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grendel
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a saturday night with no events of any interest to attend, smoked the really fat blunt i had rolled the night before, decided for my own amusement to read aloud from my copy of "Fear_and_Loathing_in_Las_Vegas" with Tricky's "Maxinquaye" CD rumbling slowly and ominously in the background.
the sound of my reading agitates Tonya, who jumps out from behind the dusty venetian blinds to pace back and forth in my lap meowing loudly in my face each time she makes eye contact - she does this whenever i am talking, whether i am talking to myself or on the phone
she does not wish to be pet, merely to lodge a complaint
i laugh and resume my feeling of being lost in the overwhelming sense that i am collapsing in on myself like some kind of goddamn souffle'
moments of stifled cackling alternate with short lapses of dumbfoudned drooling interspersed with annoyed disppointment at the predictability of "The Village" which i switch to after the CD comes to an end.
if the audience is expecting a twist it ceases to be a twist and just becomes a cheap exercise in A) manipulation and B) trying to see how long the audience will put up with it...it would be more suprising if Shyamalan's next film proceeded in some straightahead fashion with no gimmicks. My muttering jibes at the film provoke the cat yet again, back feet on my lap, front feet on my cheststaring me straigt in the face and keening in her best feline interpretation of "would you stop talking already, goddamnit?!
her tail is fluffed up and standing straight with just the tip leaning forward as if the little monkey thought she could convince me that she was a scorpion.
on the other side of the room, Shadow burrows under the sheets to investigate the catnip mouse with the chirping microchip and emerges face first from the other side, looking like some strange approximation of a bedouin
right about then i would have sold someone else's kidneys in exchange for a good box of chocolate chip cookies
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050421
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