tightening up

I just realized it's 12/13/14. ugh. people are probably gonna get ooh, married and buy lottery tickets and shit. 

19th Ave. 

17th Ave. part of me finds this fanciful as fuck, the same way I admire moldering staircases and artful mold patterns: aesthetically intriguing by proxy, but the reality of living in such a situation would be a depressing pain in the ass. 

I wonder who lives there. a disgruntled student in their first apartment, the novelty dissapating as soon as the suicide-weather hits? a waxen crone who's lived there for forty years and hates everyone, and fuck you too? a slithery voyeur? 

yesterday was very meteorologically satisfying. 

clouds racing, racing!, over Capitol Hill. 

a wall of shite descending from the west in the U District.

15th NW. 

looking to the east over the U District bridge. 

fucking Holga filter. 

breaking the knife, breaking the knife. 

it's my sexy, mysterious bathroom. the blue-tongued skink has lived on the back of every toilet I've had since I acquired it in 1998. every toilet but one! the place in 1st Hill (2002) didn't have a tank; that toilet looked like one you'd see at an airport or something, with a handle you flush with your foot. so allow me to quantify: this thing has lived on 18 toilets in the past 16 years. oh the stories! the pathos! the tragedies! and yet it does not have a gender, nor a name. what would it be at this point, after so long? Skink Floyd? that's unworthy. 

"Sei doch nicht so kulturlos": "don't be such a philistine." ...in case you ever need to hiss loftily at someone in German, you see.