I have lately turned to luxury as a way of ARRANGING THINGS, of keeping them together. Wet wet wet wet, wild is the whip, to this day what is most unholy is that vicious repetition! Spun glass into that ass, you saw what I saw, didn’t you? That guy whose sandal dangled by a thread as all those leathers lingered. What is it to be a man? I really couldn’t say.
(When I think about Los Angeles, I think about Bravo television in 2005, like Real Housewives, Kathy Griffin, Paula Abdul, that lesbian trainer who always looked like well cooked turkey dinner, moist and burnt. But who thinks about Los Angeles?)
You Can Bury Me In Episodes of Dallas on Blu-Ray But I’ll Never Find A Color Scheme Appropriate For This Dinner
Impressive, But Who Has Time?
I know this kid who spent a few thousand dollars on Astrid Andersen, or maybe just a few hundred dollars, but he spent a lot, and I think he really enjoyed the air of self-importance it afforded – no, he would have had that anyway, but really I could tell he thoroughly appreciated that expensive wink at masculinity, like hey! I’m fuckable but funny. Jesus.
However Lush Your Death, It’s Still And Only Can Be Yet Another Wet Beginning
J. W. Anderson
Rich White Finally It’s Violence
The look of an expensive autocrat in 60 years, or some eccentric energy tycoon, thank god, like earlier when I said I have gotten into luxury as a way of arranging things what i should have said is that i have relinquished myself to luxury, abandoned or surrendered me to luxury, it’s quite a splendid altar and I never miss the money.
Unabashed pleasure yields a punishment but still I never miss the money, never feel the lash, except when everything is white hot wouldn’t move and worse like when the dog is quiet and you know that Something Soon Will Happen but instead you know you settle into your parents’ leather couch and let yourself enjoy the Golden Girls, or Bergman, something rich and indulgent like that. A Marie Callendar cake and an episode of