underwear for the cold war.

the world is divided in the hands of two parties. the 'i've-bigger-biceps-abs-pecs-balls-than-you' fuck-ups and them 'we've-tiny-balls-so-we'll-settle-for-world-peace' dirty communists. it's can also, however, be seen to be split in a different way: those who will ask 'how do you say "fuck"' when faced with a new language, and those who will ask 'how do you say "i love you"' when faced with the same. in a simpler form this split has generally taken the form of being a 'gender split' though it's a slightly fallacious translation. i was watching tv when this dutch hottie asked this chink how to say 'i love you' in chinese in an ad, is why. if her balls were bigger she would've asked for 'fuck you' i'm sure. or perhaps the camera and political correctness made her a commie. anyway they were on their way to the berlin wall so i guess it makes relevant sense. one doesn't readily confront the cold war without being in some sense a socialist.

saw a film about a communist chilean poet. and in criticism of italian democrats. strange how idealism still featured so prominently as near as 1994.

will awaken earlier on the morrow. those motherfucking kids have really lost it this semester. i mean, i haven't seen a fully housed library, period, much less one at 11 in the fucking morning. people (read: women, cos there's nothing to say about men in this context) are relegated even to them solitary confinement cells that make them look like fishtank whores. elaborate rearranging of the configuration of the sparse pieces of fabric no larger than my handkerchief they wear on the lower halves of their bodies become futile exercises in covering up any substantial bits of said halves, as they have to acquaint their asses with the carpeted floor. or is it a purposive activity with developing a montage showing in full the design ingenuity of their limited-edition victoria secret collection in mind.