patricia highsmith's mr. ripley, talented

and a little cold for the liking, tad bit sadistic

ally to the decadent way of thinking, saw the

game and the original, then thought of the killer

slug, sliming along the blanched grass, it was

the moment of recuperation of art and nature,

a difficult mixture, a cocktail, a mindmade

elixir of imagery, the murderous mollusk and the

matt damon figured into one thought in early august,

executed while nothing happened, put my foot and

mouth in it, the silly season of rhetorical flourishes,

floral openings for the new generation of intoxicated

paris hilton mosquitoes to bite and bite, sounds like

we have nothing better to do than write, and write

against the garden of celebrity and fame.