Guilty Pleasures, in minor detail, incomplete but listed.

Yesterday I shot headshots.
Headshots.

Yes, headshots. (I'll give myself a minute to take that in.)

Of course, it's not quite as bad as that. In fact, it was fun. It had a lesson. It was hard, kinda.
And, too, I kinda liked it.

That's why this is called a Guilty Pleasures post.

Here's what I shot after shooting a headshot:

Jasmine. Coco's daughter. Yesterday.

Jasmine is my last roommate's only child. The first time I met her she was twelve.

She turns twenty-two next month.

Thinking about my last roommate is so over-the-top. It was decadent -- filled with conflict and dirty stories. What better narrative can you have about a roommate? And, honestly, I am under-under-under exaggerating. If I told you the tales of our earliest past, you might not speak to me again.

Like I said, this is a post about pleasure. And about guilty.

Here's another good one:

Know what I listen to when I feel good?
Powerful but powerless in the smart ways? Invulnerable but vulnerable in the safe ways?

Pearl Jam. 
Like this, for instance:

I told you, Guilty.

Here's a screen-grab from a website with the lyrics from this song:

Embarrassing? Um.

Next: I want to buy a plane ticket to New York.

Instead: I just bought a ticket to New York. Right now. Yep, right now. JUST now.

You see, I'm terrible at the delayed gratification thing. Unless it's in a bodily context, in which case I'm WAY too good at it.

I have this thing for wanting something so badly that I refuse it wholly.
Not just for a minute, an hour, a day, a week.
Try a year, a lifetime. I'm not joking.

Right now, as I type this, I am refusing pleasures I know I want.

Bashfulleigh with My Handprint(s), June 2012

But I am also giving in. This thing called life, I consider balance its necessity.

For instance, The Bunny and I have been shooting together a lot lately.
Specifically, we've been shooting a lot of people covered in Karo syrup.

Today, just today, someone mentioned it in reference to Bukakake

http://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/2/21/Bukkake.ogg

This happens a lot:

Modi, shot today

I said twice today,

"Thank goodness I didn't know that people were attracted to messy when I was twenty years old, and thank goodness I didn't know I was into getting messy when I was twenty years old, and thank goodness I didn't know that messy porn existed when I was twenty years old. Because otherwise, I'd be a serious, hardcore porn star right about now."

I didn't mean Thank Goodness.
I meant Too Bad.

self-portrait at midnight in someone else's house, July 2012

Dear Imaginary Sailor,

You write me handwritten letters. They are so dirty I cannot read them aloud.

I want to write you letters in return. But.

I cannot write the letters you write.

Not the letters that arrive in a beautiful envelope --

I could write those but do not.

No.

I cannot string together the letters you so beautifully string together. Letters like P and C and Y and K.

The letters that say such delicious, dirty things.
But do not let that dissuade you from believing their effect on me.

Or their Affect on me.

affect on me, July 2012

I've lost the impetus to tell you things I don't want to admit, Big Bad Internet.

My sleepy has arrived.

Good night.

We'll see if what you're reading makes it through tomorrow.