Canada may not be such a bad idea.
Approx. two people in the universe really get me.
(It's not a prize, more of an ox for your cart.)
Two people who I don't consistently fuck things up with.
(I'm inside out girl, don't condemn me for letting my vital organs lay about)
I'm thinking it would be nice for those numbers to grow.
(A resolution?)
But I can't seem to get things right.
(And will he or she help you? Can't know if they are an arms length away.)
I can't manage to not be dissappointed. Or dissapoint.
(okay maybe it's more than two, but not much!)
blah blah gurgle. Home is making me feel helpless.
I'm far too stubborn to admit that I'm a loner just yet.
Resolutions are coming up. I don't care if they are cheesy, I like them.
Gee the year ahead will be wild. But I hope I get a little more sleep in 07'.
I've been reading too much philosophy lately. It makes my writing/thoughts dry and slightly flustered. I'll stop it straight-away!
I miss the idea of missing you, which I will no doubt give up for the new year. We are light years away from what I would call normalcy. But like the moon I vaguely believe in your light. Normalcy is you and I: pawing, clawing, and polite. Don't play dumb, and I won't try to understand.
"If that don't do, then I'll try something new"
Saturday, December 30, 2006
Wednesday, December 27, 2006
Same As It Ever Was
Break is happenin. Reading a lot. TVing a bit. Writing, not as much as I like.
Still not getting enough sleep. I miss plotting my world out on this ol' thing. I've got lots of scribbled pages, but I'll spare you all. A few thoughts. Broken like the union.
My house, the heat sounds like the groaning pits of hell.
But my fingertips and toes are still cold. What gives?
Talked about leagues,"making out," and relationships. Leagues I say? How presumptious.
Apparently I date people consistently "beneath" my league.
I say I say HEY relationships are confining, and I don't really "date" per se.
We are all too young. People in relationships just nod their heads and people out of them nod their heads the other way. All think I'm ridiculous. Eventually I might believe them, but I just want everyone to be warm and fuzzy.
For now I won't prescribe to this league bull-shit. I do what I want. Though tomorrow what I want will be completely different than what I WANTed.
Trump called Rosie O'donnell fat and ugly.
Went to church with the family. Currently in religious limbo. Remembered days when I felt close to God. No one shoved it down my throat. It was so pure and perfect. Where did that girl go? Where did that God go? Mom and daughter giggled at church. I mean, their was smoke and stadium light tricks. Hip/Edgy. "Mary was pregnant with the spirit," I liked that. Mom leans over, clears throat, "Where's the guy in leather pants?" I smiled and fanned away some smoke, "And the mullet?" Giggle fit mid-service. Sometimes we get each other.
When nobody is home, I pop in my mom's old tape. Lying on my back I close my eyes and groove to the tunes. Great Standards. This woman died in a plane crash. She got it though, and even had male back-up singers. She lives on in my tone-deaf belting. It feels good like the age of twelve.
I need a haircut.
Papi took the time to go to six different stores for the one thing I was looking for. I doth protest, but he's dedicated. I love him something fierce and that's the least of the reasons why. But I see he's tired, and all I want to do is provide relief.
A faithful reader told me I don't use enough commas. True story. Apologies.
Two books down X to go. Television is mostly awful. I am mostly happy, but missing the chaos of college life (sssh don't tell). I might be a little crazy. Heh.
I am thankful for melting pots. Shit shaped me yo.
Still not getting enough sleep. I miss plotting my world out on this ol' thing. I've got lots of scribbled pages, but I'll spare you all. A few thoughts. Broken like the union.
My house, the heat sounds like the groaning pits of hell.
But my fingertips and toes are still cold. What gives?
Talked about leagues,"making out," and relationships. Leagues I say? How presumptious.
Apparently I date people consistently "beneath" my league.
I say I say HEY relationships are confining, and I don't really "date" per se.
We are all too young. People in relationships just nod their heads and people out of them nod their heads the other way. All think I'm ridiculous. Eventually I might believe them, but I just want everyone to be warm and fuzzy.
For now I won't prescribe to this league bull-shit. I do what I want. Though tomorrow what I want will be completely different than what I WANTed.
Trump called Rosie O'donnell fat and ugly.
Went to church with the family. Currently in religious limbo. Remembered days when I felt close to God. No one shoved it down my throat. It was so pure and perfect. Where did that girl go? Where did that God go? Mom and daughter giggled at church. I mean, their was smoke and stadium light tricks. Hip/Edgy. "Mary was pregnant with the spirit," I liked that. Mom leans over, clears throat, "Where's the guy in leather pants?" I smiled and fanned away some smoke, "And the mullet?" Giggle fit mid-service. Sometimes we get each other.
When nobody is home, I pop in my mom's old tape. Lying on my back I close my eyes and groove to the tunes. Great Standards. This woman died in a plane crash. She got it though, and even had male back-up singers. She lives on in my tone-deaf belting. It feels good like the age of twelve.
I need a haircut.
Papi took the time to go to six different stores for the one thing I was looking for. I doth protest, but he's dedicated. I love him something fierce and that's the least of the reasons why. But I see he's tired, and all I want to do is provide relief.
A faithful reader told me I don't use enough commas. True story. Apologies.
Two books down X to go. Television is mostly awful. I am mostly happy, but missing the chaos of college life (sssh don't tell). I might be a little crazy. Heh.
I am thankful for melting pots. Shit shaped me yo.
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Sunshine State
I've taken to staying up late. Disturbingly late. Reading scribbling my thoughts writing my stories and recording my box-car criticism. During these times my hair grows millimeters. My face doesn't change but the soft spot between my belly button and my heart becomes a little bit womanly. The spongey stuff takes on a completely different shape, something no one else can see. But the way I curl my toes out of nervousness will always stay the same. Child like, along with my too loud laughter. Sometimes I feel like a revolutionary on fire, and sometimes I just get sad. Turn on sad music. I'm thankful for that genteel poet, and the fact that I have two breasts and a vagina. He can sing out my sadness like no one else. Tremendous advantage. Can't turn on that t.v. I'm just waiting for me to get mad. I wonder if people can tell when I'm trying to act like I don't care. I'm tired of watching movies about dystopia and people with terminal illnesses. Life is real scary right now. I've got one more letter that bares my insides that will never be sent. I felt closer to you than you ever could have known. Watch out. One day all this honesty might break out of the binding and come find you. And I know you have a heavy heart I can feel it in your hurried keystrokes and your lack of brush strokes. At one point I hated you so much I wished you couldn't eek out a single stroke for your entire life. I'm not mad or even sad anymore. I would have you paint a mural along my spine. I know what un-returned affection looks like. It's pink cheeks and pretty pictures. Stolen kisses under darkened stairways. Smiling through dates with suburban hacks. But I'll always utter that four-letter word under my breath. I'm certainly not the way you left me, and that's how I intend to be. All inked you wouldn't recognize my landscapes or my aerial views. I would probably call if I still had your number. Worried that no one else in the entire universe will give me that gut punch feeling. Always shoving not enough or far too much. Evaluating every step of some process with no objective. I'd listen if you told me not to worry.
and I always thought I'd be the one leaving.
I heard in Winnetka, California they understand the weight of human hearts.
but I wouldn't go. pale and sickly looks good on you.
Don't go. Don't go. Cool your horses, he says. And then I thought man you should go. get out. change that lethargic life view. get pink and rosy. miss me. or don't. but come back a changed man. Someone who appreciates little things and big alike. maybe you already do. unlike you, I won't claim to know you. so go get on. leave her and me. or maybe she's coming with, that's good too. I suppose.
I do say Hoss, It's already too damn hard to belong to someone who's gone.
And I'm sorry for writing this, you, it's all grime and muck. The dilapidated farmhouse. You know who this is now you know you know. He don't know. He don't care. The historical preservation society. You'll understand because you're working for the same committees on the other side of town. Don't be mad just let some time pass. One month. You're steadfast winning me over. These things take time. It's all about time. Someone said that, me.
Anyway folks ...
I can't get enough of this man. Or Youtube for that manner. Love it.
Jens Lekman
I get to go home tomorrow! My other home. Wahooooo. I get to see new baby (curly red hair, precious). I get to see sisters and brother. Mamda and Pops. Fresh air and nature.
These are all my textbooks for next semester ...
9780811214483
9780943373560
9780486298979
9780811214544
9780520242951
9781574232080
9780520055957
9780393312041
9780446394000
9780553277470
9781567510607
9780375700996
9781594865671
9780761944362
9780787982799
9780536972040
9789990031553
Ha ha ew.
I probably won't update at home. Curse of the dial-up. No technological patience. So miss me hard for two weeks. Wait for nextyear'sstunningconclusion.
(remember last year on New Year's at the Cedar Mansion. The kid hopped up on Uppers, yelling "Where's MY June Carter Cash?" In his friend (a Topher Grace look-alike), I thought that I met my soul-mate. I don't mind admitting when I was desperately wrong. After a few weeks he said I have no idea what color your eyes are ... I think I hit him. It doesn't matter he said, but Bono does!? Besides Cash and The Band he had awful music taste and his mouth tasted even worse. I asked ex-lover the color of my eyes: What are they then? Without a beat he said, "Green, darker around the edges, with little flecks of gold around the pupils." He always knew how to piss me off.)
Cheers!
and I always thought I'd be the one leaving.
I heard in Winnetka, California they understand the weight of human hearts.
but I wouldn't go. pale and sickly looks good on you.
Don't go. Don't go. Cool your horses, he says. And then I thought man you should go. get out. change that lethargic life view. get pink and rosy. miss me. or don't. but come back a changed man. Someone who appreciates little things and big alike. maybe you already do. unlike you, I won't claim to know you. so go get on. leave her and me. or maybe she's coming with, that's good too. I suppose.
I do say Hoss, It's already too damn hard to belong to someone who's gone.
And I'm sorry for writing this, you, it's all grime and muck. The dilapidated farmhouse. You know who this is now you know you know. He don't know. He don't care. The historical preservation society. You'll understand because you're working for the same committees on the other side of town. Don't be mad just let some time pass. One month. You're steadfast winning me over. These things take time. It's all about time. Someone said that, me.
Anyway folks ...
I can't get enough of this man. Or Youtube for that manner. Love it.
Jens Lekman
I get to go home tomorrow! My other home. Wahooooo. I get to see new baby (curly red hair, precious). I get to see sisters and brother. Mamda and Pops. Fresh air and nature.
These are all my textbooks for next semester ...
9780811214483
9780943373560
9780486298979
9780811214544
9780520242951
9781574232080
9780520055957
9780393312041
9780446394000
9780553277470
9781567510607
9780375700996
9781594865671
9780761944362
9780787982799
9780536972040
9789990031553
Ha ha ew.
I probably won't update at home. Curse of the dial-up. No technological patience. So miss me hard for two weeks. Wait for nextyear'sstunningconclusion.
(remember last year on New Year's at the Cedar Mansion. The kid hopped up on Uppers, yelling "Where's MY June Carter Cash?" In his friend (a Topher Grace look-alike), I thought that I met my soul-mate. I don't mind admitting when I was desperately wrong. After a few weeks he said I have no idea what color your eyes are ... I think I hit him. It doesn't matter he said, but Bono does!? Besides Cash and The Band he had awful music taste and his mouth tasted even worse. I asked ex-lover the color of my eyes: What are they then? Without a beat he said, "Green, darker around the edges, with little flecks of gold around the pupils." He always knew how to piss me off.)
WhenIsaiddon'tgoI meantdon'tgoandthenIsaidyoushouldgo, well don't go.
Cheers!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Nobody Stops You Because Nobody Cares
Wake Time: 10:27 a.m. for a very brief conversation with crazy land-lady promptly fell back asleep. Don't blame me my bed is so comfortable, ask the Anarchist.
Official Wake Time: 12:12 p.m.
I'm shooting for at least 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.
Last night was filled with awkward advances and alcohol thinned blood.
Got to love company get togethers.
This one got so excited about night crawlers.
He furrowed his brow and tried to recite a poem for me.
He couldn’t remember.
Through his drunkenness I could still detect his boyish charms.
The nervous checking of the time. The smiling.
Even though I had moved on, he still made me nervous and receptive of
those charms. I was sad when he left, but happy that he was charming
enough to run first.
And then that one.
He called me a red head and then
wrapped his arms around me drunkenly and tight.
Put his face too close to mine.
I wriggled out. Drank more.
Told them not to feed him anymore booze.
I heard him calling my name from beneath the spiral staircase.
I sat thumbing through old records. A loner on my own accord.
That one too. An authority figure. Go figure.
Wrapped his wounds tight, because the medic was passed out in the hall.
Works too much, parties too hard.
Worried about his deep gashes, offered to stitch em up.
Joke.
Tenderly cleansed. Blood all over me. Get me this and this, stat.
Wrap wrap wincing is okay. Stop drinking.
Saved the hand.
I was sad about sad things.
Lonely about lonely things.
fell asleep to sad lonely music.
Woke up and all I wanted was breakfast. Not sad. Not lonely.
worse
Complacent.
But my day took a swift turn towards the bright, the passionate, and the worth-while.
HE had written back. My future sat in his lap, he chose to unfold it like an accordion, and perhaps add some strong notes, maybe an angelic bridge. Is she brilliant? He asked Wiseone. The circulation of not only my work, but my very being is scary. The kind of scary that motivates you to get organized and try harder than you’ve ever tried in your life. What have you got in mind? Let’s meet for coffee. Usually don’t do this for those I haven’t taught or met. He’s chosen to make an exception. An exception for the Last Unicorn? Why their may be hope for me after all. Oh my word.
Official Wake Time: 12:12 p.m.
I'm shooting for at least 9:00 a.m. tomorrow.
Last night was filled with awkward advances and alcohol thinned blood.
Got to love company get togethers.
This one got so excited about night crawlers.
He furrowed his brow and tried to recite a poem for me.
He couldn’t remember.
Through his drunkenness I could still detect his boyish charms.
The nervous checking of the time. The smiling.
Even though I had moved on, he still made me nervous and receptive of
those charms. I was sad when he left, but happy that he was charming
enough to run first.
And then that one.
He called me a red head and then
wrapped his arms around me drunkenly and tight.
Put his face too close to mine.
I wriggled out. Drank more.
Told them not to feed him anymore booze.
I heard him calling my name from beneath the spiral staircase.
I sat thumbing through old records. A loner on my own accord.
That one too. An authority figure. Go figure.
Wrapped his wounds tight, because the medic was passed out in the hall.
Works too much, parties too hard.
Worried about his deep gashes, offered to stitch em up.
Joke.
Tenderly cleansed. Blood all over me. Get me this and this, stat.
Wrap wrap wincing is okay. Stop drinking.
Saved the hand.
I was sad about sad things.
Lonely about lonely things.
fell asleep to sad lonely music.
Woke up and all I wanted was breakfast. Not sad. Not lonely.
worse
Complacent.
But my day took a swift turn towards the bright, the passionate, and the worth-while.
HE had written back. My future sat in his lap, he chose to unfold it like an accordion, and perhaps add some strong notes, maybe an angelic bridge. Is she brilliant? He asked Wiseone. The circulation of not only my work, but my very being is scary. The kind of scary that motivates you to get organized and try harder than you’ve ever tried in your life. What have you got in mind? Let’s meet for coffee. Usually don’t do this for those I haven’t taught or met. He’s chosen to make an exception. An exception for the Last Unicorn? Why their may be hope for me after all. Oh my word.
I think the smell and taste of nutmeg is quite possibly the most comforting smell in the world.
ladies and gentleman … I wish every month had a calendar with chocolates to mark the days. Amen.Closely followed by:
My big sister’s laundry
Best friend’s cat Simba
BenGay
Mom’s Zucchini Bread
Swimming Pools
Ex-Lover's Hair after shower
and Blistex Lip Medex
Monday, December 18, 2006
Curious of Many Things but too Lazy to Move
Wake Time: 11:17 a.m.
I wonder
Will I always feel so very awkward in my own skin? Can I jump out of it, and into someone elses?
A nice moment:
I just sat in my window, eating an apple, and watching the sunset. It was pretty. I didn't feel awkward.
Now, I feel very pensive. Good friend wants me to put together a reading list for her ... Joy. Did I ever post on this ol' thing that I absolutely despise money? I do. No I don't. I do think it's a precious commodity, but so much hoopla and time wasting is tied to it. I can be poor, but I want everyone else to be poor with me! ha ha. A little selfish, but I like company. I began writing a new story, due in two days. We'll see how that goes. Nearly done with Winesburg and the Fitzgerald.
The other night I went to a party and ran into a lovely pair I adore. They went to my very first reading at the gallery. We hadn't seen each other since.
Girl: Hey what happend at the reading we were like trying to talk to you, and you just said thanks turned your head and started talking to someone else? I was like wow, Last Unicorn being a bitch weird?
Last Unicorn: Are you kidding me? I was so glad you guys were there. I was just so fucking nervous about the whole thing. I really didn't mean to be a bitch, I just didn't know how to handle all those people. I'm sorry I completely freaked out. I love you!
Girl: Yeah we thought it was weird. It made us so sad.
Last Unicorn: Aww no. I'm so sorry. Gee, sucks that I came off like that. I was really glad to see you there.
and gee gee gee how often do I come off as a royal bitch when I get nervous?
I get nervous a lot.
Tomorrow my sister will be having her baby. I wish I could be there for it. When I come home in a week their will be a brand new living non-canine addition to my family. I'm a real sugar-shack for babies. Precious. Still name-less though. I'm going to call my sister right now.
I wonder
Will I always feel so very awkward in my own skin? Can I jump out of it, and into someone elses?
A nice moment:
I just sat in my window, eating an apple, and watching the sunset. It was pretty. I didn't feel awkward.
Now, I feel very pensive. Good friend wants me to put together a reading list for her ... Joy. Did I ever post on this ol' thing that I absolutely despise money? I do. No I don't. I do think it's a precious commodity, but so much hoopla and time wasting is tied to it. I can be poor, but I want everyone else to be poor with me! ha ha. A little selfish, but I like company. I began writing a new story, due in two days. We'll see how that goes. Nearly done with Winesburg and the Fitzgerald.
The other night I went to a party and ran into a lovely pair I adore. They went to my very first reading at the gallery. We hadn't seen each other since.
Girl: Hey what happend at the reading we were like trying to talk to you, and you just said thanks turned your head and started talking to someone else? I was like wow, Last Unicorn being a bitch weird?
Last Unicorn: Are you kidding me? I was so glad you guys were there. I was just so fucking nervous about the whole thing. I really didn't mean to be a bitch, I just didn't know how to handle all those people. I'm sorry I completely freaked out. I love you!
Girl: Yeah we thought it was weird. It made us so sad.
Last Unicorn: Aww no. I'm so sorry. Gee, sucks that I came off like that. I was really glad to see you there.
and gee gee gee how often do I come off as a royal bitch when I get nervous?
I get nervous a lot.
Tomorrow my sister will be having her baby. I wish I could be there for it. When I come home in a week their will be a brand new living non-canine addition to my family. I'm a real sugar-shack for babies. Precious. Still name-less though. I'm going to call my sister right now.
Sunday, December 17, 2006
A Wise Peacock
Wake Time: 12:32 p.m.
What happend to psychedelic transcendentalism?
I don't want to go to work today. Winesburg Ohio is coming along quite nicely.
I love reading early criticism on the book. Scandal!
Watched a documentary today. Vietnam = fucking terrifying.
Why aren't people getting more pissed about fighting in a war that is devoid of patriotism and a tangible enemy? Hell we aren't even supplied with an intangible enemy.
No one believes the terrorism bullshit anymore anyway.
Or maybe they do.
What happend to psychedelic transcendentalism?
I don't want to go to work today. Winesburg Ohio is coming along quite nicely.
I love reading early criticism on the book. Scandal!
Watched a documentary today. Vietnam = fucking terrifying.
Why aren't people getting more pissed about fighting in a war that is devoid of patriotism and a tangible enemy? Hell we aren't even supplied with an intangible enemy.
No one believes the terrorism bullshit anymore anyway.
Or maybe they do.
Saturday, December 16, 2006
Weather Man
Today I woke at the ripe time of 5:45. Folks that is p.m. as in went to bed at night woke up at night. I've never slept this late in my life. I can't decide if it's utterly depressing or wonderfully restful! Apparently it is about 50 degrees out? Or so the weather man tells me. Absolutely bizarre. When I woke this morning I realized something ... my blog needs more pictures and or delightful links. So here we are:
This video is really nice. A Springsteen cover. The ONLY Springsteen I care for covered by Paul Baribeau and Ginger Alford. It makes me feel real excited. It makes me think of warm weather.
If I have to work in an office will it always feel like winter? I'm getting scared about big future.
I also realized I want to establish (before I leave) a stronger writing community at the University. The need, the want, and even the space is available. Since Dalkey and unit for contemp. lit was shoved out everyone seems a bit down in the dumps. Well I will gladly lift it, or try my best. I will provide cheap wine and black coffee. Who is excited? I know I am.
Here is a bit of writing I did the other day when absolutely fed up with everyone pulling me in one hundred thousand directions:
This video is really nice. A Springsteen cover. The ONLY Springsteen I care for covered by Paul Baribeau and Ginger Alford. It makes me feel real excited. It makes me think of warm weather.
If I have to work in an office will it always feel like winter? I'm getting scared about big future.
I also realized I want to establish (before I leave) a stronger writing community at the University. The need, the want, and even the space is available. Since Dalkey and unit for contemp. lit was shoved out everyone seems a bit down in the dumps. Well I will gladly lift it, or try my best. I will provide cheap wine and black coffee. Who is excited? I know I am.
Here is a bit of writing I did the other day when absolutely fed up with everyone pulling me in one hundred thousand directions:
a tiny self-destructive thread winds through me. sometimes it catches a little too much light, and it blinds everyone around me. like I said, sometimes I’m too wild for me. but is it all a matter of guilt?(I'll probably be too lazy to insert pictures ever again) ha ha.
I won’t pretend to understand it or you or anything.
the changing of the hours the passing of the minutes.
the changing feelings I have for you. or you and you two.
I just won’t be honest about the color of my blood pumper. Green or purple maybe black with a little blue or a crimson red shade that would make you blush like the Thomas Jefferson impersonator when you poke him in the liberty bell.
this girl could use a little sin. this girls got too much sin. this girl could use a little gin.
nah.
It’s me I’m not being honest with, so don’t take it personal. and if you asked me what’s the weather I wouldn’t tell you for fear of you knowing that I’m terrified of the warmth just as much as the cold. Oh stop worrying about me. like I said I just won’t care too much or too little. or too big or small and I won’t miss out on much, because I think those pictures of lovers plastered all over is tacky. like the little liberty bells. someone had to fashion that crack, and it didn’t mean anything to them. it only made them bitter towards capitalism and the growing gap between the poor and the poor who have credit cards. I can say this stuff cause I don't care about anything else, and I know what blushing looks like when you hold it in.
Friday, December 15, 2006
Notes from the Underground
I think my neighborhood is going through a commercial gentrification process. It makes me fearful for the tiny shops which I love like first cousins. Semester is finally over, and all the preceding drama wrapped within it (I hope) is running off as well. I didn't realize how exhausted I was, until I took a moment to sit back and think. I'm nervous for next semester a nearly doubled course load. Exhausts me even to think about it Blech. Oh well. One glorious month of underwear dancing, book reading, baking, and movie watching! REVIVAL!
Went to the library today here is my lofty winter break reading list:
Last night was perfect for so many reasons. Girls night (how surprising) with the future feminists of the world. Intellectual, strong, beautiful, and pretty fucking hilarious.
My night ended with warm blankets and an open window.
Constantly surprised by the heartless Anarchist. Probably not so heartless. Tender looks, near-sober holds, and magnolias. Deep tangled sleep leaves me warm and dreamy. A delightful crick in my neck. BUT. Self-preservation is of utmost importance. Another reason I'm glad for a month long break. Nightshade is a far safer perennial.
After I went to the library I played soccer with Hippy it was glorious, this weather is the kicks. Har har! We've patched our problems and may be able to salvage a beautiful relationship. Inside girl makes best with Outside boy. Two worlds are brought together!
By the way, I totally schooled him in futbol!
Tomorrow holiday officially starts. My posts will become more frequent and possibly less interesting. Joy. Eat Sleep Write Read and so on ta da, tra la! I intend to get it, while the gettins good.
Went to the library today here is my lofty winter break reading list:
- Sherwood Anderson: Winesburg Ohio
- James Joyce: Ulysses (Connecticut, I will finally be able to join in on the conversations!)
- F. Scott Fitzgerald: On Writing
- Jeneatte Winterson: The Passion (again! because, it's short and I adore it)
- Richard Lantham: Revising Prose (because I must)
- Fyodor Dostoevsky: The Idiot
- Richard Brautigan: Trout Fishing in America, In Watermelon Sugar, and The Pill Versus the Springhill Mine Disaster (favorite book of time, everytime I read it I discover a new feeling it gives me, thank you Wiseone!)
- Alison Stine: Lot of My Sister (Finally)
Last night was perfect for so many reasons. Girls night (how surprising) with the future feminists of the world. Intellectual, strong, beautiful, and pretty fucking hilarious.
My night ended with warm blankets and an open window.
Constantly surprised by the heartless Anarchist. Probably not so heartless. Tender looks, near-sober holds, and magnolias. Deep tangled sleep leaves me warm and dreamy. A delightful crick in my neck. BUT. Self-preservation is of utmost importance. Another reason I'm glad for a month long break. Nightshade is a far safer perennial.
After I went to the library I played soccer with Hippy it was glorious, this weather is the kicks. Har har! We've patched our problems and may be able to salvage a beautiful relationship. Inside girl makes best with Outside boy. Two worlds are brought together!
By the way, I totally schooled him in futbol!
Tomorrow holiday officially starts. My posts will become more frequent and possibly less interesting. Joy. Eat Sleep Write Read and so on ta da, tra la! I intend to get it, while the gettins good.
"The history of my life is the history of the struggle between an overwhelming urge to write and a combination of circumstances bent on keeping me from it."
F. Scott Fitzgerald
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Itching
That last post was quite macabre and cryptic.
I'm not so very sure I do cryptic very well. Or macabre.
Finals are almost over I have exactly two and one half hours ahead of me.
Well, and one scary ind. study email to compose (my future?).
After that mmmm. Poetry slam, two pints of Red Stripe, and some shaved legs.
I can't wait for semester to be done, done.
I'm not so very sure I do cryptic very well. Or macabre.
Finals are almost over I have exactly two and one half hours ahead of me.
Well, and one scary ind. study email to compose (my future?).
After that mmmm. Poetry slam, two pints of Red Stripe, and some shaved legs.
I can't wait for semester to be done, done.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Center of Gravity (or) How to feel more alive than the corpses.
Easy, don’t care about anything too much or too little.
Harder said than done. Like a dropped stone in a clear pond. Watch it sink sunk to the bottom. I feel like I’m disappointing right now. You, best friend, daddy, anarchist, good friend, ex-lover, hippy, and on the list goes until I just push everyone out and go walk amongst the clouds in a big skyscraper. In instances like this I understand on again off again’s sadness at being the proverbial apple of his papa’s eyes. It’s hard to be pulled it’s a rock to have people depend on you or your reactions your emotions when you don’t even know how to catch your own not even with a fly net and fat bait.
You'll never know all the awful things I'm thinking (all giggled out) post pass away
your languid thoughts
mine are quick firing
sure fire miss, till I’m all skin and bones.
won't change the color of my lungs or the distance between your bed and mine.
Fine fine fine
I’m not, and you won’t ever understand the bond between your pants and mine.
Crazy you said once, for loving you once.
Twice till it felt like nothing at all.
Third time it was all straight fingers and late nights
Not true, will you feel better?
Or nothing at all.
That boy with the bright eyes and mountainous six pack rushed at me. Like we were old friends. Talk of knitting, talk of crochet flasks, and the contents. Hippy looked on disapprovingly and I was fraught with over stimulation. Finally the truth. He said I was there I was there, you reading was amazing intense raw. Raw? I cocked my frostbitten ears to the left. Raw Raw you, your writing it made people uncomfortable. In the good way. I really enjoyed that uncomfortable feeling.
My wisdom teeth are coming through and they hurt. A hurt I’m not accustomed too.
My bed is covered in you. The spot where you laid wafts stale cigarettes. Surprise comfort. I find your hair in my hair, and wonder when I’ll get to do that again. Glad that so many things are tied to this terrible mark on my neck, because I would run the opposite direction if it was an open highway. Scared terrified of anything resembling continuity. Don’t box me in, but keep me close. Because you help to make the most out of winter.
I don’t want to not yell out and be young and free I don’t want to disappoint me and that disappoints you confused and tired but still smiling I'll try not to remember you and me.
still
neigbortron says man, you're so damn happy when you talk about him. like wiseone and ultimate frisbee, even if he lost or got right hit in the head with his own boomerang shot he'd still be goof faced grinning. yeah I said (dreamily) even if I get right hit in the head with my own boomerang shot I'd still be goof faced grinning, it's funny like that.
If I survive till Wednesday. I'm sure none of this will matter.
Harder said than done. Like a dropped stone in a clear pond. Watch it sink sunk to the bottom. I feel like I’m disappointing right now. You, best friend, daddy, anarchist, good friend, ex-lover, hippy, and on the list goes until I just push everyone out and go walk amongst the clouds in a big skyscraper. In instances like this I understand on again off again’s sadness at being the proverbial apple of his papa’s eyes. It’s hard to be pulled it’s a rock to have people depend on you or your reactions your emotions when you don’t even know how to catch your own not even with a fly net and fat bait.
You'll never know all the awful things I'm thinking (all giggled out) post pass away
your languid thoughts
mine are quick firing
sure fire miss, till I’m all skin and bones.
won't change the color of my lungs or the distance between your bed and mine.
Fine fine fine
I’m not, and you won’t ever understand the bond between your pants and mine.
Crazy you said once, for loving you once.
Twice till it felt like nothing at all.
Third time it was all straight fingers and late nights
Not true, will you feel better?
Or nothing at all.
That boy with the bright eyes and mountainous six pack rushed at me. Like we were old friends. Talk of knitting, talk of crochet flasks, and the contents. Hippy looked on disapprovingly and I was fraught with over stimulation. Finally the truth. He said I was there I was there, you reading was amazing intense raw. Raw? I cocked my frostbitten ears to the left. Raw Raw you, your writing it made people uncomfortable. In the good way. I really enjoyed that uncomfortable feeling.
My wisdom teeth are coming through and they hurt. A hurt I’m not accustomed too.
My bed is covered in you. The spot where you laid wafts stale cigarettes. Surprise comfort. I find your hair in my hair, and wonder when I’ll get to do that again. Glad that so many things are tied to this terrible mark on my neck, because I would run the opposite direction if it was an open highway. Scared terrified of anything resembling continuity. Don’t box me in, but keep me close. Because you help to make the most out of winter.
I don’t want to not yell out and be young and free I don’t want to disappoint me and that disappoints you confused and tired but still smiling I'll try not to remember you and me.
still
neigbortron says man, you're so damn happy when you talk about him. like wiseone and ultimate frisbee, even if he lost or got right hit in the head with his own boomerang shot he'd still be goof faced grinning. yeah I said (dreamily) even if I get right hit in the head with my own boomerang shot I'd still be goof faced grinning, it's funny like that.
If I survive till Wednesday. I'm sure none of this will matter.
Not sure if people actually change.
Wednesday, December 06, 2006
She Could Not Save You and The Science of Sleep
Excalibur
Mere hours ago walking, cold and alone, from the library I took flight. I flew over brittle winter canopies, in between gonging church bells, and finally onto the roof of my circa 1830's apartment. I put my heart and soul into a snow angel. It was perfect, and the cold couldn't touch me. I wasn't worried about where I'd get my next fix or high from. I hopped up in elation and yelled FUCK. My lungs were warmed by the next ten minutes that hadn't played out. We spoke of all that mattered love, heartache, art, sex and highbrow tom foolery. I felt like hopping into the future and winking back at the past.
tonight you're on my mind so, so. So, you never know.
by the way world,
I have the best damn best friend in the entire solar system.
How's that for poetic?
Mere hours ago walking, cold and alone, from the library I took flight. I flew over brittle winter canopies, in between gonging church bells, and finally onto the roof of my circa 1830's apartment. I put my heart and soul into a snow angel. It was perfect, and the cold couldn't touch me. I wasn't worried about where I'd get my next fix or high from. I hopped up in elation and yelled FUCK. My lungs were warmed by the next ten minutes that hadn't played out. We spoke of all that mattered love, heartache, art, sex and highbrow tom foolery. I felt like hopping into the future and winking back at the past.
tonight you're on my mind so, so. So, you never know.
by the way world,
I have the best damn best friend in the entire solar system.
How's that for poetic?
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
what's new what's new what's new what's new?
Didn't get much sleep last night, stayed up late talking to ghosts. After a weekend like I had, I desperately needed the sleep.
I made my sorries and they were as sincere as possible.
But this weekend helped to remind me how poetic tangled legs could be. I'm mostly sure that it didn't matter to whom those body parts belonged, but I can't help but appreciate the tenderness of a stroked scar. The isatiable urge that surprises even me, well I'm pretty sure it has been quelled before it lays dormant for a deep winter. Or is it like a fiery furnace, just getting heated up? For everyone's sake I hope it's the former.
Some sorries are still in order, but I just can't manage the words or the sincerity.
This semester one of my college textbooks told me this: Irony is the subtlest manifestation of story pleasure. It's so true.
I have so much to do this week and all I want to do is sleep and dream.
I made my sorries and they were as sincere as possible.
But this weekend helped to remind me how poetic tangled legs could be. I'm mostly sure that it didn't matter to whom those body parts belonged, but I can't help but appreciate the tenderness of a stroked scar. The isatiable urge that surprises even me, well I'm pretty sure it has been quelled before it lays dormant for a deep winter. Or is it like a fiery furnace, just getting heated up? For everyone's sake I hope it's the former.
Some sorries are still in order, but I just can't manage the words or the sincerity.
This semester one of my college textbooks told me this: Irony is the subtlest manifestation of story pleasure. It's so true.
I have so much to do this week and all I want to do is sleep and dream.
I don't know what he's trying to do or what he wants, whatever it is I'll take it.
As long as it's not heartburn. I don't have the time nor the health insurance for that ...
My momma tells me not to get my hopes up about anyone. Ever.
Sunday, December 03, 2006
When I say let loose, I really mean it.
I'm a Jerk.
Can't wait to move to the city with best friend.
cartoons
crafts
talks
video games
food
music
movies
more crafts
more food
sleep.
That's all I need.
Can't wait to move to the city with best friend.
cartoons
crafts
talks
video games
food
music
movies
more crafts
more food
sleep.
That's all I need.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Light Years Baby
Best friend was completely right. Snow is kind of special. I bah hum-bugged the cold and snow praying that the sixty degree weather in late November would hold. I really hate being cold. I prefer balmy high heat indexes to freezing lungs. And I hate wet feet. This morning, December 1st I wake up to at least three inches (possible exaggeration), and a snow day. University never cancels school. Everything’s shut down, health center student center library all of it! Of course work wasn’t cancelled, but it sure was fun. Christmas music on, we excitedly answered the phone, “Oh, so sorry (not really), no deliveries today! A trillion sandwich makers with nothing to do, talk talk talk! Okay, I bundle up good and the snow isn’t so bad. I’m in the spirit.
Drink Drunk last night with five boys. My breasts and vagina felt like the size of Texas. First of the night, I decided not to drink. Last of the night I was smashed faced giggling. Left when I could no longer stand the testosterone in the room. It consumed the oxygen and my lungs got so tired. When I got home I was happy that I wasn’t a boy, but glad they existed. Especially the ones with coy smiles. Instead of sleeping I wrote. Interesting:
Last night in my drunken sleep, I finally dreamed. It went something like this … The Beach Boys Christmas song was playing in the background, and I saw him from a distance. As he got closer and closer I realized I couldn’t remember his name. I knew it was him, but I just didn’t know what to call him. He stood in front of me waiting. I just looked on perturbed, searching my memory bank. I really couldn’t believe he was really standing there. Thinking him a spirit, I tried to slice my hand through his mid-section. It didn’t work. Finally after dredging up the awkward and old feelings he opened his angelic hipster mouth. Incredulous and even toned he said to me, “Last Unicorn, I cannot believe you don’t even remember my name.“ I shrieked at him, “It’s your fault! It’s your damn fault.” He kept staring at me. Staring at me with his eyes. Barely there pupils intense as the deepest shade of night. He raised his arm as if to grab at me and turned away, my shriek became a whisper, “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” “But I did,” he said, “and you forgot my name. If you really cared you wouldn’t have forgotten.” Once again the shriek rose in me fanning out from my groin. I watched it rise up until my mouth was forced open, “Let me go back to where I came from. Please just disappear.” When I said this his eyes looked pained and vulnerable, but his facial expression never changed. Exactly like I imagined he looked when I called him a spoiled brat.
My knees began to buckle and he grabbed me two hands on my arms. Pulled me up until we were eye level he said, “Your arms so small they are Midwestern and pale. Your gold flecks are brighter than I remember.” Knowing it would be the last time I ever spoke with him I maintained eye contact, “Ex-lover you didn’t have to lie. Go back to citygirl. She’s not a ghost like you, but I know you invented her. Maintained by a false high, and a disproportionate lack of distance. Everything you wanted doesn’t come that easy. She’s a liar and a thief.” A note of recognition flashed in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up in that subtle and sorry way it does. He let go of my arms. Where his hands were, a warm spot burned through and through. I tried pushing him away, but we both knew that I didn’t have to. He turned around, slowly, glancing with a furrowed brow. I knew he was waiting for me to call out profess my love shriek or cry. I wanted to do all of those things, but I knew it would all come out a garbled mess. I wanted to turn around and run as far away as I could, but I stood stuck firmly rooted in the floor. He looked on once more stepped towards me, thought again, turned around and silently left. No trace of him remained. I stood motionless listening to the lonely sounds of the Beach Boys echo groovy tidings off the walls of an empty room.
Rarely do I remember a dream in it’s entirety. If they are all like that, I rather not remember them. Oh well. I feel like I’ve done my best to move on, but something about this time of year dredges up those old timey feelings in the deep down honest part of my sub-conscious. Why is it that I can’t stop thinking about him? Does he ever once in his busy little urban week think of me? He pops up behind my knees, in everything I write, and even in my morning cereal. I’m not unhappy, quite the opposite. Busy, and looking towards a bright future. All that remains is ghost images, but even the vapors get me high. Oh well. I really want him out of my dreams, and I do think this new girl is a joke. But of course I do. Ha ha. Actually I just really don’t like the fact that we have nothing to do with one another’s lives anymore. I really miss his stories, and his Brian Wilson voice. I want to tell him how exciting this new life is for me. Anyway I never got to thank him for driving to the middle of nowhere during hockey playoffs.
Still excited about the newer stuff, and was charged to write something by December 20. An interesting gal from R.I. theme: Robot Sex. I will draw from my darling Minnesota source for ideas. That should be fun. Much like this weekend. I think the weight of my anti-socialism (ha ha) throughout the semester has crashed down upon me. Apparently I’ve been missed and that’s always a great feeling. So this weekend is chockfull o’ soirees and late night trysts. Oh la la. The weather is invigorating and I think I look handsome with a red nose!
The Last Unicorn Lets Lose, no more dreams. I’m frightful for Monday, but that seems like it’s light years away. Light Years Away.
Drink Drunk last night with five boys. My breasts and vagina felt like the size of Texas. First of the night, I decided not to drink. Last of the night I was smashed faced giggling. Left when I could no longer stand the testosterone in the room. It consumed the oxygen and my lungs got so tired. When I got home I was happy that I wasn’t a boy, but glad they existed. Especially the ones with coy smiles. Instead of sleeping I wrote. Interesting:
I kinda like it. In a drunken rant sort of way. By the way the “pro sports are an abomination” is completely lifted from Professor McSteamy. That’s 1/70 of a reason I am smitten with him. Anyway, this weekend should be fun, and I’m looking forward to it. Next week will be ridiculous. Must write screenplay, but when will I find the time? Ach. I could be doing it now, I suppose. We all know the last unicorn is a last minute kind of gal.drunken post a concerted effort. too tired for all this bull shit.
my tired smile is frumpy. frumpin. hmmmm. wont be too old for htis.
ima big shot a little huge girl.lounge girl.girl next door. no not that door.
too small for my big ol shoes. and on and on and on till someobdy loses the back door keys and I can't tell you what time it is on the moon or inn korea.
shit I should leave ya. leave leaves fall winter. cold dark. cuddly. No NOtme. couldn't be unlovable uncuddleable except for the three. doesn't include you no not you. choose your choice its the pickers way out your loss but mine is greater too great great that manifesto we once lived by is down dirty decayed and full of ONmentionable secrets too. oh well pro sports are an abomination. everything should be a pick up game. eh eh eh? pure fun. Im no good for anyone.
Last night in my drunken sleep, I finally dreamed. It went something like this … The Beach Boys Christmas song was playing in the background, and I saw him from a distance. As he got closer and closer I realized I couldn’t remember his name. I knew it was him, but I just didn’t know what to call him. He stood in front of me waiting. I just looked on perturbed, searching my memory bank. I really couldn’t believe he was really standing there. Thinking him a spirit, I tried to slice my hand through his mid-section. It didn’t work. Finally after dredging up the awkward and old feelings he opened his angelic hipster mouth. Incredulous and even toned he said to me, “Last Unicorn, I cannot believe you don’t even remember my name.“ I shrieked at him, “It’s your fault! It’s your damn fault.” He kept staring at me. Staring at me with his eyes. Barely there pupils intense as the deepest shade of night. He raised his arm as if to grab at me and turned away, my shriek became a whisper, “Why won’t you just leave me alone?” “But I did,” he said, “and you forgot my name. If you really cared you wouldn’t have forgotten.” Once again the shriek rose in me fanning out from my groin. I watched it rise up until my mouth was forced open, “Let me go back to where I came from. Please just disappear.” When I said this his eyes looked pained and vulnerable, but his facial expression never changed. Exactly like I imagined he looked when I called him a spoiled brat.
My knees began to buckle and he grabbed me two hands on my arms. Pulled me up until we were eye level he said, “Your arms so small they are Midwestern and pale. Your gold flecks are brighter than I remember.” Knowing it would be the last time I ever spoke with him I maintained eye contact, “Ex-lover you didn’t have to lie. Go back to citygirl. She’s not a ghost like you, but I know you invented her. Maintained by a false high, and a disproportionate lack of distance. Everything you wanted doesn’t come that easy. She’s a liar and a thief.” A note of recognition flashed in his eyes, and the corner of his mouth turned up in that subtle and sorry way it does. He let go of my arms. Where his hands were, a warm spot burned through and through. I tried pushing him away, but we both knew that I didn’t have to. He turned around, slowly, glancing with a furrowed brow. I knew he was waiting for me to call out profess my love shriek or cry. I wanted to do all of those things, but I knew it would all come out a garbled mess. I wanted to turn around and run as far away as I could, but I stood stuck firmly rooted in the floor. He looked on once more stepped towards me, thought again, turned around and silently left. No trace of him remained. I stood motionless listening to the lonely sounds of the Beach Boys echo groovy tidings off the walls of an empty room.
Rarely do I remember a dream in it’s entirety. If they are all like that, I rather not remember them. Oh well. I feel like I’ve done my best to move on, but something about this time of year dredges up those old timey feelings in the deep down honest part of my sub-conscious. Why is it that I can’t stop thinking about him? Does he ever once in his busy little urban week think of me? He pops up behind my knees, in everything I write, and even in my morning cereal. I’m not unhappy, quite the opposite. Busy, and looking towards a bright future. All that remains is ghost images, but even the vapors get me high. Oh well. I really want him out of my dreams, and I do think this new girl is a joke. But of course I do. Ha ha. Actually I just really don’t like the fact that we have nothing to do with one another’s lives anymore. I really miss his stories, and his Brian Wilson voice. I want to tell him how exciting this new life is for me. Anyway I never got to thank him for driving to the middle of nowhere during hockey playoffs.
Still excited about the newer stuff, and was charged to write something by December 20. An interesting gal from R.I. theme: Robot Sex. I will draw from my darling Minnesota source for ideas. That should be fun. Much like this weekend. I think the weight of my anti-socialism (ha ha) throughout the semester has crashed down upon me. Apparently I’ve been missed and that’s always a great feeling. So this weekend is chockfull o’ soirees and late night trysts. Oh la la. The weather is invigorating and I think I look handsome with a red nose!
The Last Unicorn Lets Lose, no more dreams. I’m frightful for Monday, but that seems like it’s light years away. Light Years Away.
Thursday, November 30, 2006
This is what salvation must be like after a while
Read tonight. Face Muck Red tired of blushing. Smiling Hard. SQUINTING at the light, hard not to see faces. LIQUID courage. And baby I wish you could've seen ME shine. Literary Presence. My present for BEING so patient. My surprise? First Reader. PROUDLY announced. Good JOB. LIKED your Piece. Great. seeing stars seeing far still redfaced.
Don'T care if I never MAKE a RED cent.
Don'T care if I never MAKE a RED cent.
- Passion Pays offfffffffff in dividends
Tuesday, November 28, 2006
Fucking Corporate America ...
I can't memorize the sandwich list. Manager boy is hassling me.
Look folks I'm trying to memorize the damn list, does anyone have any memorization tips? My memory is a real problem, now it's affecting my work (ha ha I've always wanted to say that!).
Can't wait till urban co-habitation in the FALL. Can't hardly wait. I'm still riding some inexplicable wave of goodness, but I found some writing from about a month or so ago whereas that wave did not ebb and flow.
Busy Busy you probably won't see me till the weekend.
M: "Well if you worked at a corporate location, you'd be fired by now."Manager Boy walks away shaking his head.
G: "Good thing I'm not."
M: "They make you take a test your second shift, you have to get at least 80% right, or they fire you"
G: "That's dumb, I'd be out of a job."
M: "How long have you been working here?"
G: "About four glorious months."
M: "What's on a Country Club?"
G: "I don't know"
M: "You don't know?"
G: "No, I don't KNOW. I'm bad at memorizing things."
M: "But it's been four months"
G: "There are a lot of sandwiches. Now do you want me to slice this cheese log or what?"
Look folks I'm trying to memorize the damn list, does anyone have any memorization tips? My memory is a real problem, now it's affecting my work (ha ha I've always wanted to say that!).
Can't wait till urban co-habitation in the FALL. Can't hardly wait. I'm still riding some inexplicable wave of goodness, but I found some writing from about a month or so ago whereas that wave did not ebb and flow.
It's that weather, the kind that wells up in your gut and makes you feel sorry. Sorry for things you did in the past, sorry for your neighbor whose boyfriend cheated on her, sorry for being a poor friend and a bad listener, sorry for your ex-boyfriend and sorry for your new boy-friend, sorry for that lost soul who can't get his shit together long enough to function to his potential. And on days like this it all hits you at once. Two thousand tons of unfiltered sorry, and all you can do is cry. Not exactly sure for whom or why or for how long. Luckily it hit me at night, and not in the middle of class or while making sandwiches. I didn't sleep but I crawled into bed, curled into the fetal position, and let my pillow catch the tears. I walked out of the runway and stifled my sorry sobs. Sat on the toilet. Tired of being sad. Roommate, rapped gently. That even sounded sad, "Last Unicorn, are you okay?" I choked back phlegm and despair, "Uh-huh Roomie sorry for waking you I - I- I'm fine." I finally fell asleep around four a.m. My big sister woke me up in the early morning with baby names. I didn't like the name, but I knew that this was the best way to wake up. I'm going to make a conscious decision not to live in the past. Not mine, not yours, not Wallace Steven's, not even neighbortron's. That's hard when I have a past like you dear.Mmmm. I remember that night. It was such an overwhelming feeling. I had never been so affected. It's good to have those times though. I think I've been on an up and up since. Started two new pieces very exciting. Not too excited about all the academic bull-shit I need to get done in the next two weeks. Shit bags. I turned in an over thirty page critical analysis today. It was heavy on the hands. Reading tomorrow with a microphone. I hate microphones. Ew.
Busy Busy you probably won't see me till the weekend.
Prescribed Sticky Balls and Love Lorn Sponges
It’s funny how much pomp and circumstance people prescribe to their lives.
This is how I want to be perceived; this is what I want you to hear when I’m talking etc. blah blah. Not to say I don’t do the same, but lately I feel like I’m more of a passive observer than an active participant. I’m on a different plane. Not in a holier than thou way, but in a people watching kind of way. I don’t mind this at all, sometimes it’s funny to sit beside myself at a party and wonder about everyone’s motivations, and for once not have any of my own. I don’t talk as much as I used to; I suppose I don’t need as much social stimulation. That could very well be a lie, I still need a ton of social stimulation, but I think I’m in a latent period (ha ha PR vocab in a blog?). Or, I just require a different kind of stimulation, one that this town, these people (besides a very very select few), and these professors (again a select few) cannot provide. Right now I'm sponging up as much as I can before I make my departure.
Sponge Sponge Sponge.
STILL SICK Couldn’t really enjoy Thanksgiving food as much as I like, can’t keep much of anything down. I feel fine, but blech nothing agrees with my insides. Today I ate approx. one half a popcorn ball, a fourth of a dry ass baked potato, two fluid ounces of warm sprite, and about three cups of unsweetened coffee.
Popcorn balls. Ha ha. Got me thinking.
He knew I liked Popcorn balls, and I heard his Grandpa made the best. His grandpa was perfect, a retired something or other, with a porkpie hat and a slight German accent. When he smiled you felt really special. He’d always wear checked button ups and v-neck cardigans. One day while boyfriend did yard work with the men, I sat down for a chat.
He said, “Now, darling I heard you like popcorn balls. Well you haven’t tried mine. The best you’ll ever taste. Christmas wrapped up in sticky kernels. Come see me on Saturday. We’ll cook. My balls are an old family secret; I will show you the way.”
I started giggling and he lit his old man pipe. Boyfriend came in, “let’s go let’s go.”
I didn’t get to cook with him that day, but he sent over a pretty red basket full of his “famous balls.” We gorged ourselves that night, and boyfriend confessed in a sickly sugar coma, “I love you girlfriend, I really love you.” I’m sure I turned green; my reaction, “uhhh Thank You? Let’s have another sticky ball.”
THANK YOU!?
What an awful gal. What an awful feeling he must have felt when a proclamation of love was met with a Thank You? Oh I’m still hopeless. Love eludes me. I’m just not very good at it. At least romantic love, I’m getting better at the rest (hopefully). When on again off again boy told me he loved me I sighed, and convinced him otherwise. That could have been worse than a thank you. Of course karma caught up with me, and the only time I’ve wanted to tell someone I love them, I didn’t. Now it’s unrequited. Serves me right I suppose. So now I manifest my love in other ways. Writing, nature, roommates, best friends. I’ve taken to texting my darling old man, sporadic proclamations of familial love. The only male whom I’m quite absolute would step in front of a speeding bus to save my lovelorn soul. He doesn’t receive enough love from his wife, so I am glad to supplement. We are alike in so many ways and it’s quite a revealing experience getting to know him. Someday I suppose LOVE (love love love) will find me, it has seemingly found everyone else (oh boohoo I know), but until then I think I’m mostly okay with loving life, trees, fathers, words, and the occasional popcorn ball.
Talked to an old friend today, it really lit me up. Feels good to know people struggle, wallow, smile, and drink booze for nerves just like you. From now on he will be dubbed wiseone. Visiting in two weeks, can't wait. Progress is better seen over a cup of shitty coffee. I have another reading tomorrow, with my class this time. Less Nervous, but not really. I'm reading something I really dig though, first time I've ever done RED well. Microphone, ew. Published a story and an old poem check em' Or a Writer's Burden and Kinks.
Kinks is an oldie, about ex-lover, still makes me feel happy. Provided the un-happy circumstances these days (oh boo-hoo I know). Didn't think it would get published. Or a Writer's Burden was the first thing I wrote this year. I like it a lot, but since submission it's been bastardized in various forms. I love it, but I'm not sure as a whole. Oh well first steps in a very long journey!
oh and this is so kitschy of me but hell, I've been in a kitschy mood, and it's my blog.
anyway it works with my title. what the hell am I doing up so late?
Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.
- Albert Einstein
This is how I want to be perceived; this is what I want you to hear when I’m talking etc. blah blah. Not to say I don’t do the same, but lately I feel like I’m more of a passive observer than an active participant. I’m on a different plane. Not in a holier than thou way, but in a people watching kind of way. I don’t mind this at all, sometimes it’s funny to sit beside myself at a party and wonder about everyone’s motivations, and for once not have any of my own. I don’t talk as much as I used to; I suppose I don’t need as much social stimulation. That could very well be a lie, I still need a ton of social stimulation, but I think I’m in a latent period (ha ha PR vocab in a blog?). Or, I just require a different kind of stimulation, one that this town, these people (besides a very very select few), and these professors (again a select few) cannot provide. Right now I'm sponging up as much as I can before I make my departure.
Sponge Sponge Sponge.
STILL SICK Couldn’t really enjoy Thanksgiving food as much as I like, can’t keep much of anything down. I feel fine, but blech nothing agrees with my insides. Today I ate approx. one half a popcorn ball, a fourth of a dry ass baked potato, two fluid ounces of warm sprite, and about three cups of unsweetened coffee.
Popcorn balls. Ha ha. Got me thinking.
He knew I liked Popcorn balls, and I heard his Grandpa made the best. His grandpa was perfect, a retired something or other, with a porkpie hat and a slight German accent. When he smiled you felt really special. He’d always wear checked button ups and v-neck cardigans. One day while boyfriend did yard work with the men, I sat down for a chat.
He said, “Now, darling I heard you like popcorn balls. Well you haven’t tried mine. The best you’ll ever taste. Christmas wrapped up in sticky kernels. Come see me on Saturday. We’ll cook. My balls are an old family secret; I will show you the way.”
I started giggling and he lit his old man pipe. Boyfriend came in, “let’s go let’s go.”
I didn’t get to cook with him that day, but he sent over a pretty red basket full of his “famous balls.” We gorged ourselves that night, and boyfriend confessed in a sickly sugar coma, “I love you girlfriend, I really love you.” I’m sure I turned green; my reaction, “uhhh Thank You? Let’s have another sticky ball.”
THANK YOU!?
What an awful gal. What an awful feeling he must have felt when a proclamation of love was met with a Thank You? Oh I’m still hopeless. Love eludes me. I’m just not very good at it. At least romantic love, I’m getting better at the rest (hopefully). When on again off again boy told me he loved me I sighed, and convinced him otherwise. That could have been worse than a thank you. Of course karma caught up with me, and the only time I’ve wanted to tell someone I love them, I didn’t. Now it’s unrequited. Serves me right I suppose. So now I manifest my love in other ways. Writing, nature, roommates, best friends. I’ve taken to texting my darling old man, sporadic proclamations of familial love. The only male whom I’m quite absolute would step in front of a speeding bus to save my lovelorn soul. He doesn’t receive enough love from his wife, so I am glad to supplement. We are alike in so many ways and it’s quite a revealing experience getting to know him. Someday I suppose LOVE (love love love) will find me, it has seemingly found everyone else (oh boohoo I know), but until then I think I’m mostly okay with loving life, trees, fathers, words, and the occasional popcorn ball.
Talked to an old friend today, it really lit me up. Feels good to know people struggle, wallow, smile, and drink booze for nerves just like you. From now on he will be dubbed wiseone. Visiting in two weeks, can't wait. Progress is better seen over a cup of shitty coffee. I have another reading tomorrow, with my class this time. Less Nervous, but not really. I'm reading something I really dig though, first time I've ever done RED well. Microphone, ew. Published a story and an old poem check em' Or a Writer's Burden and Kinks.
Kinks is an oldie, about ex-lover, still makes me feel happy. Provided the un-happy circumstances these days (oh boo-hoo I know). Didn't think it would get published. Or a Writer's Burden was the first thing I wrote this year. I like it a lot, but since submission it's been bastardized in various forms. I love it, but I'm not sure as a whole. Oh well first steps in a very long journey!
oh and this is so kitschy of me but hell, I've been in a kitschy mood, and it's my blog.
anyway it works with my title. what the hell am I doing up so late?
Gravitation cannot be held responsible for people falling in love.
- Albert Einstein
Sunday, November 26, 2006
Stranger Than Fiction
Break is over, back to busy. Boo.
America, by Simon & Garfunkel is one of the most perfect songs in my life.
This passion that I've found, is sometimes overwhelming. I am astounded by the immense possibilities laid out before me. I feel as though I may be exactly where I should be in this big ol' world.
I decided to end my break with a bang ... mhmm I'm a rebel, I saw a moving picture!
Stranger Than Fiction, is one of the better movies I've seen in the past six months (perhaps longer). Three of my most favorite actors starred in this delectable piece of cinema (Maggie Gyllenhaal, Will Ferrell, and Dustin Hoffman). Maggie is a wonderful actress and a true beauty. Will Ferrell has such a thick awareness of self. He can play funny, he can play ironic, and he certainly played lead character Harold Crick amazingly. The movie was about a simple man leading a simple life. But of course so much more. One day Harold Crick's mundane life began being narrated by an articulate british woman. Is Harold crazy? How's one to react when your life becomes narrated by a voice, presumably inside your head? The screen play written by a virtual unknown is superb. Look at me, I'll stop right now, I feel like a film critic (I'm no critic).
I just love to watch movies.
See this film it will make you excited about really living your life. Then let's have a talk.
America, by Simon & Garfunkel is one of the most perfect songs in my life.
This passion that I've found, is sometimes overwhelming. I am astounded by the immense possibilities laid out before me. I feel as though I may be exactly where I should be in this big ol' world.
I decided to end my break with a bang ... mhmm I'm a rebel, I saw a moving picture!
Stranger Than Fiction, is one of the better movies I've seen in the past six months (perhaps longer). Three of my most favorite actors starred in this delectable piece of cinema (Maggie Gyllenhaal, Will Ferrell, and Dustin Hoffman). Maggie is a wonderful actress and a true beauty. Will Ferrell has such a thick awareness of self. He can play funny, he can play ironic, and he certainly played lead character Harold Crick amazingly. The movie was about a simple man leading a simple life. But of course so much more. One day Harold Crick's mundane life began being narrated by an articulate british woman. Is Harold crazy? How's one to react when your life becomes narrated by a voice, presumably inside your head? The screen play written by a virtual unknown is superb. Look at me, I'll stop right now, I feel like a film critic (I'm no critic).
I just love to watch movies.
See this film it will make you excited about really living your life. Then let's have a talk.
Wednesday, November 22, 2006
Thanks
Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. Man, oh man, I'm thankful for so much. I haven't the server space for that. So suffice it to say I don't save up my thanks for one day of the year. I feel really great about this holiday season. I'm in a damn good place right now. Don't know where it is I'm going or whom I will be going with, but I know it will be a wild journey. If I have to pick the top thing I am thankful for well it is most definitely love and patience. I've got a lot of both in my life, and I would be a hapless hack without it. You people know who you are, thanks for the massive amounts of love and patience that it takes to keep this ol' android up an runnin! I will try my damndest to continually return that which is given to me (and then some).
Thank you thank you THANK YOU tHaNk YoU ThAnK yOu
and on and on forever and ever and into the endless winter sunset
a connection was made and that's all I needed.
and on and on forever and ever and into the endless winter sunset
a connection was made and that's all I needed.
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
I thought he said maple leaves
Jens Lekman, now he's the kind of guy I could get along well with.
Sigh!
I haven't been dreaming lately. This is probably a good thing, better sleep, but I don't like it much.
I'm getting really good at sauteing mushrooms. Yipeeeee.
little known fact: Mushrooms contain lots o' calcium.
A great man passed on today: RIP Robert Altman you made me laugh a ton. Kudos for being brave enough to take risks and leaps in an industry wear risks are viewed as hangman's nooses.
I got a lot of writing done today, but it was of the academic persuasion, Blech.
Where have all my dreamy dreams gone? Ahh yes, I use them up during the day.
Sigh!
I haven't been dreaming lately. This is probably a good thing, better sleep, but I don't like it much.
I'm getting really good at sauteing mushrooms. Yipeeeee.
little known fact: Mushrooms contain lots o' calcium.
A great man passed on today: RIP Robert Altman you made me laugh a ton. Kudos for being brave enough to take risks and leaps in an industry wear risks are viewed as hangman's nooses.
I got a lot of writing done today, but it was of the academic persuasion, Blech.
Where have all my dreamy dreams gone? Ahh yes, I use them up during the day.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Break
Breaks are nice. Catching up on sleep, eating, exercise, crafts, people etc.
STILL NO MAIL. But holy hell the weather is amazing. Late November and I'm not perpetually complaining about the cold. Haily Mary it is a miracle!
Didn't get as much writing done today as I would have liked, but this is today's favorite sentence: I was a grape amongst the prunes.
Run-in with ex-boyfriend #6 last night. It was actually pretty glorious. How run-ins with exes should be. I can only pray that if their is ever a run in with ex-lover it could be half as amazing! Ex#6's jaw dropped. I literally watched his mandible un-hinge.
Tonight for exercise, I perused my roommates dvd collections, and found two gems:
Yoga for Weightloss, bored me to tears.
Carmen Electra's Aerobic Strip Tease, did NOT make me feel sexy, or very aerobic.
Conclusion: Writer defaulted and danced around in her undies for cardio benefits.
NOT SEXY
STILL NO MAIL. But holy hell the weather is amazing. Late November and I'm not perpetually complaining about the cold. Haily Mary it is a miracle!
Didn't get as much writing done today as I would have liked, but this is today's favorite sentence: I was a grape amongst the prunes.
Run-in with ex-boyfriend #6 last night. It was actually pretty glorious. How run-ins with exes should be. I can only pray that if their is ever a run in with ex-lover it could be half as amazing! Ex#6's jaw dropped. I literally watched his mandible un-hinge.
Tonight for exercise, I perused my roommates dvd collections, and found two gems:
Yoga for Weightloss, bored me to tears.
Carmen Electra's Aerobic Strip Tease, did NOT make me feel sexy, or very aerobic.
Conclusion: Writer defaulted and danced around in her undies for cardio benefits.
NOT SEXY
Not Aerobic
Sunday, November 19, 2006
Wish List
Is it too early for a christmas list? We already put up our tree so I say NO!
1) Vintage type-writer (must work, 1965 or prior, EBAY!)
2) Record Player
3) Cardigans
4) Gift certificates to grocery stores and restaurants
5) A wood-burning kit (eh eh Tory)
6) Dresses
7) Warm socks
8) Books
9) A nice leather bound journal
I am eagerly awaiting my literary splurges in the mail. I shamelessly ordered a book that will help me with the enigmatic and illustrious comma that I so often abuse (if you read this blog, go ahead correct my comma usage). No doubt "Eat shoots, and leaves" will make me a better writer. My second book is my literary nemesis' chap book. She doesn't know she's my nemesis. Actually she's not my nemesis at all. Let me explain. A young lady from New York came to do a poetry reading at my school. I thought her performance/what she read was terrible. My proffessor (who will go unnamed) had a few choice words to say about her as well. Then I found out that she was a Stanford Stegner fellow, which means she gets paid thousands of dollars to just write. A coveted spot among artists. I was perplexed by this woman.
But alas the wonder of the world wide web, has shown me the light. Through her blog, and exploring her writing, I have grown to at least respect the Sing Songy Stegner Fellow. We have a favorite book in common (The Passion by Jeneatte Winterson READ IT!), and she has a very romantic way of looking at her world, which I find very interesting. She also referenced Anne of Green Gables in one of her blogs! The Anne of Green Gables series is a large part of me and my big sister's childhood. Anyway reading Sing Songy's chapbook will certainly be the deciding factor upon which I base my decision.
Anne Shirley: I know I chatter on far too much... but if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't. Give me SOME credit.
1) Vintage type-writer (must work, 1965 or prior, EBAY!)
2) Record Player
3) Cardigans
4) Gift certificates to grocery stores and restaurants
5) A wood-burning kit (eh eh Tory)
6) Dresses
7) Warm socks
8) Books
9) A nice leather bound journal
I am eagerly awaiting my literary splurges in the mail. I shamelessly ordered a book that will help me with the enigmatic and illustrious comma that I so often abuse (if you read this blog, go ahead correct my comma usage). No doubt "Eat shoots, and leaves" will make me a better writer. My second book is my literary nemesis' chap book. She doesn't know she's my nemesis. Actually she's not my nemesis at all. Let me explain. A young lady from New York came to do a poetry reading at my school. I thought her performance/what she read was terrible. My proffessor (who will go unnamed) had a few choice words to say about her as well. Then I found out that she was a Stanford Stegner fellow, which means she gets paid thousands of dollars to just write. A coveted spot among artists. I was perplexed by this woman.
But alas the wonder of the world wide web, has shown me the light. Through her blog, and exploring her writing, I have grown to at least respect the Sing Songy Stegner Fellow. We have a favorite book in common (The Passion by Jeneatte Winterson READ IT!), and she has a very romantic way of looking at her world, which I find very interesting. She also referenced Anne of Green Gables in one of her blogs! The Anne of Green Gables series is a large part of me and my big sister's childhood. Anyway reading Sing Songy's chapbook will certainly be the deciding factor upon which I base my decision.
Anne Shirley: I know I chatter on far too much... but if you only knew how many things I want to say and don't. Give me SOME credit.
Friday, November 17, 2006
when this and that falls away
and tonight lit up like magic. thursday night, not a minute too late. instead of drink drunk. I stayed in with 2 1/2 of the most beautiful life shapers in the world. my roommates. put up green tree, green tree, o tannebaum. shiny ornaments. homeade cider with real spice. and we saw our life lit up from the outside and we were proud and happy and our hearts soared into the night. we laughed till we cried and smiled at being in the presence of true friends. for a moment we forgot about bills, heartbreak, fluctuating weight, and the expectations of the elders.
we sang we sang we sang. opera, stuffy nose, unsure, and tone deaf. perfection and I think if god was around he'd say
"shit I need to hire them as my back-up singers."
home, gee, that's where my heart is.
got another reading coming up Nov. 28 or something. still get the nervous jitters. reading something old and close to my heart. close and very far away. been listening to a lot of music that makes me feel like creating.
Good feeling, I don't even mind the cold ... yet.
we sang we sang we sang. opera, stuffy nose, unsure, and tone deaf. perfection and I think if god was around he'd say
"shit I need to hire them as my back-up singers."
home, gee, that's where my heart is.
got another reading coming up Nov. 28 or something. still get the nervous jitters. reading something old and close to my heart. close and very far away. been listening to a lot of music that makes me feel like creating.
Good feeling, I don't even mind the cold ... yet.
Thursday, November 16, 2006
Ay Que Lindo!
This morning the baby and I couldn't stop smiling at each other. I'd cover her face with the blanket and she'd coo in delight till I pulled it off Peek-A- BOO! Baby laughed so hard, and when I looked away she'd furrow her brow until I caved. She drank her bottle and fell asleep mid-suck. I couldn't bear to wake her up, so her and I lay silently on the floor. I feel sorry for all the people who don't have a little baby around to perpetually keep them in awe. Someday I would have one of my own. I wonder if when I stare into her fragile glass eyes I could see me and her father and all the love and chromosones it took to make her.
But that's not what I'm here for today. In the laze of the sleepy morning I got to watch a little t.v. Probably the most I've watched all semester.
I saw the documentary Yo soy Boricua, Pa'que tu lo Sepas! I was so ashamed. When had I lost my culture? When did I give up on espanol? Did it start with ex-boyfriend? Him chiding my culture playfully? Did it begin when I stopped spending so much time in the domestic sphere? Or was it college life surprisingly devoid of cafe skin and sassy accents?
My round ass has let me down. In middle school it had reminded me what, for once, I had that the other girls did not. I used to display my flag obnoxiously, like so many other loud banana bundlers. When did sugar cane and platanos stop tasting so good? Now I dream idly if only I could go to Europe, when days of old I would dream about the moon-lit beaches of Arecibo where I was once concieved.
The documentary was about the history of Puerto Rico, where it's at, and where it's going. Such beauty marooned against such proverty. How proud my heritage is and resilient. They, we, were invaded by the red white and blue. Ravaged by venture capitalists and Uncle Sam's insatiable sweet tooth. Puerto Rico was reduced to a big sugar plantation and rum factory. 50% of Puerto Rico is currently at the poverty level. Fifty fucking percent. But amidst the poverty boricuans continue to dance, sing, and proudly wave their flags. Because no matter how poor, they know that they live in the richest port in the whole world.
In the documentary I discovered the poetic beauty of Pedro Pietri. One of the famed Nuyorican poets, he captured the essence of what it is like to be a boricua living in the United States. In his poem "The Spanglish National Anthem" I swear he was writing about my old Papi.
As a little girl I was so much closer to my culture. I would go with my dad down to river street to visit my Tio Nino. As soon as I walked in a barrage of hands would assault me. They smelled like guava and arroz con frijoles. Tia Ancy would pinch my cheeks, "Aye que lindo!" My dad would play dominos in the front room, while I sat under the kitchen table and played barbie dolls. I was only six or seven, but they always gave me a little coffee to drink, "Yesse, cafe for you baby. No tell jour mami, Okay?" Lots of milk and even more sugar, now I drink at least two cups a day. Sometimes they'd give me "candy", and it would be cherry cough drops! Even though my little blond hair stuck out like a stalk of broccoli in a coconut tree they always made me feel like a little boricua nina. The documentary reminded me of a beautiful part of myself that had been forgotten.
Ahhh rediscovering oneself is always a beautiful process. It's like make-up sex without getting all sweaty!
But that's not what I'm here for today. In the laze of the sleepy morning I got to watch a little t.v. Probably the most I've watched all semester.
I saw the documentary Yo soy Boricua, Pa'que tu lo Sepas! I was so ashamed. When had I lost my culture? When did I give up on espanol? Did it start with ex-boyfriend? Him chiding my culture playfully? Did it begin when I stopped spending so much time in the domestic sphere? Or was it college life surprisingly devoid of cafe skin and sassy accents?
My round ass has let me down. In middle school it had reminded me what, for once, I had that the other girls did not. I used to display my flag obnoxiously, like so many other loud banana bundlers. When did sugar cane and platanos stop tasting so good? Now I dream idly if only I could go to Europe, when days of old I would dream about the moon-lit beaches of Arecibo where I was once concieved.
The documentary was about the history of Puerto Rico, where it's at, and where it's going. Such beauty marooned against such proverty. How proud my heritage is and resilient. They, we, were invaded by the red white and blue. Ravaged by venture capitalists and Uncle Sam's insatiable sweet tooth. Puerto Rico was reduced to a big sugar plantation and rum factory. 50% of Puerto Rico is currently at the poverty level. Fifty fucking percent. But amidst the poverty boricuans continue to dance, sing, and proudly wave their flags. Because no matter how poor, they know that they live in the richest port in the whole world.
In the documentary I discovered the poetic beauty of Pedro Pietri. One of the famed Nuyorican poets, he captured the essence of what it is like to be a boricua living in the United States. In his poem "The Spanglish National Anthem" I swear he was writing about my old Papi.
As a little girl I was so much closer to my culture. I would go with my dad down to river street to visit my Tio Nino. As soon as I walked in a barrage of hands would assault me. They smelled like guava and arroz con frijoles. Tia Ancy would pinch my cheeks, "Aye que lindo!" My dad would play dominos in the front room, while I sat under the kitchen table and played barbie dolls. I was only six or seven, but they always gave me a little coffee to drink, "Yesse, cafe for you baby. No tell jour mami, Okay?" Lots of milk and even more sugar, now I drink at least two cups a day. Sometimes they'd give me "candy", and it would be cherry cough drops! Even though my little blond hair stuck out like a stalk of broccoli in a coconut tree they always made me feel like a little boricua nina. The documentary reminded me of a beautiful part of myself that had been forgotten.
Ahhh rediscovering oneself is always a beautiful process. It's like make-up sex without getting all sweaty!
Wednesday, November 15, 2006
As if I don't have enough to do already ...
Yeah, I'm an overextender.
A late start (the story of my life), I plan on 25,000 words by November 30!
That will be the longest body of work, I've composed in my entire life.
Scary and exciting.
Cheers and good luck to me!
A late start (the story of my life), I plan on 25,000 words by November 30!
That will be the longest body of work, I've composed in my entire life.
Scary and exciting.
Cheers and good luck to me!
Boys who like girls (awkward, bespectacled, sassy girls)
"I do want to live next to you and fall in love with you for real."
If I believed half of the stuff that boys said to me I'd be a real mess.
Luckily distance has kept me from any real life heart shaped risks.
If I believed half of the stuff that boys said to me I'd be a real mess.
Luckily distance has kept me from any real life heart shaped risks.
Thursday, November 09, 2006
Summer in November
She's growing on me, that sing songy Stegner fellow. It's better for your karma not to hate people anyway. I may even learn a thing or two ... maybe.
68 degrees and sunny. I'm wearing my green dress, with the navy blue piping. I feel so confident in this dress. My back hurts from last night, but I'm so happy I don't even care.
I don't know exactly why I'm so happy, but I think it has something to do with the future.
The other day I put the ex-lover in a time capsule. It was precious. I hope I forget before everyone else does ...
She's growing on me, that sing songy Stegner fellow. It's better for your karma not to hate people anyway. I may even learn a thing or two ... maybe.
68 degrees and sunny. I'm wearing my green dress, with the navy blue piping. I feel so confident in this dress. My back hurts from last night, but I'm so happy I don't even care.
I don't know exactly why I'm so happy, but I think it has something to do with the future.
The other day I put the ex-lover in a time capsule. It was precious. I hope I forget before everyone else does ...
Life IS Beautiful!
Tuesday, November 07, 2006
Monday, November 06, 2006
An assault on everything
Deemed Sophisticated
Fuck you.
I'm from the Midwest,
I've got frost and heat rash.
Fuck the new yorker
you bore me to tears.
From coast to coast
Boston to San Diego,
landlocked is where it's at
Fuck you caviar, cristal, and pate
you impale my palette.
Give me rice pudding, french fries, and fancy ketchup.
Fuck you fishnet stocking
sing songy
stegner fellow.
I like my music on the seedy side,
No harpsichord or well tuned strings.
Muddy Water sweating like a sow, no sexy inflated
bustier rocketing him to the top o' the pops.
Bob Dylan snorting cocaine off a piano is a real gas
not, because I advocate drugs,
but because I advocate rock & roll excess and
sloppy creative wanderings (trips).
Who makes these rules?
Is it you?
Because I'm just unsophisticated enough to
punch you right in the face.
That is if it will allow me the right to:
drink straight from the cotainer
rest my damned elbows on the table
mix black and brown
and
wear white after labor day.
But, I'm a mid-western pacifist.
I'll just stay out too late
Kiss too long, and talk out of turn.
Reservation is overrated,
just ask the Indians.
Deemed Sophisticated
Fuck you.
I'm from the Midwest,
I've got frost and heat rash.
Fuck the new yorker
you bore me to tears.
From coast to coast
Boston to San Diego,
landlocked is where it's at
Fuck you caviar, cristal, and pate
you impale my palette.
Give me rice pudding, french fries, and fancy ketchup.
Fuck you fishnet stocking
sing songy
stegner fellow.
I like my music on the seedy side,
No harpsichord or well tuned strings.
Muddy Water sweating like a sow, no sexy inflated
bustier rocketing him to the top o' the pops.
Bob Dylan snorting cocaine off a piano is a real gas
not, because I advocate drugs,
but because I advocate rock & roll excess and
sloppy creative wanderings (trips).
Who makes these rules?
Is it you?
Because I'm just unsophisticated enough to
punch you right in the face.
That is if it will allow me the right to:
drink straight from the cotainer
rest my damned elbows on the table
mix black and brown
and
wear white after labor day.
But, I'm a mid-western pacifist.
I'll just stay out too late
Kiss too long, and talk out of turn.
Reservation is overrated,
just ask the Indians.
My Date with Fidel
They made it a contest.
Win a date with a dictator!
My, that's very appealing
Unfortunately it was government sponsored
Subversion was on their minds
Fifteen minutes in, the agenda wasn't so hidden
Castro brought me a coconut and a cigar
It wasn't even a Cubano
He had an American flag pinned to his lapel
He asked me where I live and who I voted for
I asked him where HE lived and who HE voted for
He had croissant stuck in his beard
They didn't even bother to hide their motivations anymore
He said take me to your leader, I asked if he meant my mom
No
"Little guy, big ears"
Oh
him
I see. Date's over. I politely rose.
Thanks but I don't smoke
I told him to go to match.com or perhaps DC
I think this false facade was more for their amusement
Democracy looked better with a pretty face
as I walked out of the dive, I heard snickering
The Patriot Act had been watching all along
The gentleman never comes out on top.
They made it a contest.
Win a date with a dictator!
My, that's very appealing
Unfortunately it was government sponsored
Subversion was on their minds
Fifteen minutes in, the agenda wasn't so hidden
Castro brought me a coconut and a cigar
It wasn't even a Cubano
He had an American flag pinned to his lapel
He asked me where I live and who I voted for
I asked him where HE lived and who HE voted for
He had croissant stuck in his beard
They didn't even bother to hide their motivations anymore
He said take me to your leader, I asked if he meant my mom
No
"Little guy, big ears"
Oh
him
I see. Date's over. I politely rose.
Thanks but I don't smoke
I told him to go to match.com or perhaps DC
I think this false facade was more for their amusement
Democracy looked better with a pretty face
as I walked out of the dive, I heard snickering
The Patriot Act had been watching all along
The gentleman never comes out on top.
Sunday, November 05, 2006
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