While I was assembling her new bed, Nina decided to write about herself.
"Tryphena is marvellous, I just want to go on and on about her. She's beautiful, she can use chopsticks, she writes like a god, her style astounds me and she walks with a regal stride. If she was a cat she'd be a Siamese. She has godlike music taste and reads the best books. When she wakes up in the morning she reminds me of a dormouse. If I was a woman I'd want to be her, instead all I ever want to do is fuck her."
Then later, while I was catching up on the last couple of issues of Global Frequency, the following confusingly meta commentary was added:
"While I was building her bed, Nina decided to write about herself. Egotistical bitch."
Thus I have been saved the task of composing my own sweet prose poem of adoration, since none of the above self-descriptions are entirely inaccurate. Well, except the bit about the chopsticks. And the music taste, I mean the woman owns Muse CDs for crying out loud. Mind you, I own a Texas album and in fact I'm sure my record collection holds more dodgy secrets than anyone I know... But I digress. I think my point was going to be that the reason the two of us are made for each other is that no-one else would put up with our insanity, and tendency to behave like small children. But y'know, that last one mainly in a good way. In that "Kingdom of Heaven, ye may not enter, blah blah blah unless you become like" way, see?
"Tryphena is marvellous, I just want to go on and on about her. She's beautiful, she can use chopsticks, she writes like a god, her style astounds me and she walks with a regal stride. If she was a cat she'd be a Siamese. She has godlike music taste and reads the best books. When she wakes up in the morning she reminds me of a dormouse. If I was a woman I'd want to be her, instead all I ever want to do is fuck her."
Then later, while I was catching up on the last couple of issues of Global Frequency, the following confusingly meta commentary was added:
"While I was building her bed, Nina decided to write about herself. Egotistical bitch."
Thus I have been saved the task of composing my own sweet prose poem of adoration, since none of the above self-descriptions are entirely inaccurate. Well, except the bit about the chopsticks. And the music taste, I mean the woman owns Muse CDs for crying out loud. Mind you, I own a Texas album and in fact I'm sure my record collection holds more dodgy secrets than anyone I know... But I digress. I think my point was going to be that the reason the two of us are made for each other is that no-one else would put up with our insanity, and tendency to behave like small children. But y'know, that last one mainly in a good way. In that "Kingdom of Heaven, ye may not enter, blah blah blah unless you become like" way, see?
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