—more like puffed—round and round the weary yellow dog that was tied to the tree.
a building can be beautiful, high and lofty as though it held the sky, or low and discreet, able to hold warmth and happiness.
there was an old piece of dduk. it had seen its glory days of soft puffy sweetness, melt-in-your-mouth goodness, but now it was confined to the unflinching cold of the freezer.
i have unlimited patience today. if you feel like picking a fight with me, you bulls of the world, i feel as though you could try to run through me but i will merely stretch infinitely around you—a cobweb.
a coaster is silly. set your cups DOWN ping down plunge down slam down on your priceless mahogany tables because scars are good, scars are life.