O the domesticity of these windows,
the baby lace, the green-leaved confectionery,
The thick Germans slumbering in their bottomless Stolz.
And the black phones on hooks
Glittering
Glittering and digesting
Voicelessness. The snow has no voice.
Last night, I broke open a bottle of Mawby bubbles, put on The Royal Tenenbaums (and then Rushmore and then Fargo) and put up my Christmas tree.
Oliver helped out by ripping out the eye balls off of his new toy (and carefully placing them near my box of ornaments) and freaking out when I uncorked the bottle of champagne, glaring at me from the kitchen.
My gal pal Katie made me this brilliant Twin Peaks ornament last year. It adds an element of danger and sexual trauma to my Christmas tree. Looks good!
Today, I re-hung up this print in my bathroom, right above the latrine to give the gentleman callers something nice to look at.
Hot tip: If you order a print from the UK, make sure it’s not an exotic size exclusive to that region. If you foolishly make this mistake like I did, you will have a nervous breakdown trying to frame it and then feel a sense of paralysis when it doesn’t look perfect; completely frozen in despair. Anyway, that was my Saturday besides having breakfast with Adam & Sara, making grad school plans (stars are aligning//still being pulled by that magic thread) reading a story in which someone dies, and neglecting to write the three papers I have due on Monday. Tonight is the Alkaline Trio/Screaching Weasel/Rancid cover show at Mulligans. Should be nice.
Yours,
Angela Marie Deckard
Thevalueape's Blog 