how can i compare anything

Pandora has got to be the best Anne Rice book i've read.. i've read it at least 9 times. i re-read every book i like.. though it has to have been at least 6 months between re-readings.. preferably a year. that way, even though i know the storyline and its significant happenings, there are still a hundred little things i don't remember.
i suppose the main reason i re-read the books i do like is because there aren't many. i always end up in the same sections of the library. i do look for new things but i can't.... nothing ever really catches me. can't catch me.
fantasy is easy for me to read.. it doesn't require much intellect. and i like things that aren't real.
my most favourite author though is Michael Crichton. ah.. he's so good. and there are no metaphors, i'm absolutely sure. i love them but i curse them! curse them!
the easiest author for me to read is Anne McCaffrey. though i haven't anything to say about her and her books aren't beautiful.
it's been so long since i've read Enid Blyton.. i long for the faraway tree and jimmy's circus, and willow farm and the naughtiest girl in the school and the fairies! all the fairies and their tails. i remember being so sad when moth-er told me she was dead and had been a long time. i was only very little, and so sad.. i wanted to change my name to Enid. i'm still sad, and i still do. my moth-er and all my aunts and even my grandmoth-ers had all read Enid Blyton as little girls.

right now i'm reading memnoch the devil.. or attempting to for the second time. the first time i petered out about three quarters of the way through. it's so long and involved. & i'm so uninvolved. no ampersands!
movies are even easier than fantasy books. i spend at least 60% of every day in front of a movie or a cartoon. it's either that or this, and you know which one is infinitely harder. movies can make me so sad though, much more than books. the only book that really makes me sad at all is the bell jar. every Al Pacino movie makes me sad. there's one especially.. hmm. Al and Gene Hackman (i think) are travelling somewhere with the dream of opening a laundromat.. or something. was it a laundromat? i can't even remember the name of the movie. God. every time i even think about it it can knock me into bla(n/c)kness for days. i wish i'd never seen it.

oh.. i dreamt about you.
and when i say you i mean you.

i'm so different now.

i looked up the name of the movie. it's Scarecrow. and it was a carwash, not a laundromat. :)

nothing deserves to be compared

my rattie's balls are bigger than his brain.

& my lip is better.
i can smile & suck cock again.

i'm not writing to change the world
don't want to change the world

i'm quite happy just hanging here
hanging around

i don't need to get anything out
i don't force everything out because i need to
i wouldn't explode in psychopath if i just kept it in

nothing i made was "untitled"
until i stopped really making
now all my nothings are "untitled"

i'm not sure what version of me i am now
just a pronoun

i wonder what it's like to be intrinsically
kind of like wrapping your head in cellophane
my head

angels don't always have to be 90 degrees
(& i am r[eal]arely because)

i like to dance

am fine if i tell myself
nothing is about me!