I can’t stop thinking about Ariana Reines and her story about Goya beans and the photographer with the pencil penis

This was 5 am seven months ago before I got on a plane to France. When I got to France, I wasn’t scared and I didn’t care about anything. I didn’t know the difference between saying ‘nice’ ‘nice’ and ‘nice’ in French and used ‘you’re so nice’ when I meant ‘you’re so nice.’

I wish my gash were sore, but it’s just normal. Today I am up at 5 in the morning the night before the night before I move to Paris and say goodbye to my home here. I don’t want to say goodbye, but I also want to move on. In moving on, I get old, and I don’t want to get old, but in not wanting to get old, I am like everyone else in this world, and in being like everyone else in this world, I feel unsettled because true things unseat me.

Here I am smelling the underwear of someone I love and also rubbing it up against my cheek, and in the background you can see a bowl I washed, some olive oil I cooked with a roll of toilet paper I use to store boogers I have picked myself, and a bottle of wine I drank over a period of three or four days. In the picture above, you can probably tell I am in love. I’m not, though.

Just kidding, I am!

Posted by jenny at 11:11 pm | Leave a comment
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My new room is shaped like a parallelogram except without parallel lines.

By the way those are heart pockets. I’ve worn hearts on my butt, my thighs, and now all I want is to wear them on my boobs because of Starr’s inspiration blog and the time she posted about Vivetta and then I became greed, the thing.

How can you not when someone in the world has made this and taken a picture of it:

I want that on my body and also other unspeakable things.

Posted by jenny at 8:42 pm | 2 Comments
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I told my students in France that Jackie Chan is my father when they asked me if I knew kung fu. When they ask me to speak in Chinese sometimes I say, “I could tell you that a rat crawled up my asshole and you would still think this language is beautiful or at least impressive.” I went to Paris and was unimpressed by art but very impressed by the pho. I went to Scotland and met two American girls who didn’t know Spanish is spoken in Latin America and had the most depressing drinking stories about waking up with black eyes and ha ha ha ha ha ha ha then I went to work drunk and totally fell on a five year old girl.

I hate myself when I wish other people didn’t exist.

I have the sorest throat in the world.

How chill is this photo? It makes my asshole quiver.

More archival Black Panthers photos here.

Posted by jenny at 11:00 am | 3 Comments
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A turd by any other name still came out of my butt last night and again this morning

a test so yeah

Posted by jenny at 8:29 pm | Leave a comment
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hi i just wonder what this looks like if it’s weird or if it looks really nice.

so ya ya ya ya ya ya ya ya.

i went to marseille and saw brown people

in avignon there are brown dog turds on the ground.

french people greet me by asking me if i’m chinois and then saying ARIGATO

it makes me want to seppuku with dignity.

Posted by jenny at 12:32 pm | Leave a comment
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