countessian

lilium tigrinum, parenpathetically

In light of intriguing research discoveries involving neurotransmitters and why we check our email so often (most recently discussed in Tapey and at Cha Cha/Lounge Bar/Bar Lounge/Thataway (where some rude and creepy guy leaned in a rude and creepy way) and to be explored somewhat more “formally” in the usual forums soonish or thereabouts), we regretfully write to inform you that our test subject has fallen back to the tiger lily (most recently dropped under the tongue in a plush hotel suite in Marina del Rey, Californ-eye-ej, way back in the summer of hazel eyes). Prescribed by an overly bejewelled shop proprietess on Abbot Kinney who picked the purchase with a wave of her crystals (I was there for work, I swear), the potion, i mean, essence (look, Equal Rachel, that bar wizard’s got me thinking all magical like!) was supposed to… do something, feminine powers or whatever, goddesses, blah blah, but all it ever seemed to inspire was Much Worse Dreams Than Usual and some of you know that’s really saying something. Right? If you’re reading this nonsense, please raise your hand. Seriously, digitally. I mean it. I’m back on the tiger lily horror dreams for fun, c’mon, I want a break. A little crumb, anything.

Anyway, you just ask me in the morning, kiddo. Wake me up and ask me anything.

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This entry was posted on Monday, July 30th, 2007 at 4:49 pm. It is filed under documentary. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.