Cute Bunnies

We just traded a giant sewing pin for this print.



Taking pictures of artwork is like trying to photograph sex or the Grand Canyon. It's all great up in your face but the pictures leave a fake impression of the whole situation seeming bland and unimpressive. However, no one ever made a fortune out of shitty vacation pictures. I guess even common metaphors, in the spirit of linguistic paladins, have their own prices and values much like their mathematical equivalents: the fraction.



Max rada dada stopped by the other day. He was somehow driving from Hawaii to North Carolina and decided he'd drop in for some "pleasant pheasant" which did, indeed, utilize a stuffed pheasant. Max likes to count before he throws things and really let you know when it's coming at you. Afterwards we signed the wooden leger of P. P. participants as numbers 1540 and 1541. That's a lot of P. P.!

He then procured samples of our hair and was on his way.





And here's me at my wedding, jacket off, tie loosened, really about the event more than the occasion.





And by someone's recommendation I finally got my tape made:





Anyway, enough about me. How are you?

remembering things you forgot to remember, but still not quite understanding what they are or why you marked them as memorable in the first place=



=forgetting that you discovered the solution to a particular emotional dead-end once and know the answer already=



=lessons that repeat themselves in uniquely stupefying circumstances that should be identifiable=



all these fancy tid-bits are what chew on my pool of health and well-being (wealth and hell-being?).



stagnancy is the breeding ground for all sorts of probiscus-feeding-tubed pests with serrated stingers and a nasty suckling need for a good meal of whatever is stillest. sometimes you just gotta shake your blood around.

Did you ever look at your mailman and wonder if he ever stood in front of a mirror and practiced releasing his pepper-spray, staring into his own eyes as if they were the eyes of some rabid canine, reciting "tough talk" he obsessively composed through-out his day's routine?

You know this has happened, if not this week then last. Check out your mail carrier's stride. Does it seem over-confident? Does it seem guided, as if by dubious intentions, to do harm?

To bring hell on Earth to the ocular vicinity of any beast bold enough to hold his gaze.

To have his day "made" and to ask whether or not "you are barking at me?"

So, I think I'm addicted to electrolysis.

I've been spending the summer removing unwanted hair from my body in the most permanent, painstakingly simple, mind-bogglingly tedious way possible. My Lady does the electric massage with the fattest probe possible and sees my case as a pleasure to work on. I guess testosterone-induced body hairs are deeper rooted and more hooked into the bloodstream than the average peach-fuzz-on-the-chin or nearly-invisible-lady-sideburns that most electrolysists deal with.

We chat like housewives at the beauty parlor as she sticks a needle into my skin and electrocutes the hair follicles. AND SHE'S FUCKING FAST!!! She zapped 1251 hairs yesterday in a little over an hour. One of which was the single biggest hair she said she ever removed. She says all these worked-on wife ladies are always coming in wanting to remove hairs she can barely see, even with the microscope headgear and super fucking hot light on a 65-jointed metal arm. Mine she could see from across the street. It allows her to bring in the tv and we watch a talkshow for an hour and then I'm done (I'm now in love with refrigerated aloe).

Looks like I'll be done by about Christmas, with a little maintenance here and there every month or so, and then what? Where do I get my weekly dose of evenly-distributed pain followed by a less-painful-but-entertaining healing process (it's kinda like having to take care of a plant)? Will I get addicted to tattoos? Will I get hooked on piercings?

It's funny how all the forms of body modification (mentioned above) that I've partook of in my life involve a needle piercing my skin. You'd think, in this day and age, it would be digital or at least mechanical, but no, sharp piece of metal jabbed in the body is the best we can think of.

At least the hair removal is electric . . . and no, it doesn't smell like someone's cooking breakfast meats.