persisting plaid patterns
shaping the folds of my mind
a coalescence of quality
compassionate
characteristics
that i care not to embody
established over years.
surveyed by strangers
who know me
just as well
as i do not know them
life;
a fleeting commercialistic experiential experiment
coded and figured
mapped and colored in
by other people
when will i be passed the pen?
Sunday, April 06, 2008
the blinding battle
drifting
apart
away
emotion
fear
into
a dream
pungent arousal of the tender tips of imagination
yearning for release
to paint the picture
molded in my mind
rather
joining the journey
wisps of wind winding woefully around my face
gleeful laughter
and picturesque pleasantries
realization instead of
bed sheets and dreams
digging holes that will never be discovered
and i'm left to pencil what i can't recall
apart
away
emotion
fear
into
a dream
pungent arousal of the tender tips of imagination
yearning for release
to paint the picture
molded in my mind
rather
joining the journey
wisps of wind winding woefully around my face
gleeful laughter
and picturesque pleasantries
realization instead of
bed sheets and dreams
digging holes that will never be discovered
and i'm left to pencil what i can't recall
Friday, April 04, 2008
punching people has never really been my style
Until I took karate to fulfill degree requirements for this 'spensive, cracked out liberal arts education that I'm earning (and for which I'll probably have to sell all my unborn children in order to pay for), I never ever thought I'd have the drive to punch anyone. But, if punching is equated to or if punching is some kind of symbolism for argue, petition or persuade, then the people I would punch include the following:
George W. Bush
Not that this bears further explanation, so I'll keep my argument to bullet points:
1. Expensive wars that take away from the education budget in the US
2. War in general
3. Homophobia
and many many more points, but I'm getting angry. I think I'll go punch a pillow.
Ilene Chaiken (sorry to steal this from a friend's list, but she warrants further abuse)
For creating characters that persist stereotypes and for creating a character for which I've actually developed feelings. My therapist will have to field the rest of this argument. For now, Chaiken, go find your fucking tool belt because you're going to need it handy if I ever get a hold of you. (Though she probably knows more karate than I do).
Jerry Falwell
*lots of gagging noises* Conservativism that superceeds actually ethics with the use of ethical arguments. I have few words for this man, because he doesn't deserve them. He only deserves my angry fist which will probably be dressed in brass knuckles, if I can find a place to purchase them.
Beauty Pageant Contestants
Which I guess means, I'd have to punch myself being a homecoming court representative which is just as bad. Some of them are in it for the right reasons; promoting strong woman goaliology and all that. But most of them just need to locate the user manual for their brains. But by then, I will have located it and read it to them before they realize I'm in the room and have punched them. I'm a strong advocat of self-awareness that doesn't involve 'how do I look?'
Any person who believes he/she to be open-minded to point that he/she is close-minded:
I know far too many people that fit this category. Let's just say, it makes the job of spreading the news about diversity and perspective to people who might actually listen if these people hadn't gotten a hold of them first. This entry is inducing rage and anger and other negative feelings. I'm going to go watch some youtube now to calm down.
George W. Bush
Not that this bears further explanation, so I'll keep my argument to bullet points:
1. Expensive wars that take away from the education budget in the US
2. War in general
3. Homophobia
and many many more points, but I'm getting angry. I think I'll go punch a pillow.
Ilene Chaiken (sorry to steal this from a friend's list, but she warrants further abuse)
For creating characters that persist stereotypes and for creating a character for which I've actually developed feelings. My therapist will have to field the rest of this argument. For now, Chaiken, go find your fucking tool belt because you're going to need it handy if I ever get a hold of you. (Though she probably knows more karate than I do).
Jerry Falwell
*lots of gagging noises* Conservativism that superceeds actually ethics with the use of ethical arguments. I have few words for this man, because he doesn't deserve them. He only deserves my angry fist which will probably be dressed in brass knuckles, if I can find a place to purchase them.
Beauty Pageant Contestants
Which I guess means, I'd have to punch myself being a homecoming court representative which is just as bad. Some of them are in it for the right reasons; promoting strong woman goaliology and all that. But most of them just need to locate the user manual for their brains. But by then, I will have located it and read it to them before they realize I'm in the room and have punched them. I'm a strong advocat of self-awareness that doesn't involve 'how do I look?'
Any person who believes he/she to be open-minded to point that he/she is close-minded:
I know far too many people that fit this category. Let's just say, it makes the job of spreading the news about diversity and perspective to people who might actually listen if these people hadn't gotten a hold of them first. This entry is inducing rage and anger and other negative feelings. I'm going to go watch some youtube now to calm down.
the world gets a lot bigger and scarier as time goes on.
i've never been afraid to die
not even years ago
during a lonelier day
in moments i try not to remember
between bites of dinner
that i detested.
i really hated zucchini
all seedy and chewy
soggy and bitter
anxious spoon tapping
awaiting her
i cried
just me
and she
will outline the story of life
one about zucchini
and burnt cookies
reminding me of loneliness
my original fear
a resounding quake
rattling my cerebellum
now with parmesean
i crave that bitter seedy soggy stuff
and the fears of life wax
with each rising of the moon
not even years ago
during a lonelier day
in moments i try not to remember
between bites of dinner
that i detested.
i really hated zucchini
all seedy and chewy
soggy and bitter
anxious spoon tapping
awaiting her
i cried
just me
and she
will outline the story of life
one about zucchini
and burnt cookies
reminding me of loneliness
my original fear
a resounding quake
rattling my cerebellum
now with parmesean
i crave that bitter seedy soggy stuff
and the fears of life wax
with each rising of the moon
Thursday, April 03, 2008
closed windows, opened doors and other stuff
paying for directions about how to read
the topographical nothing inhabiting my neural membranes
nothing becomes something
or not
it's up to the wordsmiths in the world to decide
my fingers bleed from that old violin story
my eyes swim in the tears shed from pasts
pasts that are now presents
presents that were never really presents
like at Christmas
but rather bills
bills that will always be in my mailbox
bills that i hate
bills that i love
bills that i will pay for the rest of my life
the topographical nothing inhabiting my neural membranes
nothing becomes something
or not
it's up to the wordsmiths in the world to decide
my fingers bleed from that old violin story
my eyes swim in the tears shed from pasts
pasts that are now presents
presents that were never really presents
like at Christmas
but rather bills
bills that will always be in my mailbox
bills that i hate
bills that i love
bills that i will pay for the rest of my life
Wednesday, April 02, 2008
The Psychological Wall that is Graduation
Alright people, listen up...basically, I've been drunk for the past 5 days and here's why: The Psychological Wall that is Graduation (see left).
Last week I tried abstinence, but all that got me was depressed and behind on my work. This week I've been going with the drink-whenever-you-want-and-get-your-shit-done approach (so forgive any typos because you aren't my professors and blogger doesn't seem to have spell check, I'm just sayin').
Accomplishments today:
1. Sleeping in (until 11:30).
Actually, let's back up. Accomplishments today actually began last night, so um...backing up would be at zero? (just go with it):
0. Wrote half a paper, drank half a bottle of wine, went to the sto' and bought chips and dip and passed out on bff Kit's bed while watching a bootleg movie (that sucked).
1. Slept in this morning until 11:30.
2. Went to class (and contributed nothing except a story about my mom).
3. Went to a meeting (in which we did not discuss the points of conversation for which the meeting was scheduled).
4. Thought about calling my mom to wish her a happy late birthday.
5. Text messaged a friend while cheering up a friend who got in a car wreck on Monday.
6. Drank a lot.
7. Created the picture above.
8. Ate dinner.
9. Asked a boy out to be my date for the formal next weekend.
10. Went to the sto' to buy a 40 oz Miller High Life The Champagne of Beers (don't judge me, it's cheap).
11. Wrote this blog post.
12. Discussed someone's mother's pussy...and then perfect world concepts, like if I weren't a lesbian (I'm so confused, and also slightly disturbed).
We're lost today...
"I'm pretty sure we're lost, Abi stated emphatically. It was late and the sun had been in bed for many hours now. The trees swayed with the dancing wind. Abi swayed with them sleepily.
Bertha stopped the car and pulled out the map. "Get out the map," she sang quietly to herself. Abi smirked. "Well, I'm pretty sure we're here," Bertha pointed to the map, and then looked up to consult the street signage, "and we want to be here." She pointed west of where they were. Abi wasn't listening. She was thinking about the beautiful scenery from the mountain highway that they had passed through earlier in the day. She looked over at Bertha. The aged map was stained with coffee and mud and Bertha's face hid behind it completely. Abi smiled and then looked out the window, surveying the area around the intersection where the car was idling. Across the street were these glowing things. "What is that?" she asked Bertha.
"What?" Bertha replied, as she studied the map intently.
"Over there," Abi pointed, "What is that, glowing?"
"Hmm?" Bertha hummed, now she wasn't listening.
"Bertha, over there," Abi asked again, pulling the map down below Bertha's line of vision.
Bertha peered across the dark silent street into what seemed to be a graveyard. Her eyes darted from glowing thing to glowing thing. "I think they're crosses?" Bertha stated, with a furrowed brow. She returned to her map with the same furrow and sighed.
"Why?" Abi asked.
"I don't know," Bertha replied irritated, her voice muffled by the map, "but I didn't know God glowed in the dark."
Abi stared at Bertha with a whelmed expression on her face, taking note of Bertha's response. Abi took out a pen and paper and wrote down that apparently God glows in the dark. She tucked the note away in her pocket. "Alright, we're going to go left," Bertha interjected, throwing the map down into the floor of the car.
"Sounds good to me," Abi said, as she made a mental note to buy Bertha a new map and something with which to clip it to the car visor, "I trust you, and besides there are more crosses on the left anyway. I think we should take that as a sign."
Bertha stopped the car and pulled out the map. "Get out the map," she sang quietly to herself. Abi smirked. "Well, I'm pretty sure we're here," Bertha pointed to the map, and then looked up to consult the street signage, "and we want to be here." She pointed west of where they were. Abi wasn't listening. She was thinking about the beautiful scenery from the mountain highway that they had passed through earlier in the day. She looked over at Bertha. The aged map was stained with coffee and mud and Bertha's face hid behind it completely. Abi smiled and then looked out the window, surveying the area around the intersection where the car was idling. Across the street were these glowing things. "What is that?" she asked Bertha.
"What?" Bertha replied, as she studied the map intently.
"Over there," Abi pointed, "What is that, glowing?"
"Hmm?" Bertha hummed, now she wasn't listening.
"Bertha, over there," Abi asked again, pulling the map down below Bertha's line of vision.
Bertha peered across the dark silent street into what seemed to be a graveyard. Her eyes darted from glowing thing to glowing thing. "I think they're crosses?" Bertha stated, with a furrowed brow. She returned to her map with the same furrow and sighed.
"Why?" Abi asked.
"I don't know," Bertha replied irritated, her voice muffled by the map, "but I didn't know God glowed in the dark."
Abi stared at Bertha with a whelmed expression on her face, taking note of Bertha's response. Abi took out a pen and paper and wrote down that apparently God glows in the dark. She tucked the note away in her pocket. "Alright, we're going to go left," Bertha interjected, throwing the map down into the floor of the car.
"Sounds good to me," Abi said, as she made a mental note to buy Bertha a new map and something with which to clip it to the car visor, "I trust you, and besides there are more crosses on the left anyway. I think we should take that as a sign."
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