Anti abandons the internet.

it's finally over, thank fucking god.

Sunday, January 23, 2005

 
the women here are just like in the magazines.

stern, too precious, pissy, ferocious, blank.

just so.

bodies like twelve year old boys.

faces like casino poker dealers... plastic and distant.

they look right through you.

and they're only interested in your money.

they all smoke.

gorgeous and boring.

who are they talking to on their tiny phones?

phsycics? drug dealers? crisis line operators?

or maybe the ghost of sarah gainsburg?

what music do they listen to?

or do they listen to music at all?

-buck 65 on Omid's Monlith album






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Tony Pierce