TALES OF AN ORANGEPEELER
an archive of pleasures, wounds, sublimations
& other curiosities :: profile
01.04.04, saturday night
So embarrassed of everything I've ever written that I don't even want to approach the novella. I just caught the first stupid paragraph in a stupid article I had to write last year; my cheeks are aflame. Trite and simple-minded. Oh well. It was all bullshit, marketing in disguise, and I'm glad I'm not working for that crazy snake-oil seller anymore. Run, don't even be polite, from loopy former Venezuelan oil construction heiresses who are fanatic about surfing, even if you're starving and need a gig.