Hideous Progeny

From little red notebook, on the Picasso Museum:

september 18, 2003
tomato shaped face
lawnchair, belt, bracelet, breasts like cocktail olives
not ready
burned like dimes in the sun
composition butterfly (tissue, wood, vegetable oil, stuck butterflies)
ficelles
sun, a cut half of lemon
beads nips the same black
brick chair (skin)
the mirror looks like television
bather made of wood
"I have a veritable passion for bones" -- Picasso
la celestina milked over eyes picasso

I know, I know. What happened? Well I put on a steel suit with wings and flew to Paris. I started a blog my mom could read, one that would house all the slice-of-life stories that had started to crop up on Hideous Progeny but that never belonged here in the first place. I knew I'd come back to Hideous Progeny when telling those stories was no longer enough, so here I am.

Meanwhile, I recently learned that Hideous Progeny has been profiled in Winnie Cooper's Pantyhose Links, thanks to my July 17th entry. Winnie devotes a whole half page to an analysis of the text, finally dubbing me a "pantyhose hater" and questioning my complicated relationship to hose in general. It's true, I haven't worn them in forever. I have one pair, off-black, with a support top that's not very sexy, so if I think someone might want to take my dress off at the end of the night, I have to slip away to get rid of them. It's a delicate procedure.

I am not a pantyhose hater. Mostly these days, I wear fishnets. Mostly.

mousse of nature
new recipe, more smooth, for still more gourmandise.
these pots may not be sold separately.
NATURE
lightly sugared.

The museum was closed by the time I got there so I thought of my favorite horse, Cicero, a magnificent white stallion with whom I wanted to travel the world and David, my imaginary neighbor in New Jersey, who had a beautiful mother he called Maria and an above-ground pool.

Yesterday I said I'm single when I meant to say I'm free.

Paris is a woman.