Come with it.
October 14th, 2009
I made this piece of a song last night:
We Came to Pley
This is about:
Humpday jamz c/o “ra ra.”
October 14th, 2009
Riotious.
“Suddenly my feet are feet of mud.
It all goes slo-mo.
I don’t know why I’m crying.
Am I suspended in Gaffa?
Not until I’m ready for you,
Not until I’m ready for you
Can I have it all.”
But.
Kate Bush did it first.
This is about:
Regretsy.com
October 13th, 2009
You know what goats like? Yeah you do. Click here for more designs that’ll make the whole barnyard jealous:
This is about:
Gimme a break.
October 13th, 2009
I think I like the fact that my best friend is out of town, no, not the fact that I don’t get to see her because we’re besties, yes besties, but the fact that I get to use her house as a solace away from my own, a place with a cat that’s a stranger to me, but each time, a little sweeter, a little bit more of a cuddler. I like it, because it feels like vacation. A break from reality. It’s just a futon, some VHS, maybe some Gossip Girl from Netflix, rainy days with open windows and a free washer and nearly free dryer, and I feel like there’s part of me that’s being rejuvenated by it. In some way, just having a space to be alone, to just think, to be away from even just the reality of dishes in my sink and a cat that meows right in my face. It’s just a break, a stay-cation if you will. But, boy. I needed it.
However, I bet I miss her as much as her cat does.
This is about:
Another kate who writes.
October 8th, 2009
“I am mostly just very, very hungry. We’re both hungry, of course. I can smell it on you. There is an ache in your belly that is so like my very own wanting but also critically different. Yours is sweet, it spreads warmly down between your hipbones. It makes you squirm in your chair. Your gaze speaks of nice things, nice damp deep sticky dreams. You have been so deliciously provoked by this sad moon-marionette, you say? Actually you don’t say, you haven’t said. You don’t need to.”
An excerpt from Lady Eats Austin, a food blog by Kate Bower.
