tarts

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cass, 21, living with hysteria. hello

all girls should have a poem
written for them even if
we have to turn this god-damn world
upside down to do it
--richard brautigan

email + @tarts + last.fm

radio silence? try my travelogue.

NEXT BACK

Internet people are more interesting than the ones I know in real life. The one I meet today happens to also attend my uni. I fidget with greenery and it is a rude habit but that is okay, he drinks so much coffee his curls constantly shake. “I once saw up Natalie Portman’s dress,” he says. What? Work experience on the Star Wars sets at fifteen, it seems: he hid under the stairs where she stood, she wore white knickers that plainly weren’t designed for zero gravity situations. Okay. He does not have crushes apart from Natalie Portman: no girl will ever compare to the vaginal crease (!) he witnessed that day for purely masturbatory purposes. He prefers girls with brains and brown hair (Portman is a Harvard graduate; he once used his student login to scour online journals for her work on frontal lobe psychology, where it resides in pdf form on his hard drive). I tell him there are studies that show your mother’s eye colour will dictate the eye colour of the women a man will find attractive. He solemnly promises to revisit his ex-girlfriends and verify this claim, in fact he is about to meet one that very afternoon. It all feels like a scenario from High Fidelity. I wait for him to start talking about the perfect construction of a mixtape, and for someone to fall out of love.