Beautiful Monster

As I alluded to earlier, I finally made good on my threat to start making merch available. With Halloween, Manson's headlining tour and my move to Los Angeles looming on the horizon, I need to do all I can to save/make money. That said, here is my very first offering:



"Voroboros: The Hermatophage" is printed on 100lb Gloss Text paper in glorious full color. Measuring 11" x 17" (30cm x 43cm) and traveling to you via USPS 1st class mail, this poster is a limited edition of 100, signed and numbered and possibly scribbled upon as the mood takes me. It's the risk you run when you give me a marker.

This delightful collectible can be yours for the suspiciously low price of $10.00 USD shipping right to your door included, payable by PayPal or well-concealed cash. Yes, even for you not living in the US, though it may take a long time to get to you via first class mail. If you want it SUPER MEGA FAST and are willing to throw down extra for quickship, email me and we can work something out. Troublesome brats insisting on paying by check or money order will have to tack on an additional $3.00 USD (total of $13.00 USD) to cover the outrageous check cashing fees levied against me by the whores at Wal-Mart. Ye gret hoors.

Send money and love to: Manzin
PO Box 521
Columbiana OH 44408

Don't forgot to include the address you want the posters shipped to.

PayPal people can cut to the chase and clicky below to get the party started.

Got some posters boxed up and ready to ship out come Monday. I've started keeping an actual list of things that need done rather than trying to keep it all straight in my head. The past few days have been remarkably productive and I'm accomplishing a lot more than usual. Today I trimmed and exported roughly 15,000 emails from three accounts, backed them up into .eml, and am going to be importing them into Thunderbird because TheBat has betrayed me. Why you hates meh, Bat? What I did?

In addition to a thrilling day of e-filing and downloading and okay yes Mafia Wars, I made a rather amazing soup out of a ham bone, some Italian sausage, garbanzo beans, great northern beans, chick peas, cabbage, carrots,, and noodles. It was pretty amazing. Even I was surprised. Then I did a little laundry, slammed my finger in the dryer door and spent a good fifteen minutes trying to get it to stop bleeding. Very exciting. After that was done, I got things together for tomorrow, worried about a bunch of my friends who aren't doing so great at the moment, tidied online bullshittery, and that was about that.

I'm due in Pittsburgh at 2 this afternoon to shoot with Brian Kaldorf. Lucky for him, he picked a very mad time in my life to shoot me as the Hatter. This is going to be part of his series on Wonderland and I'm very interested to see how they turn out.

I should consider sleeping. And I will. After popcorn and The Wrestler.

Once upon a time in a glittering kingdom by the sea there lived a dark man. He had dark eyes and dark hair, dark clothes and dark thoughts, and he lived by himself in a great dark castle up on a hill. This was strange, because the kingdom was warm and sunny, with warm sunny people, but the dark man saw none of them, and none of them saw him.

One day a little boy came to the glittering kingdom. His eyes shone and he wanted very much to be a part of that beautiful place, though in his heart of hearts he knew he did not belong there because he was made of the same stuff as that dark man on the hill. So he paid the man a visit, and dark met dark, and they enveloped each other like a black crayon in a puddle of oil in a cave at the bottom of the sea. Blacker than black.

They stayed together for many years and shared many things, their dreams and their thoughts, parts of their lives they'd never told anyone else, because no one would have understood them. They smiled sharp smiles and laughed sharp laughs and reveled in the darkness that was theirs because finally they'd each found something they'd needed all along. Life was good. They were suddenly, strangely, happy.

One day the boy was exploring the dark castle and he found a room he hadn't seen before. It was filled with giant cases and closets stuffed full of books and clothes and all kinds of things. The boy was curious, and he took the clothes out of their boxes and tried them on, one at a time. They were dark clothes, of course, but very finely made and they fit him perfectly. He was thrilled to have made such a find, though he was nervous that the room had been hidden because the dark man didn't want anyone to see it. Even the little boy.

So he turned to leave the room. But on his way out he tripped over a heavy, beautifully ornate box carved all over with strange symbols. He opened the box and inside was a crown. It was the first thing he had seen in the house that was not dark, for this crown was blood red, glowing like Hellfire and brighter than all the bright things in that shining city. It spoke to his fingers of the tremendous power it contained and the boy couldn't resist placing it on his head, if only for a moment, just to see how it felt. After all, the dark man was practically his father, and no harm would ever come to him in their dark home.

For a moment it stayed snugly atop his head and the boy felt a warmth pouring over him, bringing with it a terrible rush of strength and the awareness that the owner of this crown was far more than what he seemed. He had just enough time to wonder about the true identity of the dark man when the crown grew in size, big enough to slip down off his head, over his nose to land heavily on both shoulders.

This not being proper crown behavior at all, the boy raised a hand to lift the crown back to its proper place but it reverted back to crown-size before he could move it. In fact, it began to shrink even smaller, drawing tight around his neck and then tighter still, until the sound of the boy's struggle for breath was cut off by the pounding of the blood in his ears. As his breath left him, his vision began to flicker out, first dimming to red, then brown, and finally to black. Blacker than black.

The dark man found him later that night, after an hour of walking through the dark castle, calling his name. By then the crown was crown-sized again, laying benignly next to the crumpled body with the hands still curled from trying to claw it away. The man stared for a long time before he scooped the crown from the floor, placing it on his own head. It fit perfectly, as it had for centuries, ever obedient. Shaking his head, the king gathered the body of the boy from the floor and took it away to yet another hidden dark room in the dark house, where it would lie with his other mistakes until a time when the dark outnumbered the light, and the glittering kingdom would be bright no more.

( +2 )

( +2 )

More from both of these sets on my site, which in case I forgot to mention was newly redone in time for Halloween by the boldly beautiful bastards at BrandName Labs.

I had two costumes, really. This one I wore to a party in Joisy on the 30th.



Which is a derivative of:


Obviously.

( More from the 30th )

On to the 31st.



That's what I ended up with. That's Nick of the Nachtkabarett. He started cutting way before me so I had to catch up while we waited for everyone to gather so we could leave.

Costume taken from



( It's all kinds of bad under here. )

I owe you photos from my last couple shoots. I'm such a lazy bastard, but I'm getting around to it. I made a list, y'see...

Short answer, photo version. Blatantly stolen from dreamonkid who encouraged me to steal it.

A picture of you in your room.

I was very cold. And it took me forever to find a pic of me in my room.

a picture with someone you don't actually like.

Hierophant "elite". I'm smirking because I know something they don't. Rape of the World tour, Houston TX

a picture of you very drunk.

Veeerrry drunk. NYE 2009. (Also, I can't believe my hair's grown so long in ten months)

( Bunch more under here. )

W W W . M A R I L Y N M A N S O N . C O M


We don't seek death, we seek destruction

Dear ,

It never gets old.

Frequently drained. Constantly craving. I'm a beast of insatiable appetite, with three eyes and a hundred mouths. After awhile it becomes a part of the atmosphere and the scenery and only becomes noticeable if something shines particularly brightly or glitters in an interesting way that snags my corvid eye and makes me take notice. These things are treasured. The rest are appreciated for what they are. Little candies. Not filling, but delicious nonetheless. I do occasionally get something of substance that does me good beyond the quick sugarbuzz like flies around a corpse, but even then there's the doubt. It's hard to tell when it's genuine with your market flooded with fakes.

What makes you different? You twinkle like fairy lights and for once your blink pattern doesn't signal SOS. I'm a lighthouse for damaged people and while I sometimes try to sow the waters with life preservers, I can't really save anyone. And sometimes I wonder why I try, but I still do.

---

Leaving for NYC soon. Soon as in, within an hour. Dipshit on ebay decided to wait four days before shipping out my auction so it won't be here in time and I have to go buy yet another leather jock strap that I'll probably never wear again. And probably pay four times as much for it. And I'm so fucking annoyed right now.

But for once and for the first time in a couple weeks, I feel fucking great.

( You are about to view content that may only be appropriate for adults. )

http://manzin.livejournal.com/272687.html?thread=2532399#t2532399

No salvation. Ha ha.

I did something stupid. Forgivably stupid, and inevitable, but still stupid. It started out as innocently as it ever does. Usually it's a quote that I'm after and I'll dig into our old chatlogs, or the name of a movie you recommended when I'm in the mood for something new. This time I was looking back to last year to see when that giant storm was that knocked out the power, because I had pinkeye right afterward and I wanted to know how current my lens script was because I want to reorder something for Halloween. I found the LJ Trick Or Treat meme and I was redoing it for this year, so I'd have something to update with that wasn't my usual dreams of earth-rending storms, or me bitching about work, or the usual something or other about Manson. I went to your old LJ account, the one you hadn't deleted, the one you haven't touched since 2004. The entirety of your second of three total entries consisted of I keep falling in love with you, and that's all it took.

I read the other entries too. Another single liner, and one stupid meme that you'd stolen from me. There were no new revelations to be found for me. I knew all of it. It's funny, but from the way you were writing I could feel you all through it. You must've been in a fairly good mood to be doing stupid LJ memes but the bitterness still leaked out from around the corners. I remember how that used to taste. It was so much bittersweet toward the end. It still is.

It's been ten months and no, I'm still not over you. I don't expect to ever be over you. People like me don't get over people like you. It took me by surprise, how quickly and how far I fell for you. I'm never going to be able to crawl out of this hole we dug for ourselves. We were stupid to have fallen for each other with everything the way it is, but it would've been even more stupid to try to reverse. No, well. We did try. A few times. You tried and I guess eventually you were successful. I'm making it out to be like a suicide mission and in this case in a way, it was. What we had died, and in the way of all dead things it didn't stop, it just isn't here anymore. It's somewhere else, another place, another time, waiting for another us to come back for it. That doesn't fix you. And it doesn't help me.

There's a lot of factors, if you're good at math. There's a lot of me to work with, the Hyde me that's up all night and all day, rationalizing and planning and worrying and ruining and pacing. That me must be very thin, the bastard. There's the part of me that's probably more like an orphan chunk of Him, the part of me that doesn't understand why we're still in Ohio, why we're not famous yet, why we don't wake up hung over and tangled up with this girl or that boy in some hotel somewhere. He wants the excesses and accesses and progresses and actresses, but at the same time he remembers the tear of your nails in his back and the warmth of your tongue against his. I don't blame him. I envy him. I can't quite live up to him, being nearly as unlivable as He is. But I like him a lot. Then there's the Jekyl who wants only happiness and contentment, who dreams of a little place in the city big enough for two or so and a little chocolate-iced cake with two groom toppers and a ring that came from another galaxy. He wants to look up from his book to see you dancing alone in the kitchen, and to see the sun turn your hair to spun platinum, and to feel your hand in his at the movies. And then there's the me who looks at both of these and wonders why, for the lives of me, they can't both be happy simultaneously, living mutually exclusive lives with one person.

I'm utterly damned, doomed to walk the earth without you, but unable to forget you. I can't make all of me happy any more than I can make all of you happy. Your complexities rival my own, and it's impossible, utterly impossible. I don't think it will ever be possible for me to be completely happy. If I was at home with you, eventually I would long to be out, riding the road. When I'm out and I wake up and figure out where I am and who this is next to me, I'll start to wonder where you are. Which hotel you're in. Who you're sleeping next to. Or not sleeping. And it makes me fucking crazy that I can't just fucking pick one. I could have the perfect life. Either way. I could have the perfect life in or the perfect life out but I can't hold onto one of them with both hands, and I won't let go of either of them. And even if I could, there's that damnable random off to the side. The uncontrollable variable, as wired into me as any other part. I don't know whether it's wholly imaginary, a house of cards built on a shaky platform of circumstantial evidence. Or if the circumstances are due to fragmentation on the other end, disagreeing with themselves. And I'm too much of a pussy to ask, because you don't fuck around with a house of cards as precious as this is. I live here, after all. If it falls down, I'd be out in the rain, alone. Then what? Hell, now what?

I feel out of touch with even my own version of reality. Drifting untethered and I'm afraid to make a grab in case I pull the wrong string and it all unravels underneath me, bringing the whole fucking curtain down. It doesn't matter. I can't even say for sure if one side will eventually win out over the other. Maybe this is what Hell is. I thought it was being alone forever but maybe this is it, never feeling full enough, something always missing. This is why we don't use so much of our brains. You see too much, you feel too much. You know what you're missing and you know there's too many holes that need filled and not nearly the time, the space, the money, the resources, to fill even half of them. It's never enough. It will never be enough for me and I hate that I need so much. I wish I had His strength sometimes, to pick something up and suck it dry and then drop it and move onto the next with hardly a backward glance. He doesn't have a One Who Got Away to ghost along behind him. He's always running toward, and not running from. I wish I was more cohesive. I wish, for once, I could agree with myselves. I want things to be less complicated than this. Isn't life complicated enough? I envy people trying to decide whether to go blonde or brunette, or trying to decide which guy they like more, or whether to have the chicken or the fish. I can't imagine having a life that simple, where you know right out of school what you want to do with your life, you go to college, you get a job, you meet someone, fall in love, settle down. I want to do all that, in addition to modeling, touring, traveling, fucking, meeting, writing, dosing all over the world. Plus have a desk job, a steady paycheck, a stable love life and the adoration of someone I adore. I'm a union of diametric components, plastered together by equally attractive opposite magnetism. I'm composed of contradictions, contraindications, constrictions. Indecipherable and intolerable even to myself. Especially to myself.

There's nothing anyone can say or do to fix this. The bigger the crowd, the bigger the sound, the brighter I glow, the more alone I become.

( A trick or treat bag of dreams. )

Fifty degrees, overcast, windy, rainy. A shitload of leaves, debris and fall in general are in the air. I have to go out, and as I put forth effort to look decent today it was an excuse to snap a photo for the sake of posterity. Because I don't always dress like a complete asshole. Though with as tight as these jeans are I probably still count as an asshole.



I heard something yesterday that made me very, very happy. I hope the plan solidifies and doesn't get caught up in this wind. So long as it blows to the west and carries to me what I'm hoping for, I'll stand in the rain with my arms spread wide, soaked to the skin and grinning like a madman. Catch you up fresh off the boat with salt in your hair and sparks in your eyes. Take you home like the old days, adore you in old ways for always. You know it, you knew it. I told you. I'm not asking for another chance, just another glance, another dance around this floor we wore our names into from years of this tango, tongue tangle, the triangle we wrangled and will wrangle still. It's part of the thrill, you know the drill. You're off in your place when I'm running up that hill or you're off of your face while I'm quick-stuffing mine, on my knees on the floor like that very first time but it's not you I spend with, my time I will rend with the usual suspects' unusual crime. Forgive me myself but it's been way too long, I've nothing to say that won't come out all wrong but I love you, I mean it, I've never been clearer. I just want to see you less further, more nearer. If this does all come out right I'll paint you in starlight of constellation persuasion, move oceans, move nations. Whatever it takes, whoever you bring, whenever however it won't change a thing. I'm ready to catch you, see if they'll let you. Come to me, baby. Forget all the fear. Come one, come all, come here.

This isn't as pornographic as it could've been. It did get there eventually.

Lemondrop.com lists Kiera Brinkley, a quadruple amputee dancing at Juilliard, as a hero. And rightly so, as about 95% of the talented people who apply to the school are turned away and they have all their limbs intact. She's co-listed with a "real-bodied" model and a bunch of breast-feeding mothers riding the subway en masse. What the fuck. Model too fat for fashion gets a tearsheet in a major magazine and women whip their tits out in public to feed crying babies, and this is on the same par as a dancer with no arms and legs performing at one of the most prestigious performing arts schools in the world? No. Just fucking no.

This whole "hero" thing is way out of hand. Feeding a baby is not heroism. Being a fat model and shooting nude doesn't make you a hero either. And while we're on the subject, that guy who slapped the crying 2 year old because the mother wouldn't shut it up? Also not a hero, though you KNOW you've dreamed of doing exactly what he did at one time or another. Or if you enjoy children as much as I do, you think about it every time one of those human air horns goes off and you're stuck somewhere you can't escape from it (curb your dog, parent your sprog).

We're going to need another word for things like the guy who discovers a cure for AIDS or the pilot who saved that planeful of people in New York or something, because I know they'd be thrilled to know that they need to scoot down on the hero bench to make room for a bunch of lactating feminists and a girl with potbelly. For fucksake.

All it needs is a MM soundtrack and it'd be the trifecta of offensive goodness.

Jez, Krissa, m'self. Etc.

We came. We saw. We drank. We stuffed our faceholes. We screamed ourselves hoarse and battered ourselves bruised. We were barraged with beer bottles, signage, towels, spit, hosiery, and love. He stole Jez's hat and gave it back, twice. And then! And THEN!! He said my name in Rock N Roll Nigger and I screamed like a little bitch.




eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

You get an extension, because of access issues around the 6th.

http://www.livejournal.com/pay/claim.bml

You have until 12:01 GMT on September 10th.

Everyone without a paid LJ account can enjoy this delicious marco.

July 23rd. I get in the car and head out to Chicago, planning on spending 4-5 days in town. It's a nice day for a drive and I get there in about seven hours. I meet up with Chrystyne and her roommate Rae at their place and we grab some delicious burritos for dinner at a little corner place and end up going to bed early. The next day I wake up around 9 and grab coffee and pannenkoeken (I mentioned this before, I think) and when she arrives home we run out and putter around town hitting up thrift stores. We debate going to Neo but fall asleep early. The next day we thrift again, then I get dolled up and we head to the cemetery to see how much trouble we can get into. We get some nice shots and spend about an hour blissfully enjoying the day until a terribly bored guy-in-a-tie comes marching out of the office to tell us that it's illegal to take pictures in the cemetery, so we leave. And I do mean marching. He was trucking toward us with such intent that he was actually leaning forward with his eagerness to exert what little authority he has. Shame, too. The last shots we got were probably some of the best. But anyway, we went home and when Rae got home we did a little more shooting, much more involved makeup. I'm probably butchering the timeline, excuse me. Anyway, we shoot in the bathtub, we shoot in the dining room, there are some candid snaps somewhere of me in knee high zebra print stiletto boots, rolling around on a zebra rug....yeeah. We grab some delicious hot dogs from a tiny little local retailer and I stuff my face with something Polish.

The 26th arrives and I put on the Hoodie of Madness that I've been fighting with for days but finally figured out and we head to the show in Tinley Park. First we stop off at the Holiday Inn to meet up with Nurse Krissa. After a bit Dayna and her hubby Christopher show up and we get the party started. The hotel, incidentally, is not only crawling with at least four different preteen cheerleading squads, but Manson is staying here as well. I nearly step on Ginger when I walk in, perched on the curb under the roofed-over driveway bit by the front door. To say it's "chaotic" would be an understatement. But we get our faces on and our noses straight and head over to the venue. Chrystyne disappears with her friend Sarah and I walk around with Dayna, Chris and Krissa. A few people come up to me, recognizing me from various online places. I hand out a lot of cards. I take some pics. I go through about eight pieces of gum because I'm the perfect level of high and without it I'd chew my tongue into a raw piece of meat. I'm tackled from the side by Hazekiah and we end up hanging out in a giant crowd of about eleven or twelve people until the show starts.

Oddly enough, I can't remember the show. I remember we had good seats in one of the front/center sections and I remember wondering how Chrystyne was enjoying it because it was her first Manson show, but other than that I can't remember details. It seemed very short and ended just at 11. I got a collect call and was whisked onto the back patio with Krissa and Chrystyne where we stood around and talked to Chris of the Vrenna variety, who was carrying a bag of black athletic socks and brought us some water. Hazekiah, the other Chris and Dayna chilled in the parking lot while we waited for about five minutes on the deck, then were led into Manson's dressing room. We did our usual greeting and I introduced my party. He introduced me to Twiggy's girl Leah and to Stoya, who is absolutely dazzling in person and not just because of her sequined capris. Like, damn. The five of us squeezed onto one of the couches and drank and talked over each other and the music until we were shooed out and onto the bus where I drank a bit more and fed Lily a popsicle. Krissa got some pics with Manson and Stoya and we sat for a bit more. I asked him if he minded if I came to a few more shows and he said that I could go to as many as I liked, then had a quick discussion with Pete. Pete, for anyone who remembers him, looks fucking outstanding. He's about half the size he was before, yet hasn't lost any of his imposingness. A few minutes later he came back and handed something to Manson, who looked it over and handed it to me. A laminate. Holy fucking shit. I have wanted one of these for as long as I can remember. It's the Golden Ticket. So no one fucks with me. It's the best gift ever. I'm drunk and still high and grinning until my face hurts clear up to my ears. But we have to go, so it's hugs all around and thank-yous, and I grab my shiny new rapist werewolf hoodie and we're out the door.

Chrystyne takes off because she has to work the next morning. Dayna and Hazekiah with his crew meet us in the lot and we drive to La Quinta for the afterafterparty, where mostly we scatter all over the room, pass a joint around and talk in little groups while Haz runs around with his camcorder. At some point later they drive Krissa and I back to the Holiday where her two friends are already sleeping, so we sit in the bathroom with the door closed and split a brownie while talking as quietly as possible. Then to bed, also as quietly as possible, and eventually to sleep. The next morning we wake up and I re-meet her two friends whose names escape me (whoops) and we sit around bullshitting. We call and have them bring us some breakfast, photos are taken. Good times. All too soon I have to say goodbye to Krissa and drive back to Chicago, where I take it pretty easy the rest of the night.

The next day I plan on leaving but that doesn't pan out. The rest of the days are a jumble of thrifting, dinner out (really great Italian place one night, my first pie-style Chicago pizza another night), Blockbuster movies, and on the last day another shoot, this time in the basement, with no glamour whatsoever. Antichrist goodness, saran wrap, pipe bondage, leather, all teeth and eyes. Fucking love it. Gorgeous stuff. We watch Watchmen and the next morning I leave for home. I get in just after dinner on the 28th, and Juli is due in from NYC on the 31st for Manson's show in Cleveland. More later.

( That was the Tell, this is the Show. )

I told you I had a cape.


Photography: Paper Moon Productions
Styling: Anna Evans MUA

Philadelphia PA 8-7-09

More to come.

More from the Gallery of Entertaining Messages.

Stepping out from behind the moon unit to post this.

P.S
I am wearing a cape and I like it.

I suppose I've put off updating long enough so I might as well do a little something now while I have a minute.

At present I'm sitting in a booth at the Flying J in Hubbard, lured here by the promise of free pancake breakfast that sounded good enough to make me drive about 10 miles in the wrong direction. There is a trucker seated two tables behind me who is continuously clearing his throat and I swear he tips the scales at something significantly over 300 pounds. He looks like a cartoon character and I wonder how he managed to wedge himself into a booth, but then I remember how oddly mobile fat rolls are and I hope after this thought that I'll still be able to eat my pancakes. Also the internet access is local only, so I don't even know if I'll be able to post this.

I chose here to stop because I'm on my way to Chicago for not only my first taste of seeing Manson in a festival setting, but my first stop on a run of tour dates. The last time I went on a run of shows I stopped at a similar travel plaza for reasons not related to pancakes, and I thought it nice to continue with tradition. I'll be in Chicago from the 23rd to the 28th and will be shooting with a model/photographer named Chrystyne K whom I met at acid_poptart 's wedding. I'm also staying with her, which saves me quite a lot as far as hotel goes, so thanks to her. I have a lot of ideas as to what I want to shoot and I hope we're able to get a few of them done, as it's been ages since I had new pics with someone other than myself and I'm overripe for a shoot.

It goes without saying that I'm excited as fuck to be seeing Manson again. I haven't watched any YouTube or anything from any of the shows so far and I'm really eager to hear the new album live, though I'm a little uncertain about a metal festival. I haven't been to a festival since Woodstock 99 and that didn't turn out so well, ahaha. I wouldn't mind some rioting and raping so long as I'm not on the bottom of the pile or the last in line. But we'll see how it goes. If luck is with me I'll make my connections and get to see him. If not, I'll try in Cleveland. And Detroit. And Pittsburgh. It's what I do. It's stupid, it's crazy, but this is how it goes and how it'll always go, as I can't see anything that'd possibly make it stop.

The pancakes have just arrived. And they are fucking delicious. I took a pic but I can't find the cord that I thought I brought, so I can't get it off the camera yet, will have to wait for the photo wrapup later.
-pause-

Okay, 24 hour pause or so. I'm in Chicago safely. Got in last night, got settled, grabbed some delicious Mexican from a tiny little corner shop that was devoured while watching The Watchmen. Longer than we anticipated, we made it halfway through and went to bed. I woke up and set out on a little recon to see what I could find. Went down to Lincoln Square but the coffeeshop I'd wanted was closed and the other was a little pricier than I wanted for what I was hungry for. I ended up stumbling on this place called Pannenkoeken Cafe where I got coffee and a delicious pannenkoeken in apple variety. (Dutch pancake with thinly sliced apples and cinnamon. Sprinkled with our toasted hazelnuts, then topped off with fresh whipped cream and lightly dusted with powdered sugar". Pannenkoeken is sort of like crepes. I got it to go and ended up buttering the mess when I got it home, lightly dotting it with maple syrup and whipped cream and then rolling it up and nomming it manually like a burrito. It was kind of great. They also come with meats and cheese and veg if you want, but I wanted breakfast. Now I'm sipping coffee and feeling overheated because it's fucking sunny and bright and hot out there. Which is bad, as we had our eyes on a cemetery shoot in the rain that yesterday's forecast said we'd have. No rain in sight today. Not entirely sure how that will effect our ideas but we have several of them. Some of which involve some fairly involved drag. Heh.

Sadly, my beloved buckled boots that I wear everywhere have finally shown signs of wear. The right heel dropped off in the costume shop parking lot yesterday. A little Shoe Goo and they'll be fine, but I didn't bring it and I'm not sure where it is in my room, so they're unwearable until I get home. Luckily I grabbed my knee high platforms on a whim right before I left, so I'm not hurting for shoes. It's actually more impressive than anything because I've been wearing them nearly everyday and to work for the past five years, and this is the first time they've given me trouble. Demonia could take lessons from Muro.

I told you attention makes my head swell. My hat is tighter than it used to be. Though with as foodcentric as this entry was, maybe it's just fat.

First off.

The post before this one was my 1000th post. I didn't realize until I went into my userinfo to check Manson's MySpace status on the widget I put there for that purpose for some reason and saw my post count. I saw a dozen posts ago that it was close and had meant to do a big photo retrospective or something, a Best Of post, who knows. The point's moot now, it is what it is. This is the oldest icon I have, from a photo taken in 2004. And for the record, my first friend was arah and my first post was a private post made March 2, 2003 detailing some sex that for the time had been fairly amazing, but has since been overshadowed by sex of the mindblowing kind. Funny how that works out.

Secondly (finally?).

I watched Twilight. And it wasn't that bad.

(fig b) Recess Is Over


( Let The Games Begin )

"hey, thanks for the add, i just wanted to drop a line saying that i tried your absinthe milkshake! it was AMAZING!!!! i got the grit-free ice cream though. :)~ thanks for the recipie and a night i barely remember!....no, it was great, i have pics, well, i don't really remember taking them, but there are pics, lets just say. :)~ they made for a very interesting night. everyone kept saying, "absinthe...milkshake?" and our responce was, "you don't even know!" any other absinthe concoctions you've got hiding up your sleave, let us know :)~"

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That's what it's all about, right there. Helping people make memories they'll need therapy for later.