what the fuck do you mean i’m plastic?

well, hasn’t it been said of you before?

yes but that was from this guy who lives in my part of town, someone who belongs there, you know, the rich part. what the fuck does he know?

he was the only other guy?

yes.

do you pose for your photos?

some.

well, there you go.

i see what you mean.

so you are no longer a porno model?

this is true.

how do you feel about that?

liberated.

ok.

sure.

what are you going to do now?

network my laptop to a bigger machine, finish my book, stop lying to my psychiatrist, punch holes in walls, make raymi-in-action videos, i dunno, collect social assistance.

good idea on the social assistance.

yah, thanks man.

want to read more?

Ok i think i figured out what friend of perry, over at whateverthemuff was trying to tell me

:sidenote: must find thing that takes down into print every word i say, when i say it no matter how stupid it sounds. :end sidenote:

i think he made a typo or there was a blip in his sentence in-where the word, “Not” wasn’t present where it was suppose to be.

he was giving me work advice which i appreciate.

he said i have nice pictures. but i am in them too much.

so i could be a photographer because i take nice pictures, the quality…

is this true?

i dunno, i thought pictures of random shit were plain boring. i never meant to over-saturate my fucking-self. i guess i did. sorry. i am mad-OCD and grab all these cameras and take jillions of me-shots and stuff-shots and post all the good ones right away without thinking, “hrmm, i could get money for exclusive photos” “Hmmm, i’m fucking evil and greedy, i’m selling THAT.”

i think i have self-confidence issues.

anyhow, i just want to know what the big fuss is all about.

or maybe i want you to question it and let me know what you think the it is.

assuming you care.

hence the self-confidence issues.

tell me about this “raymi phenomenon”

and then i wonder if friend of perry even knows what it’s suppose to be about.

i don’t think dean in maine knows much either, seeing as, he’s just dean in maine, buckity-fuckity maine, maine to which contributed to my agoraphobic, depressed, muther-fucking drag-me-into-the-woods-and-leave-me-for-dead, maine.

friend of perry, i don’t want to be a photographer and take pictures for other people, of other people or their businesses or of their stupid lives unless it involves beauty, death, love or suffering. i find i write my best when my heart is breaking. honestly.

and dean, i don’t want to sit around and watch television and make observations about barbara walters and clean up my act for mainstream television.

i don’t want an office job, a go-to job, an any-job.

i don’t want to write off my freedoms.

why am i sitting here, 5:30 am, uploading photos, tinking with templates, spooling and spooling these run-on sentences?

why do i bother?

why do i do this for 3 years+ ?

why do i receive 50+ emails daily and respond to practically each and every one of them?

why do i get another 30+ emails weekly asking for sex, love, loss, friendship, fashion advice?

what who where why when the fuck am i?

WHO THE FUCK DO I THINK I AM?

i do have a point and no i am not yelling at you.

what i’m trying to do here is create a phenomenon.

all i know is raymi.com is fourth on the list when you type raymi in a google search and raymitheminx.blogspot.com is first.

and raymi? what the fuck is that?

i thought it was a name i made up for this sexpot of a girl in a book called, “The last minx.”

and naturally, the handle “raymi the minx” would come to seed.

i don’t want to tell you all my secrets just yet.

just know that there is a reason for everything i do.

and for everything i say.

im not trying to be anti-this and all wacky and sexual and female that.

i really could care less about feminism and the glass-ceiling effect and women wearing high-heels in the kitchen.

and men, what about them? who cares.

i don’t care about music and what’s popular and name brands and i’m not a big oooooh whooopeee “Culture-jammer”

fuck you spaniard for ever having said that to me, by the way.

you know-fucking-what? < to the crowd, not just to the spaniard >

>>>>>again, back to the music, yes i love it, i really do, but i don’t know song-names anymore or bands or show dates, what? Bo R i n g. i can’t stand up at a show for more than 30 minutes before i’m like, leave leave just finish your boring set. i didn’t even like that melt banana show.

anyway.

i don’t care about any of it, any of it, if it does not pertain to me i don’t care but wait, this does not mean i am ignorant and not paying attenion to some of it. i know this makes no sense right now but trust me, someday it will. i’m super-high and trying my best.

i’m not trying to be all, patting you on the back, guiding you down to the river with my other arm pointing out to the horizon and i’m saying something profound.

I just, fuck, i care and i don’t.

yes i want you to give me all of your money BUT only in exchange for my books, crappy karaoke hit cds, paid-website(s), raymi-series of documentaries, dance/karaoke parties, buying my garage sale crap, and more and more…

fuck, this sounds like a mission statement.

but you see, i have drive and i do care and i’m really, not_a_crook.

it is now 7:30am. the sun is up and i am about to retire to bed to rest for my 1:15pm psychiatrist appointment tomorrow and i was just trying to explain everything i could before all the air and water in my body went away to the cat and to the people here and i stayed awake because it is important you read this at your office desk today. nudity/coarse language firewalls or not.

it’s not a mission statement.

it’s not fake.

or cheesy.

i have never sacrificed a “stable-job” over “art” before.

so i don’t know what to say.

my eyes can’t take anymore.

just buy the book.

oh and tony, the blook i am going over with a pen and a ruler and i have ten million questions to ask you.

you fucking prick.

har har.

i am so mad from the fucking ten million conversations i have had in the last 20 minutes over msn and it is now 10 14 am and i have not slept and i look like a trash bin from trashcouchland and i only wanted to tell everybody to not email me and tell me negative things because i dont care for you if you dont care for me and no i dont have all the answers but im doing the best i can all by myself with very little help so the benefit of the doubt would be appreciated.

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