tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-148259872011-04-21T14:32:52.928-07:00care or not at your own leisureThe Primordial Stewardesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03007514654711213887noreply@blogger.comBlogger21100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14825987.post-55287110144645829462007-07-02T22:25:00.000-07:002007-07-02T23:11:07.522-07:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SBjMhtTnf9g/Ronodk3XHGI/AAAAAAAAAAM/6XTXd7mzyfc/s1600-h/lobster.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_SBjMhtTnf9g/Ronodk3XHGI/AAAAAAAAAAM/6XTXd7mzyfc/s400/lobster.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5082849249274043490" border="0" /></a><br />So, I've been gone for a couple of days. You might have not noticed. But maybe you did.<br /><br />You know, I've been real busy. Well, that and also the fact that I suddenly lost interest in pixelating my feelings regarding the myriad of things I've nearly lost my shit over the past year. I thought, just maybe, you might, also, have lost interest in enduring them vicariously. I got bored of myself. Ambivalent, even.<br /><br />Rest assured, I've been up to my regular tricks. Probing myself with a doppler. Flirting recklessly with decapitation. Bathing in the sweat of hot shame. Inventing new swear words as I stumble over another pile of shit my mom has "gifted" me. Toasting my own teleological glory. Waiting for the new Interpol to come out. Looking at weather porn. Getting all judgey, as I am wont to do. The usual.<br /><br />I got a husband, you know. Echolocation. Can't recommend it enough. Still have a child, too, who thinks six year old thoughts, the quality of which are vastly more interesting than my twenty-six year old thoughts.<br /><br />So, I know this girl, right? Just some girl, you don't know her. Anyway, she was caviling with issues of intimacy and legitimacy when it occurred to her that maybe neither even exist outside the confines of one's own mind. I told her that she was crazy, that, of course, those things exist in <span style="font-style: italic;">real</span> real life and that she was just <span style="font-style: italic;">thinking </span>too much and she whined about being cold at night and whatever -- I mean, what do you think? I mean, rhetorically speaking -- don't really tell me.<br /><br />And here's the end of this lobster tale.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14825987-5528711014464582946?l=primordialstewardess.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>The Primordial Stewardesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03007514654711213887noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14825987.post-1122372272317838252005-07-26T05:32:00.000-07:002005-07-26T03:48:32.066-07:00I'm simulating a weblog entry. I no longer have specific historical context. I'm images on a screen. A model to follow.<br /><br /><br />This is just a placeholder.<br /><br />10-4, buddies.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/14825987-112237227231783825?l=primordialstewardess.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>The Primordial Stewardesshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03007514654711213887noreply@blogger.com