To a Lichtenstein painting of an Asian girl on Oceanic Flight 815.

Oh dear day. Instead of being a blurry abstract, messy, child’s play Pollock-y mess, I want to come back as a Lichtenstein painting. Teeny precise points of color dotting all over, black hair and red lips with a hint of shine in both and svelte eyeliner.
A sexy asian Lichtenstein girl.


“I was thinking today that if we were stranded on a deserted island, we’d survive well,” V said. In response to my inquiries he said he thought we’d ration really well (probably because I use coupons), and he told me he had an imaginary conversation with me in which he told me that although I didn’t want to hunt and kill animals, I’d have to learn.

no no no no no no no–! (remember this?)

and to pretend those animals were people I dislike.
That reminds me of the times in college I went to the batting cages. With my sorority sisters. We’d name each incoming ball after a sorority evil-step sister and swing our bats as hard as we could.
That’s how you hit balls at the cages. With cheer & gusto.


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