December 6, 1998.

"Taste the whip in love not given lightly..."

- the velvet underground & nico

Another foray into my roommate's CD collection occasioned by a tape the Boy made me on my birthday. It started out with "Sunday Morning," and here I am. I thought the Boy was vamping when he sang the above line of "Venus In Furs" - surely (thought I), nothing from 1968 could be that decadent & bitter & sexy. Oh, how wrong I was. I think I'll request it next time I make it to the Garden...which prolly won't be until the new year. Drag.

So today I've been listening to the album & trying to concentrate on tomorrow's Chinese midterm. Can see the hippie chicks dancing in stoned abandon to "Heroin" (a fitting soundtrack for yesterday, when I burned through all 120 pages of de Quincey's Confessions of an English Opium Eater). I question Andy Warhol's artistic vision in forcing Nico onto the band...so many potentially beautiful songs are loused up by her hoarse, flat Eurotrash voice. (Not that I know what "Eurotrash" means, but I tirelessly search for sentences that I can legitimately squeeze it into.)

I am vaguely insulted by the fact that Nigel thought this was me in disguise. Hmph. Number one, she doesn't look like me...and number two, pies do nothing for me. I don't even like to eat them.

And while we're on the subject, I don't understand the erotic appeal of those suits that only leave the crotch, breasts & mouth free. As if my secret desire was to wear clothes while I copulated. Yuk. Although I will try anything once - except anal sex, that is. I think I have some issues there that Freud would be most interested in, but he's dead so what are ya gonna do?

Exactly.

And don't wear one of those suits when you do it.