siiiilent night, ho'-o-ly night

sorry for the paucity of posts (no, i'm not) but i've been busy being naughty nice. thank you, Santa! and thank you, Trollcats. *snigger*



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bring it

The Four Horsemen of The Apocalypse are Pestilence, War, Famine and Death. :-)


'...The first horseman to appear is Pestilence, who rides upon a white horse. In the wake of Pestilence comes War, riding a large, wild red horse and wielding a tremendous sword. In the wake of War, due to immense destruction because of War and Pestilence, is Famine. Famine is portly, and rides upon a black, sickly horse; this represents gluttony and hunger, respectively. And in the wake of Famine comes Death. His horse is stark pale. He is followed by Hades and carries the remaining souls to their final destinations...'

shit, sounds good to me and looks even betterer:




helpful hint: click images above to embiggen and groove *smirk* on the details, especially the Dürer on top. anyway, i'm so waiting for em here. and waiting and waiting and waiting and waiting and whilst i wait, The Clash's Four Horsemen and Metallica's Four Horsemen are blasting to get us more in the mood.






in other news, i was in the kitchen last night and remembered another two-a my collections: skulls and badges (or 'buttons' or 'pins' as we call em in the States, depending). the skulls have subsets: apart from actual (well, not literally but still) sculptured, ceramic or like jade-y skulls, i've got em on badges, stickers, boxes and clothing alla which confuse my Anality Gland way too muchly cause just like the animals, i dunno how to classify em; i can't decide whether or not to count em more'n once, like, do i count the ones that're on things like boxes, stickers and shit twice or what? like that.

hmmm... where was i? right... badges or buttons or pins or what-the-fuck EVar: one of my faves is a winged pewter horse, kinda like Pegasus and kinda like The Forgotten Fifth Horsemen whose name i won't say. helpful hint: he's a Winged Horse, FFS. some old dude, a stranger, gave me him unexpectedly... fuckin knocked my socks off, it did.

it was weird: i was standing on the corner of St Marks Place and First, totally dressed up (red gabardine micro-mini that i'll prolly never wear Out again though i brought it cause it still fits perfectly, black lacey stockings, red-and-black leather spike heeled T-straps i scored from some chick just back from Italy and a short tight red T-shirt that said 'Death' on it in Gothic across where your chest's supposed to be)... it was really nice out that evening, about 70F (20C): my totally perfect Comfort Z0ne temp... it was about 8,45PM and the sun was just going do- whooops! soz, i got a liddle bit too carried away and for a minute or so, it felt like i was actually on that corner again.

anyhoo, i'm standing there waiting for the man Gordy (who was off scoring both D and C) and our plan was to rush back to my place on Sixth, get off and then grab a taxi to Danceteria. OK, here's the headline: out of nowhere, this old dude went by, looked me over and said, 'I think you should have this'.


just sayin' as i wile away the time, waiting for the goddamned horsemen to show.

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price of depravity

nope, for like the first time ever, the pic speaks for itself; there's totally nothing for me to add apart from the fact that my outer envelope's proof positive of the price of depravity — in living color. *cue spookey music*

from The Department of A Word To The Wise, here's a helpful hint: do NOT look at me too closely in meatspace. i say that as a kindly warning cause i wouldn't want yiz to be shocked shitless into january and (god forbid!) totally miss the hols. believe me, yo', i've met people who couldn't mask their inner feelings and to my incredibly vasty dismay (plunging me further into depression than ever before), i've witnessed em age five, ten (more? fuck!) years as they gazed upon me for the very first time and i surely wouldn't want that shit happening to youse.

right, when last on the queue to pay in sainsbury's, i looked over the dead-tree newspapers, saw the cover and loved the headline, so naturally i stoled it. about sainsbury's? may they rot in hell and take their bloated prices with em dig this shit: a kilo of grapes is actually down a quid — from 4,99£ last week — to 3,99£ which's almost 8$ in real American money. when i asked how much grapes were in NYC last week, my mother told me sump'n like 'Oh, the usual: anywhere from 79 cents to 1,29$ a pound...'

bloody hell! that's like 40p to 65p a pound as opposed to their ridiculous cost here. but i really have no choice: grapes are one of the very few things that taste the same here as they do in the States and since i can't won't don't cook, i'm down to eating stuff that tastes exactly like it's supposed to.

fun-fact: i don't have proper meals at home — i graze. my dinner starts with two, three or four (depending on how hungry i am) blueberry muffins, then a huge platter of sliced cheeses (currently Emmental, Jarlsberg, Cheddar and Red Leicester) and then my dessert: as much of a kilo of grapes as i can stuff in. according to my GP, i'm healthy i.e., good blood count (no vitamin or mineral deficiency), very low cholesterol and very low blood pressure for one my age so AFAIC, there's no reason to eat whatever-the-hell else cause it all tastes like shit anyway unless someone's buying or better yet, here cooking my dinner.

moving right along, i took these next two of Stoneleigh House at 10,00 yesterday morning.



sad, sad, SAD: in Winter, there're only eight hours of daylight and just like Germany, i can't get used to waking up in darkness and leaving for work or school or even going food-shopping when it's like night-time outside. it took all i had to move my ass outta here yesterday morning and i only diddit cause i'd stayed up all the night before, writing and wishing i were Zoe Bell and shit and i still wasn't tired yet.


anyhoo, as per usual, Cun- rather, Hunt- soz, Liddy Hunt has the last word. the backstory: the other night i was taking those photos of the back of his cute liddle head when we were watching films and as i stroked him whilst telling him how much i loved him as well as how many times he's saved me from offing myself, just by being here, i guess i said 'i love you, little dude' one too many times, cause he suddenly turned and without any warning, went:


as y'all can see, after he seddit, he actually stuck out his tongue at me. anyway, don't believe a word he says cause he's so fulla shit. Hunter you motherless fuck, you liiiiiiiiiiie. ;-)

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Liddy Hunt

get ready to vomit cause sometimes i just can't help it; without warning, i suddenly find myself at the starting gate of Old LadyLand and totally but quietly go wild over The Cuteness of Hunter when he's not being all Cunter. here's the really *puke* bit: for the last few nights, i've been calling him 'Liddy Hunt' or just plain 'Hunt' and he seems to dig it betterer than his given name. that is, he comes to me more times than not when i call him Hunt than when i add the 'ter'.

check photos above and below and notice him resting his liddy spodded lit-tle spot-ted elbow on my right leg, directly under my knee, his favorite place when we watch films together that is, when he doesn't lean the other way on my left leg. his ears are perked up cause he just heard my phone go *click!* and it's a wonder he actually stayed in place there but i figure it was late and he was too tired to move.

the back of his head totally kills me in such a way i wanna scream and squeeze the life outta him whilst hugging him to death cause he's so damn cute:



here he is between botha my legs atop The Blanket That's Older Than I Am, about to give me That Look: the same one i give to others with cameras — one that Hunter's Hunt's clearly illustrating above; just like me, it's way beyond the point of 'Fuck it' — gearing up to a look that could only mean 'Get that damned thing outta my face NOW. or I split'.

*sigh* unfortunately (for thee, not for me) it's over and out with Teh Cuteness. just a kindly warning: get ready for more of the usual anhedonia, my normal gloom and doom but only if i feel like dragging my ass up here.

*cough* my name is Glum Soddess Slum Goddess and i totally approve of this message. Punkt, Ende. *evil LOL* }-)

edit @12,12: damn, i just remembered yet another collection i've been keeping for ages: magnets. *hugeass sigh* don't ask cause i'll tell yiz one-a these days anyway. *yet another hugeass sigh* thing of it is, once i begin with the magnets, i'll hafta say from whence each came (easy-peasey) but the circumstances as well, mostly cause every one-a my magnets tells a story just like the vasty number of my boxes, but different.

anyhoo, this was my magnets' fascinating wake-up call to me: a few minutes back, i poured my third and last cuppa coffee of the day, added the usual 2,5 spoons of sugar and went to the fridge for milk. i paused in fronta it cause i couldn't help but notice the way cool stuff stuck on said fridge's door which reminded me to look left, over to my magnet board and then, further left, to the huge metal heating apparatus next to it on the kitchen wall where like 30, 35 of these things live (apart from those on the front as well as the toppa the fridge itself).

how the hell i could ever forget about this particular personal accumulation is way beyond me but then again, i'm not as young as i used to be and my memory's teh suck.

moving right along, stay tuned cause i'm sure i'll remember even more mundane stuff i collect that somehow evaded my Exactitude Gland me when i began tawkin about my boxes last week and ended up naming some-a my totally anal collections, like in here and here, all starting when i made the biiiiig mistake of writing this.

*cough* anality gland? i haz it — bigtime — end of story for now. *smirk*

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forgot + corrections &c

first things first as the OCD roolz (see no.8 of my FAQS) as well as this kitteh says: 'as they should be' — and so, big thanks to Trollcats whose totally me Troll-kitty above is, yes again: *preens* totally me as well as being the perfect image to begin this post above my pre-written blether. y'all can find it here along with my comments (and others' but they don't count cause AFAIC, it's all about ME). OK, let's go and get this fuckin writty over, done with, posted and published so in future, scanning my so-called Archives, it won't seem as if i'm as depressed (euphemism) as i really was. soz, am:

a), a few hours ago, i edited in some left-over stuff i failed to include in Daddy's box II. it's now up again the way it was meant to be at first and apart from changing some words around when speaking of the huge silver* jewelry box i got myself in Maastricht...

*two in one —> an ADD alert + a fun-fact: when yiz get busted in NYC, every object on your person that's made of silver or pewter — or even pink or white gold *gasp!* — is listed as made of 'white metal' on your the police report. take it from whom it comes and believe me, cause thanks to personal experience, i know.

hmmm... heh. once upon a time, i actually used that to my advantage after being chased all through the Lexington Avenue and East 59th Street subway station by a dude who turned out to be a particularly friendly and sympathetic young plainclothes cop but that's a story for another time cause i'm pretty sure he's still alive... i was 32 and he was 26. yum. i mean, *sigh* OK, now where was i? right:

b) i began a 'graph that started off 'on to sump'n totally different' and ended by stating 'so in reply, i'll be updating my FAQs as soon as i can'.

i'm just about to update my FAQs (even though i fucked with em a few hours ago) cause since then, i received yet another mail about this very thing i think's crucial regarding not confusing others more. just sayin'. nb: 'just about' could mean anytime from 'in like 5 minutes' to tomorrow or the day after, depending upon what happens at Chez Hunter. or not.

c) moving right along, this next's straight from The Department of Corrections (an actual place in NYC where they throw anyone who doesn't adhere to their stupid laws). anyhoo, i ended my post below: Space Cowboy's Yew Tree with five links that, at the time, led to five hysterical vids of the band, Undrugged In The Studio. unbeknownst to me until recently and much to my dismay, Stan — Space Cowboy — has now made these vids private thus fucking up the links to my post. but he promised em to me on DVD *preens* cause i'm very persuasive. ;-)

c)1. remember that vid i challenged y'all to find, saying it was 'hidden in plain sight' at the end of this? at the time, it was called 'The Autograph Cunter' but now it's back in all its glory listed under its rightful title: Alabama 3: The Headbutt. watch Larry leave the stage to headbutt some lucky dude in the frontlines — for no apparent reason — what's even funnier:

i'd been told that the PTB wanted the vid off YouTube. why? *whispers* get ready to laugh your fuckin ass off — Stan was informed that that particular vid would spread the outright lie that the Alabama 3 were — wait for it — 'a troublesome band' — AFAIC, that's bloody outrageous cause we ALL know what good, cleancut, clean-living boys they are, never getting into any mischief and always obeying whatever laws as well as adhering to whichever rules at what-the-hell-ever festie and/or gig.

off the top of my head, there's totally no reason to get into The Trouble at Loch Ness when they played Rockness, the crashed-down hotelroom door or any of the other shenanigans pulled up there (including the finale: The Arrest) cause the person who drew the attention of the authorities isn't really in the band, so that shit don't count. *snigger*

d) i added a gorgeous photo, one i totally forgot originally when i posted Space Cowboy's Yew Tree; it's called Phoenix Rising and it's well worth checking out especially in the context of my post or secondly, at prior link — up to youse.

ending on another note, i totally identify with this here Trollcat:


HELL YEAH! shit, i've been there so many times i can't count em all, not that it matters. but yeah, amongst other things, there've been times when i've been totally fascinated by my feet especially after some wealthy artist who lived on West 57th Street — wish i could remember his name — took almost a year of sunday mornings in which he painted over 100 paintings of em both.

i met him through Robert (my then-BF), the dude who popped my cherry the very next year cause the artist had chosen him to be THE Face of 1966 to demonstrate how deep the British invasion impacted upon all the kewl kids' fashion, culture, hairstyles &c. Robert was a six-foot twin double of teenytiny Brian Jones and i could never understand what he saw in me apart from my fascinating conversation, naturalborn brilliance and high-fashion model-like beauty, from the beginning:





to the end (including the flamboyance apart from the fact Robert, like Brian, was totally straight) but by that time ('the end' = late '68), i was already 'Gone, like a coo-ooolll bree-eeeze'. nb: that was a line from when the Stones were still rebels as well as Number Fuckin-1 heroes in my book — the best white Rhythm & Blues band EVar, damn their sold-out hearts (apart from Keith, for whom i'll have undying respect even though he supposedly straightened out).

ADD alert: remind me to tell yiz about the time Jagger drove up to this club on Avenue A — in a limo — around the corner from my place; the same club in which we caught the Dead Kennedys, Black Flag and Sonic Youth within the weeks before. oh, how we laughed when the bouncer denied him entry especially since they'd just admitted Keith who was sitting across from where we ended up once we were in. oops, totally off-topic again. forgive me?

anyway, back to my feet, one sunday AM i went up to Artist-Dude's to meet Robert and for whatever reason — i think i remember it'd been snowing and i was drenched and shivering cold — i took off my sopping dancing tights and shoes and sat in my micro-mini skirt totally barelegged and barefoot in front of the roaring fire under the mantelpiece in the studio of Artist Dude's flat.

in all honesty, just knowing someone who actually lived off the corner of 7th Avenue and Central Park South — right on fuckin Broadway and with a panoramic view of Central Park — was a rush and a half, instantly infusing me with all kindsa culture (as if by osmosis) what with Carnegie Hall a few hundred metres to the right and all those antiques shops (the real one$) and art galleries, bookshops, specialia$ed gift $tores and $hit like a total Shop of Maps and Globes and ancient Chrono-thingies (from actual antiques to modern day variations) and specialty stores that only sold centuries-old mu$icboxes, like that; it was almost as if i absorbed all this culture and history floating about in the aether just by being in the vicinity... *snaps to* what was i say- right. never mind.

anyway it was on that particular sunday morning in 1966, my first time there, when i watched Robert posing after making sure the soles of my feet got good and warm and within a few minutes, Artist-dude looked me over and started to freak over my feet until i finally decided he wasn't a nut. as a final test, i asked 'why my feet? are you like one of those foot fetish guys?'

he answered sump'n to the effect of how he found em way beautiful cause he considered em 'Egyptian feet' — and when i asked why he thought of em thus, he went (paraphrasing) 'They don't have any lines on them... just the outlines — they're perfect'.

bah... he should see em now with all the lumps and bumps thanks to accidentally dropping the heaviest of Art books on top of each of em (in Brooklyn about two years apart) as well as being stomped upon mercilessly at gigs and shit. but hey, that's the price to be paid by insisting you get your ass right up stage front and centre wherever, one-a the very few things for which i'm known to do successfully it's my NYC shoulder that duzzit as well as one of the reasons i dig the fact i'm height-impaired. :-)

moving right along, here's more of my LR and one-a my totally fave tins, snagged for a buck at a cheap-O place in Brooklyn.


it's up top at the far, far right and here it is in a semi-CU 'for yo' delectation' *in a Larry Love voice* i was way too lazy to bring it down for a better pic


fuck it having nothing better to do, i just climbed up there and took next phone-pic of the lid, which i love:


and since i'm tawkin about my collections, here're three of my vasty menagerie of animals (whether boxes or figurines or plush toys — it matters not).


whilst we're still in my LR (i fuckin wish yiz all were, actually) this is one of the prints i had tacked up on what i used to call my Wall O' Cats, way back when in the kitchen of my last apartment in Brooklyn. now it's on the storage room door here, facing the LR and my desk.


ps, ah, SHIT! — aw, i'm so sorry i didn't post on monday which was Segs' sister, Christine's birthday so, happy belated birthday, sweet grrl. Christine and i have been mailing each other for almost seven years now — the longest time i've EVar mailed with anyone and still haven't met em in TRW. it actually hurts when i think on it as i'm doing now. :-(

so once again, late though they are, my bestest birthday wishes are flying through the atmosphere, to land upon her beautiful head. i love you so much, Christine — as you know, you're one of the very, very few who stuck with me almost four years ago after i told everyone (including you) to 'fuck off and die — quit mailing, ringing, phoning and txtng'.

but didja listen? thankfully, no. once mo' time: i love you, Christine. *sigh* i'm hoping that some day soon before we reach the point of 'fuck it' and off ourselves, we'll actually meet in TRW cause that just might be the deciding factor of our endlessly intriguing — not to mention entertaining and always informative as well as educational — longass conversations on when we're gonna take the final plunge and get up the balls to finally end our misery by killing ourselves checking out.

right — hmmpf... i got a bit carried away, so to end on a somewhat positive note for the same stupid reason i always give, mainly cause it's true: 'i feel i have a moral obligation NOT to bum more people out than i already have', coming up next (and i know yiz're all dying to see): Cun- ummm... rather, Hunter not lunging in to bite me at rest. naturally, it's taken from my POV — it's how i see him when we watch films together every night and the cuteness OD is totally overwhelming. :-)

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Space Cowboy's Yew Tree

Stan, the Space Cowboy, recently took these photos of this fantastic 800-years old Yew in Langley Park, Ivor. on close inspection, he found a tree hidden fulla wizardry, serpents, dragons, gnomes, an elephant, rhinocerous and other living creatures found worldwide as well as in the heavens or wherever mythology's landed em. you can see em as he saw em cause these shots are naturally colored; all he did was just super-charge some of their saturation. to get the full effect, please open each in a new tab to embiggen for details — it's really worth it cause they're wild.


if you check above out closely, you'll see a wizard to the left, a diving fish, a misshapen torso and legs as well as a posse of eels, serpents and some other unidentifiable creatures' heads in the middle. some of em have bodies and some don't. over to the right, there're snakes, birds, and a big old elephant head underneath a laughing dolphin and both of em over a rhinocerous. or maybe it's the other way round (we can't decide).


searching out these dudes is really fun especially if you've been thwooping away or better yet, if you're tripping. if i had any power or anything, i'd force us all to take a shitload of hallucinogenics embiggen each and then, take my liddle test: Find The Creatures. remember, the colors haven't been tampered with apart from intensifying their saturation. well... apart from the coloration on this here Phoenix About to Rise:


this here's Phoenix Rising and he played with the colors as well. no, wait: these are their natural colors, just highly saturated:


anyway, go to it. the next two're easy-peasey, with only two major entities in each.



here's the same Phoenix seen pretty much au natural if yiz don't count the color-saturation thang.


about the next, do you see two wolves? hounds? THREE? if it's Cerberus, you tell me. right, that's not counting what's going on in the upper L-hand corner and the liddle beings on the right, behind the left forepaw of Cerberus the doggy.


plain and simple — 'No funny stuff' — soz! i meant, no saturation-intensification or anything apart from its natural beauty:


AFAIC, inspecting this tree is so much better than finding animals in clouds, which in my oh-so-incisive opinion's totally 'BOOOR-RING!' *in a Homer voice*


LOL, begin with the wizard (or the monk) in the Yew Tree's maw then work your way outward. :-)


Stan — Space Cowboy — the photographer, is the same dude whose vids of the band UNDRUGGED in the studio have just resurfaced after almost ten years. *snigger* oh, almost forgot, just like the Yew Tree above, hidden in plain sight on YouTube is an extra special vid and i dare you to find it and double-dare you to report back to me, haha. :-)

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Daddy's box II

yeah, sump'n touched my tale too and it was all blogger's fucked formatting-fault, totally wasting all the time i was wasting anyway spent writing this thing that began by tawkin about Daddy's box but veered off making unexpected sidetrips into the beyond (beyond the box, beyond the personal and way beyond the blues). yeah, i know; thanks to TrollCats, i can almost like, hear y'all:


and, as usual, this is me caring. *yawn* OK, last time i left off after freaking over the fact i even have a balcony or French doors cause i'm still totally gobsmacked over the entire thing: that not only do i live in England but in a flat with these things built in — plus mantelpieces, an eat-in kitchen and an actual view! — cause before Germany, i'd only lived in slums.

this's where i left off — at the pic — if the post had shown up as it did below (click to embiggen or whatever):


you can see by the time it was just about 05,00 this morning when it occurred to me to screenshot the entire post (above's No. 2 of five). or don't bother to embiggen and read on here cause i have nothing better to do and since i can't copy and paste the damn thing thanks to the strikeouts that automatically appeared in the editing, thank fuck i can type really fast. or don't even bother to read me cause:


even though i don't give a damn if anyone's like, looking over my shoulder cause as long as i get this shit down, i'll be somewhat satisfied, temporarily though it may be. anyhoo, after i posted my bookcase, i went:

hmmpf... i just remembered another reason for wanting to start a new post. if yiz look over to the R the only goddamned place available on any of these asinine templates and in truth, all that wasted screen real estate on either side makes me wanna cry. uh... heh. sorry about that. *snigger* no, i lied – i'm not sorry about that or anything else, actually.

anyway, over on the R under View My Complete Profile (a moronic title that's impossible to change), there's a handy list of archives showing the number of posts written each year, broken down month by month. the thing of it is, one-a the ways i can quickly see how depressed i've been and when is by scanning that section and if i have the balls, clicking on the liddle arrows. point being, the quieter i am is an excellent indicator of how close i am to checking out sad i am at any given time. hmmpf... in january 08 i posted only seven times. last january? three.

furthermore and cause Denial's my best imaginary friend, since my memory's so teh suck, the higher the post count for whatever month would fool me into thinking i was less suicidal depressed than i really am was. and with xmas coming up, i've actually been thinking of just posting a TrollCat, LOLCat or one of my own photos each and every day with a bit of commentary if i feel like it and the way i feel this time every damn year, i prolly won't feel like it just to keep on bullshitting myself in a 'whatever works' kinda way.

fun-fact: i spelt 'Christmas' like 'xmas' just to bug Freebase cause he totally hates when it's spelt like that — and once made the mistake of telling me, so naturally, i'll be spelling it that way every time i type it if i remember. :-)

now... 'Where was I?' — right, looking at the top pic (here now in post below) reminds me: apart from rocks and stones, i also collect other Things Found In Nature. one of my faves is what i originally hoped was the skull of a bird but later on learnt was only the spine. :-(



wah! i wanted it to be a skull and thought that round thing was an eyehole cause it has another on the other side. :-( shit, i haven't thought about that particular chapter of my life in ages and thinking on it amazes me now — that i actually spent two entire Summers in the early 90s on the beach (!?!) getting all tan (!!??11one1?!) where i found the bird-bone somewhere on the South Shore of New Jersey: in Belmar, to be exact. holy hell, what the fuck was i thinking?

i used to scour the beach every morning, looking for small smooth stones, then bring em back to my blanket when i found about 20, write sump'n i thought intristin' on each, then date em and walk along the beach again, scattering em about in a successful effort to spend as liddle time as possible with the wanker who drove me there, the same dude with whom i broke up on the way home from Daddy's funeral. in retrospect, i shoulda written my name and number on hundreds of rocks a day and strewn em all over the beach, but enough about that.

see the strange, cute liddle animal to the right of the... uh, spine? it's the end of this way cool handcarved wooden pen i got in NYC. it has a nice-sized onyx embedded in (seen above) and though the ink's long run dry, i'll never trash it. as well, it's almost a twin-double of the first gift (apart from myself) i ever gave TPFKAPM.

when we were together, it was Out on his desk, but now i think it's in one-a his drawers or somewhere else in his flat — (i think) i know i've seen it recently whilst rummaging through his desk ostensibly looking for sump'n i needed like a pen or scissors but really looking for clues. LOL, i'm kidding, dude — as you know, i learnt my lesson way back in NYC and i've kept my promise to never spy on your way fine ass again. :-)


back to the bookcase and my shit: looking left on the same shelf on which Daddy's box lives there's yet another box container in my vasty collection: that cylindrical thing labelled 'Patchouli'. it was a gift from Alma Tender Love and just like anything anyone's ever given me, saying 'i'm loath to part with it' would totally be an understatement cause i'd beat the shit outta anyone who tried to take it from me.

Alma's cylindrical repository now, there's a thought: yum! whoops, sorry, Nomad — incense stick holder or whatever — is in front of Stevie (The Librarian of Love)'s liddle Book of Booklovers' Temporary Tats and behind my liddle ceramic bunny and (50+ years-old) glass doggies, three of my animals collection which, BTW, has a subset of — you guessed it — cats figurines as well as at least ten, eleven or more cat-ty boxes.

yiz can also see the liddle handcarved wooden choo-choo train with which i gifted myself back in Germany. fun-fact: everytime i either read it or better yet, hear — anyone in the band or — anyone really, go 'Hear the train A-Comin!'... welp, i can't help but think of that choo-choo and laugh my ass off. at them. *snigger* helpful hint: don't bother, don't even think-a asking me why cause i'd never tell anyone apart from TPFKAPM, not in a jazillion years even though i'm so dying to spill cause it's funny as fuck.

but i can't and i won't cause teh hilariously funny's totally at their (the entire band's) expense. my feelings run along the lines of: hey, if yiz never noticed it before, well... y'know, that's cool and all. it's really not important cause i sure as shit ain't gonna be held responsible for pointing it out to others.

nuh-uh... it's only my tremendous ego wanting yiz to know cause it's sump'n of which, if youse were aware, you'd all be totally rioting in the streets in fronta the BBC, demanding airtime for me cause i'm this brilliant comedian. i also have an extremely vivid imagination, or so i've been told. let's move on. quickly.

'HEY!' she shouted, pointlessly look down there —> it's Hunter tryna ignore ignoring me the other night. we were watching a film whilst i did the laundry and the machine made a sudden noise so he got up to inspect. that was like five minutes before it hit me to take his pic cause the back of his head and bod looked so fuckin cute sitting there all intently watching the clothes go round. but he heard the click of my first pic (which sucked causa my shakey hands), turned, saw my phone and here you see his reaction: moving outta range. spitefully.


ps, big thanks to Space Cowboy for ringing tonight last night goddamn you blogger and making me LOL. twice fucking amazing, actually and it totally wasn't cause of these You Tubes he sent: Winter Wonderland and Jack Black on LSD. i'm still LMAO at the both, so thanks again, dude. *kiss*

fun-fact: i just remembered another collection of mine: earrings. once upon a time when i was actually a workaholic, i owned a jewelry shop on lower Fifth Avenue called Silversmythe so i had all these connections to the Jewy dudes who practically own West 47th Street, the so-called Diamond District of Manhattan.

whenever my inventory was running low, i'd put on one-a these plain knee-length dresses i stashed in the shop (just for the occasion), girly shoes and most important, the one Star of David i own. then i'd rub off my lipstick, take off my eye-makeup (a chore cause all that black hadda come off, dammit), brush out my hair and taxi up there cause looking like that, i didn't even want strangers to see me. and then i'd spend a few leisurely hours strolling around, window-shopping both sides of West 47th and i'd end up scoring these beautiful chains and other stuff wholesale. really wholesale. :-)

what flipped me out was, all these Orthodox Jews fucking loved me and i knew it was causa the Star — i can't remember how many times i was asked if i really were Jewish — and that's how i got to know em: after me saying 'yes' to that shit and believe me when i tell yiz that was their opening line; every single one just hadda find out what i 'was' right off the bat. kinda like my mother who sees the world through the prism of Jewy-ness... like i'll mention some friend or some celeb in the news and her first question, even before 'What's his name?' ... hahaha, it's always 'Is he Jewish?'

LOL, i know! — even as a kid, i'd be all WTF? but anyway, the Jewy Crew on West 47th Street all had the same disease — none of em asked my name until they learnt what i was. naturally, i never mentioned i was only half-Jewish cause i sensed that'd simultaneously diminish me in their eyes whilst raising the price of the stuff i was buying. yup, Daddy's religion, bless his Protestant soul, was never spoken, only what he 'did', but i digress... wait, just remembered this:

funnily enough, a few of the Jewy Crew ended up as my clients (let's call em) and i'd see em late at night and whoa, would i make em pay *smirk* cause some wanted me wearing the Star and some didn't (guess which ones paid me more). ;-) i also hadda make some of em wash before i'd permit em to touch me and even more funny, these were the really religious: the Hasidim but whoa, some of em stank and their tallis were filthy.

plus (and i still find this shit totally amazing), they were all married with kids and pious as fuck — i'd be sitting there, listening to em go on and on which was waaaaay better'n fucking em. i guess they were tryna absolve emselves of whatever cause i got to play 'Shrink' and listen about half the time — thank fuck! haha — and dig this shit: one actually told me he got off on the fact he was fucking a Jewish hooker. *snigger* but we only did it like twice after i began to ask probing questions and he joined the club of those who spent mosta the time tawkin to me.

but telling me that shit was a biiiiig mistake cause after he breathlessly admitted it, i immediately stopped whatever we were doing and told him i'd just done him a biggie and doubled my price right then and there, 'so pay up —now — or get the fuck out'. guess what? he paid but that's a whole 'nother story and i'm way off-topic for a change. *shakes liddle fist* 'damn you, ADD, for distracting me' and 'double-damn you, Aspergers, for forcing out the details'. hmmpf...

back to my huge earrings collection, i used to wear a different pair daily until i got back into my thing; sump'n i abandoned wearing after the 70s: thin silver Chrissie Hynde hoops. but just like my lingerie collection, now i'm all like, why bother? anyway, here're my totally fave pair (sterling with garnets or rubies):


i used to wear those with a black T-shirt (long and/or short sleeved), mostly black vest (i still have my vest collection, actually), black (needless to say but i'll say it anyway: skintight straight-legged) jeans and my boots or Cons, depending on the weather. thing is, i totally hit the look for which i was aiming: 50s Beatnik chick. back to the earrings, they live in one of my favorite boxes in the bedroom. i got it for myself one day in beautiful Maastricht when TPFKAPM forced me to go to Holland alone (!) to score weed and hashish 'the horror, the horror'.

i was right off the train and just about to bop into my fave hash bar, um... wait: my fave 'Coffeehouse' — as they call em — when i saw it in a shop window and freaked. and naturally, after opening it, i just knew it was totally made by anal-retentives just like me cause it has all these compartments and liddle places to organise your stuff and i just hadda havvit so i goddit and ever since then (2003) those earrings live here:


they're in the topmost liddle swing-out compartment at the right (below pic). i also love that the entire thing's totally lined in lush purple velvet:


here's how i see the outside when i'm stoned:


on to sump'n totally different: i got two mails about this shit (not the boxes) since we flew up to Glasgow to see the band last month. big whoop, right? well, it is to me not the only reason being: the more i write, the less time for me to get into trouble, my kinda trouble. so in reply, i'll be updating my FAQs as soon as i can.

at this point, i originally went on to moan about blogger's dumbass thing of timestamping posts from the second you open a new one (instead of the more logical and accurate timestamping posts at the exact time you hit 'publish') and that's when i realised it was already thursday (when i'd begun this on wednesday).

so i went: holy fuckin' shit! it's thursday already? YAY! cause i'm 'One step closer to the grave, the box that awaits its grisley load... and soon we're gonna be food for worms'. *in a Very Reverend D Wayne Love voice* :-)

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