i saw mommy kissing kissinger
Michael Cunningham has a big beautiful house and a partner to live there with him. Gah. I've begun to entertain these fantasies of domesticity, on the days when I'm not inclined to join a monastery, and they will lead to hell. If I were able to buy a house, could I rest then? Unlikely. The money, the money, the life.
These complicated dreams, involving all the Realpolitik that surrounds sex—but never the sex itself—also must stop.
I'm not writing now, as my mother and stepfather are visiting town. So is Rasputina. They actually tour Tucson; who knew? Tonight we shall go and see how the corsets are holding up. (Note: "we" does not include my parents, who like their cellos in more traditional contexts; and I will not be wearing the outfit I wore to my last Rasputina show in 1998. Those carefree undergrad years are forever gone.)
