Tuesday, September 21, 2004


"We are such stuff
As dreams are made on and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep..."

--From The Tempest (IV, i, 156-157)

will knew what was going on. he knew. something about the big collars and bad teeth musta told him. whatever, he knew.

nothing is inspired just now. everything has retracted into function. there is no form. there is no forum. or decorum. and only a bit of snorem. weee.

every photo i take is thick with some unwanted substance and i can't seem to shake it. where is the summer we were promised?

and dreams, my dreams. why must i kiss the girls in my dreams. it's an extended and unending brand of foreplay that is bordering on torture. last night, it was some black haired girl with huge smiling eyes, and eyelashes kittens could sleep on. She was younger than me. younger enough to raise an eyebrow or two, i think. But she understood pascal's wager, and that turned me on.

and she kissed like..
she kissed like life should go on forever.

decrepit ruzz.
dirty ruzz.
kissing the young girls.

maybe you have to be alone, really fuckin alone, for a long time to get it. to get the sweet. to dig elbow deep in the emotional muck and realize that so many people have so much they just ignore.

right now it's fashionable in hollywood, and even in general, to talk about loss. loss and sadness. to romantically bind them to human beings which, i suppose, is meant to make them seem more interesting. I saw a photographer's website, with a quote from some middle-america newspaper-writer-who-wants-to-be-bigger saying "each photo taken by [so and so] touches a deep and profound nerve, each photo is filled with a palatable sense of loss, or sadness. Great works of richness and depth" or something very close to that. and i think thats a loss. i think that's sad.

you're all fools if you think there's anything more interesting than a great kiss.

piss your lives away for bmw's or fame, or a spot on survivor. whatever. just don't say i didn't tell you before you did it that there's more to be found within your arm's reach than all the world.

course, i could just be a horn dog.

Posted by ruzz on September 21, 2004 at 03:10 PM in what the fuck | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Sunday, September 12, 2004

hold the phone

i decided, decisively, to hold off writing that bit. that blurb. that one year in summary brochure. i'm tired and sick and partially pissy. so what for. why.

besides that, i have some work work to do tonight, and a review for ineluctable on resident evil: apocolypse and i want to get right with jesus too.

maybe pissy is the wrong mood for The Passion of The Christ, i dunno. but i haven't much else to watch and i'm feeling run down. movies are great for run down, right?

so screw it i say. screw the leaflet and the poster. screw the cause and the meat. sunday nights are meant for looking forward, not back.

maybe, if i feel ambitious or less hostile i will pipe it out on the anniversery of my move. in six days. or maybe, i won't.

sit up at night trying to guess.

Posted by ruzz on September 12, 2004 at 08:42 PM in what the fuck | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack

Tuesday, August 31, 2004

explain it to ruzz

what the fuck does the new coke (C2-Half the carbs, half the Calories) have to do with breaking free. outstanding commercial. better than the movie im watching, really.


splain it to me ennernet.

Posted by ruzz on August 31, 2004 at 10:19 PM in what the fuck | Permalink | Comments (1) | TrackBack