I'll have no time to write this evening; Q is spending the night.
I've purchased edible panties, scented candles and fresh strawberries from a local farm. Let's see where the night takes us.
As I write this, while riding along the 280, I see a man in a blue Accord driving one-handedly beside the bus. His phone - which he'd been texting on a moment ago - is unlocked on his lap and all his concentration is directed at visually inspecting an electronic marijuana-vaporizing device to determine its dysfunction. I can tell because of the way he keeps shaking it frustratedly with his head cocked. I pray Darwin doesn't take him now and send him veering into the bus. His brazen irresponsibility and dedication to distraction is remarkable. He may have a bright future with the Republican party.
There have been some truly beautiful sunsets the past few days. Right now the clouds look like radioactive strands of cotton-candy. Smoky blues and deep purples glow numinously beside blushing nimbuses. A compulsive glance at Instagram reveals these sunsets aren't localized to the west coast.
Funny, I always thought the sun set in the west.
An old friend, a ghost from a former life, has alerted me she'll be in town this weekend. It will be nice to see her. She's had a strong influence on who I've come to be. True, enduring friendships are far and few. For most of my life making friends hasn't been something I've excelled at. I enjoy solitude more than most and I am vehemently opposed to smalltalk. My stone tongue sits still in my mouth even when I try to make it move. My love for sports is non-existent and I often share little in the way of common-interests with those I meet. I too readily embrace femininity and flout at imposed gender expectations and their sanctions. For these reasons I'm typically viewed as soft or lacking puissance.
I've always felt it is a greater measure of power to have it and not exercise it than to desire desperately to prove it.
Show me an inflated blow-up doll that hasn't been fucked.
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