marlowe : raw and uncensored

Oh my God.

Oh my fucking God.

I got a letter in a plain envelope.  I opened it when I was alone.  They accepted me.  THEY ACCEPTED ME.  No word from them for two months and they FUCKING ACCEPTED ME.  I leave Sunday.  I'm going to France.  I can write this here, because I'm going to burn this piece of paper after, just like I burnt the letter.  But I had to write it down.  I'm going to France.  I'm going into training.  I'm going to be a spy.

I want to shout it.  I want to tell people.  I want to tell Shakes.


















Oh my God.  Shakes.

(And yet... I look at that picture and I do not think "Haha Shakespeare. Take that." I think "Haha World. My Shakespeare.")

Come live with me and be my love,
And we will all the pleasures prove
That valleys, groves, hills, and fields,
Woods or steepy mountain yields.

And we will sit upon the rocks,
Seeing the shepherds feed their flocks,
By shallow rivers to whose falls
Melodious birds sing madrigals.

And I will make thee beds of roses
And a thousand fragrant posies,
A cap of flowers, and a kirtle
Embroidered all with leaves of myrtle;

A gown made of the finest wool
Which from our pretty lambs we pull;
Fair lined slippers for the cold,
With buckles of th purest gold;

A belt of straw and ivy buds,
With coral clasps and amber studs:
And if these pleasures may thee move,
Come live with me and be my love.

The shepherds' swains shall dance and sing
For thy delight each May morning:
If these delights thy mind may move,
Then live with me and be my love.




Happy Valentine's Day to the loved and unloved and those who pretend they don't mind either way!

This post makes me feel girly in retrospect, but we know how I feel about backspace. I'm going to go smoke and spit and drink a beer now just to feel better about myself. Or maybe I'll watch Moulin Rouge. A pox on social expectations!

Once upon a time there was a dashing young thing named Marlowe.  He was quite good with conversation, as well as Chess and Mad Libs, but he, alas, was stuck in his room all the time, because no one knew him.  He was a shy lad, and cautious to venture out for fear of arriving univited to life.  And thus he perished... alone... with his pulp fiction novels and composition notebooks and backdated newspapers covered with paint.

I hate that story.

STOP BY.  I won't bite, and I may have cookies and tea for you.  Or, if cookies and tea aren't your style, cigarettes and beer.  Or cookies and beer.  Any combination, really.  Am I bribing you?  No.  (Yes.)  I'm just bored as fuck and too caught up in my own shit to talk to actual people most of the time.

All the cool kids are doing it.

You want to be cool, don't you?

Happy cold weather gift-giving time, everyone!  I, for one, am doing all of my shopping online.  Thank god for the internet, and for Al Gore, who apparently invented it.

Al bless us, ev'ry one.

(private entry)

I went because I knew there was something about him.  I knew that there were some connections to be made.  That's why I went.  That's why I did what I did.  That's why I will not sit under the scalding water of the shower and scrub my skin until it bleeds.  And the fact that there is some connection, some deeper connection to everything that's going on here, is why I will go back.  That is the only reason.  The only reason.

I would just like to say to those of you I may have met this past weekend that 1) I kiss girls and 2) I wasn't in full control of my actions.

That is all.

Marlowe.

Hello, Eupheme. My name is Marlowe. I was recently displaced from my home in Ontario, Canada (adding a bit of weight on the side of "There Is a God" on my forever-shifting scales) and am excited to be in Icaria and in this institution. I look forward to meeting you all; please, don't hesitate to contact me.

Marlowe: specializing in gossip-mongering, secret-keeping, and smart-assery since 1990.

Cheers.