between art & artifice
xErato
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Name: Erato,
Country: United States
State: Florida
Metro: Tampa Bay Area
Birthday: 9/22/1988
Gender: Female


Occupation: Artist
Industry: Other


Message: message me


Member Since: 7/19/2005

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Wednesday, July 12, 2006

I must remember.

"But, the running boy is inside every man, no matter how old he gets."


-Mitch Albom, The Five People You Meet In Heaven


Sunday, August 07, 2005

Because I am insanely cool, I have Dane Cook's Retaliation and have been listening to the two-disc set (disc one: WANT. disc two: NEED. Guh.) intermittently this morning.

Cook is so arrogantly intense with an audience and rife with this effulgent energy (and this creepily manic stage presence) that he rips all the terrible things out of you until they're bloody, wiggling little stubs of the ego self and cinemascopically blows them up as massive forty-foot posters of your inner deviant and draws asymmetrical halos around the parts of your humor you want to squelch (predicated on societal upbringing), but you simply cannot stop yourself from doubling over and grabbing your oozing loins from your pants because it's so fucking ridiculously funny it turns you on and forces you at gunpoint (while the onlookers scream, "UHHHH!") to blemish the internet with your slippery little thoughts regarding him.

I've had a crush on Dane for a couple of years, when he first entered with Harmful if Swallowed, which is so politically incorrect and honest and insane it makes my laugh-ovaries giddy. Some have penned him as puerile and obscene, which, he is, but there's this blistering element of acumen he inserts brutally and with adequate perspiration into his standup.

Retaliation stands next to Steve Martin's A Wild and Crazy Guy on the charts. 

At one point toward the end of disc one, Cook finds himself heckled in the midst of a skit. He pauses the skit briefly to quip, "You're ruining the show for the people around you; I can't stand that. Don't do that."
and
"Shut up. I'm serious. Shut your fucking mouth."
And then when the air finds itself rather tense, he says, "That's great, that's a great vibe in here. It's like daddy just hit mommy at the dinner table and we're all trying to eat still."
And then explodes into this fabulous display of domestic abuse replete with the voices, I mean, I love this man.
I love this man.

So, you know, get some Dane Cook in your life and stop being all surly at the world (that was a total note to myself, kittens. Relax.)


Tuesday, July 19, 2005

"You can learn a lot about a woman just by looking at her purse and its contents." John Gray, PhD. Author of Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus

purse: black.

first pocket: pen, black. 0.7 point
cards. local paper's editor and the publisher.
movie ticket: The Last of the Mohicans .
perfume samples: channel no. 5, blv, dkny woman, babydoll, opium, pleasures. 
a wrapper of Big Red bubblegum.
a note from Sasha, "what happened to the hot guy? did he drop the class?"
coins: two quarters. a dime.
a rhinestone choker.
a $.69 receipt from the Mini Mart. don't ask.
Mints. Label in korean. Can't read.
$16.73 in cash. Must pass go, must collect $200.

pocket number two: a laminated gum wrapper with a wilted flower drawn on it: Valentine's day gift from last year that actually meant something. 
cherry chapstick.
pens: black and burgundy. 0.5 and 0.9 respectively.
Dead cellphone. I hate things that ring. Things that electronically chain me to others...
House keys that unlock a door thousands of miles away.

hidden pocket: little notebook with thoughts and poetry. excerpt: words get in my way.
pen, black. 0.7. pencil, B6
lighter.
miniature phone and email address book.

big pocket: "bodies": the empty bodies stand at rest/ casualties of their own flesh/ afflicted by their dispossession/ but no bodies ever knew/ nobodys/ no bodies felt like you/ nobodys/ love is suicide. indeed. 
Film 400 iso, black and white. Wonder what's in it?
necessities: eucalyptus lip balm. xs hand lotion. mirror, bought in Russia. gorgeous.
pen, black. 0.5
wallet.

wallet: uncashed check: $75 from poetry contest, date: 05/09/01.
A one million dollar bill with ms. liberty on it; actual cost $3.00.
Hotel room key card; I wonder where?
Folded paper: Song lyrics for a band we are still trying to put together.
Folded papers: Gagged girl in a corset. a picture of an eye, a girl in a cat suit with bat wings and whip. All my creations. Amazing what advanced chemistry can do for you.
List of books I need to read, movies I should watch.
cards: college radio station manager, office of the governor, indigenous affairs office, tattoo & art studio, card with appointment to see optolmologist.

card holders: coco chanel bottle-shaped perfume sample with a phone number scribbled across it, no name. I should know better. I am terrible with names.
Condom, pleasure for her.
Body paint pocket-size: vanilla.
old cookie fortune: effort will help you reap rewards.

picture holders: picture one: the dynamic duo, guns ready to shoot. you don't know what kind of fire you are playing with.
picture two: contortionists -- Chelsea and I in a tangle.
picture three: the boy who changed me. a self-warning.


okay, we have been through my purse. what can we infer? 
I am loosely organized. I like perfume. I don't know how to cash a check. I am private about poetry. I can have rather emo-ish thoughts. Pens are more important to me than anything else in there. I like perfume. I have a bad memory. I don't return keys to hotels. I don't develop my film right away. I like perfume. I am selfish in bed, but I am good with my intellectual foreplay. I like to get people's cards when I meet them because I am bad with names. Really bad. I like art and seem to be behind in pop culture. I like classic movies -- especially with classic silver screen sirens. I really like perfume.