"Those boon times went bust
My feet of clay, they dried to dust
The red isn't the red we painted
It's just rust
And the signature thing
That used to bring a following
I have trouble now
Even remembering
So why did I kiss him so hard
Late last Friday night?
And keep on letting him change all my plans?
I'm either so sick in the head
I need to be bled dry to quit
Or I just really used to love him
I sure hope that's it
I knew that to keep in touch
Would do me deep in dutch
'Cause it isn't the rush of remembering
It's just mush
And that signature thing
Is only growing harrowing
I should have no trouble now
To keep from following
So why did I kiss him so hard
Late last Friday night?
And keep on letting him change all my plans?
I'm either so sick in the head
I need to be bled dry to quit
Or I just really used to love him
I sure hope that's it."
When I listen to the entire Extraordinary Machine album I'm convinced that Fiona Apple and I dated the same person.
2.21.2007
I feel free, I feel free, I feel free
An excerpt from Margaret Atwood's Happy Endings:
"You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality.
The only authentic ending is the one provided here:
John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.
So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with."
"You'll have to face it, the endings are the same however you slice it. Don't be deluded by any other endings, they're all fake, either deliberately fake, with malicious intent to deceive, or just motivated by excessive optimism if not by downright sentimentality.
The only authentic ending is the one provided here:
John and Mary die. John and Mary die. John and Mary die.
So much for endings. Beginnings are always more fun. True connoisseurs, however, are known to favor the stretch in between, since it's the hardest to do anything with."
2.15.2007
D and C
Blackberry womb
Once ripened and stocked with
Goodies
Now a dainty, ethereal
Cloud
After the needle’s careen
I envy your canter,
Mother
Dashing, spurting life
I spill my ruddy crimson voice
“Happy birthday”
You’re barely scraping by,
Mother
Once ripened and stocked with
Goodies
Now a dainty, ethereal
Cloud
After the needle’s careen
I envy your canter,
Mother
Dashing, spurting life
I spill my ruddy crimson voice
“Happy birthday”
You’re barely scraping by,
Mother
2.10.2007
2.01.2007
A bigger imitation
They held hands before the snow fell. She’s dark and heavy in the winter. Twenty five dollars and then some. She felt her back tremble, her body naked against the windowpane. The smell from it lingers and he asks why she smells like Pez.
He spits his chewing tobacco on the ground between I love yous. She can’t remember the last time his mouth wasn’t full of shit.
She was light in the spring and didn’t like to be alone, but she was never alone; she slept on a hard mattress that left bruises on her hips. They kept her company. She was there in a dream, with a blurry face and tattered shoes and slender denim. There is rapport, folks. The good team won. The harder she stared at me, the harder I moved. The sky dripped white and she got splattered. She had to walk down the stairs with wet feet. Hot feet, ready to jump. Ready to drown.
You heard me talk about my shoulders. Not fair. I only saw yellow. I hate three. Let me sleep. We’ll meet at the white. Will you know me? You were born before me.
She picked at the glowing red muffins, sprawled out on her sofa. She’s glad she got away from the glass and the coffee. She slept like a baby, woke up too early, and bawled her eyes out all night. Everything falls at eight AM. She felt bigger because she was. Seven days is far too long to be heavy.
He spits his chewing tobacco on the ground between I love yous. She can’t remember the last time his mouth wasn’t full of shit.
She was light in the spring and didn’t like to be alone, but she was never alone; she slept on a hard mattress that left bruises on her hips. They kept her company. She was there in a dream, with a blurry face and tattered shoes and slender denim. There is rapport, folks. The good team won. The harder she stared at me, the harder I moved. The sky dripped white and she got splattered. She had to walk down the stairs with wet feet. Hot feet, ready to jump. Ready to drown.
You heard me talk about my shoulders. Not fair. I only saw yellow. I hate three. Let me sleep. We’ll meet at the white. Will you know me? You were born before me.
She picked at the glowing red muffins, sprawled out on her sofa. She’s glad she got away from the glass and the coffee. She slept like a baby, woke up too early, and bawled her eyes out all night. Everything falls at eight AM. She felt bigger because she was. Seven days is far too long to be heavy.
1.21.2007
You wept, but your soul was willing
www.philosophersguild.com
I get giddy every time I look at this site. Things I would absolutely kill to own (had I money to spare):
Naughty Shakespeare Pillow
Freudian Slippers
Tickle-Me Freud
Screaming Scream Pillow
Giggling Mona Lisa Pillow
Axis of Evil Finger Puppets
Great Philosophers Finger Puppets
Great Writers Finger Puppets
Shakespearean Insult Mug
Poe Little Thinker
Van Gogh Little Thinker (with detachable velcro ear!)
Nietzsche Little Thinker
Dali Little Thinker
All the Little Thinkers
Shakespeare Scarf
Dali Watch
I wandered onto the snowy Athens streets at 7:30 AM this Sunday morning, clad only in sneakers, shorts, and a hoodie. The snow was falling fast, blanketing the vacant ground - no one is awake at this hour. It was only I, and I walked down the middle of Union Street, catching chunky flakes on my tongue.
It was only I, and I smoked silly cigarettes and went to silly places. Ping Recreational Center isn't open at 7:30 AM on Sundays, apparently. No one is awake at this hour, and I'm territorial - I needed to make the first white footprints Athens has seen in 2007.
"People are just people, doing the best they can do."
I get giddy every time I look at this site. Things I would absolutely kill to own (had I money to spare):
Naughty Shakespeare Pillow
Freudian Slippers
Tickle-Me Freud
Screaming Scream Pillow
Giggling Mona Lisa Pillow
Axis of Evil Finger Puppets
Great Philosophers Finger Puppets
Great Writers Finger Puppets
Shakespearean Insult Mug
Poe Little Thinker
Van Gogh Little Thinker (with detachable velcro ear!)
Nietzsche Little Thinker
Dali Little Thinker
All the Little Thinkers
Shakespeare Scarf
Dali Watch
I wandered onto the snowy Athens streets at 7:30 AM this Sunday morning, clad only in sneakers, shorts, and a hoodie. The snow was falling fast, blanketing the vacant ground - no one is awake at this hour. It was only I, and I walked down the middle of Union Street, catching chunky flakes on my tongue.
It was only I, and I smoked silly cigarettes and went to silly places. Ping Recreational Center isn't open at 7:30 AM on Sundays, apparently. No one is awake at this hour, and I'm territorial - I needed to make the first white footprints Athens has seen in 2007.
"People are just people, doing the best they can do."
12.24.2006
"I smell like a glittery middle schooler!"
Tonight Megan and I made a mix CD to commemorate our love over the past few years - a follow-up to Girls' Weekend 2004 and the post-graduation I Love You mix, if you will:
We Fell In Love All Over Again! Christmas Eve 2006:
1) Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Cheated Hearts
2) The Cure - Love Song
3) Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets Body
4) The Doors - Love Her Madly
5) The Faint - Worked Up So Sexual
6) Fiona Apple - Get Him Back
7) Heart - Barracuda
8) The Clash - Rock the Casbah
9) Pete Townshend - Let My Love Open the Door
10) Muse - Starlight
11) Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes
12) Pinback - Syracuse
13) The Postal Service - Such Great Heights
14) Queens of the Stone Age - Burn the Witch
15) Regina Spektor - Fidelity
16) The Smiths - Bigmouth Strikes Again
17) Tori Amos - The Waitress
18) U2 - She Moves in Mysterious Ways
19) David Gilmour - There's No Way Out of Here
Slob on My Nob was going to be a bonus track, but we decided that the lyrics were too heartwrenching to endure. But narrowing down the song list for this compilation was no easy task - "That was like giving away children!"
Tonight I laughed harder than I have in a long time. I'm not sure if I have Megan to blame or Gigli. Probably Gigli.
"God bless you, penis."
We Fell In Love All Over Again! Christmas Eve 2006:
1) Yeah Yeah Yeahs - Cheated Hearts
2) The Cure - Love Song
3) Death Cab for Cutie - Soul Meets Body
4) The Doors - Love Her Madly
5) The Faint - Worked Up So Sexual
6) Fiona Apple - Get Him Back
7) Heart - Barracuda
8) The Clash - Rock the Casbah
9) Pete Townshend - Let My Love Open the Door
10) Muse - Starlight
11) Peter Gabriel - In Your Eyes
12) Pinback - Syracuse
13) The Postal Service - Such Great Heights
14) Queens of the Stone Age - Burn the Witch
15) Regina Spektor - Fidelity
16) The Smiths - Bigmouth Strikes Again
17) Tori Amos - The Waitress
18) U2 - She Moves in Mysterious Ways
19) David Gilmour - There's No Way Out of Here
Slob on My Nob was going to be a bonus track, but we decided that the lyrics were too heartwrenching to endure. But narrowing down the song list for this compilation was no easy task - "That was like giving away children!"
Tonight I laughed harder than I have in a long time. I'm not sure if I have Megan to blame or Gigli. Probably Gigli.
"God bless you, penis."
12.19.2006
Touched the mannequin, and then ran.
The most amazing video I have ever seen:
In today's news, I have a tendency to shake a lot.
In today's news, I have a tendency to shake a lot.
12.11.2006
On overindulgence
Thursday, December 7th, 2006
2:15 PM, 1465 Chester Avenue
Cleveland, Ohio – Greyhound Bus station
To Cincinnati to see my boy.
Couldn’t be more excited.
And Pops couldn’t be more apprehensive. He hesitantly leaves me after buying me a watered-down Diet Coke and encouraging me to stick around the security guards. I’m personally unafraid – the fact that I’m the racial minority doesn’t frighten me. Of course, the first person to approach me after I’m left unattended is white. Picture George Carlin, but a little more rough around the edges, with dirtier fingernails and less teeth, and sweatpants and big black sunglasses.
“Can I sit here?”
There are many open tables, but maybe his sunglasses have obscured his vision.
“Oh, sure.”
“It’s cold, huh? Real cold when you’re homeless like me, ya know?”
Because I can relate. “Oh, yeah.”
“You reading a book?”
No, I’m fixin’ on eatin’ it. “Mmhmm.”
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
“I’ve got a room. You want to come with me?”
I want to ask him how a homeless man has a room, but instead I chuckle uncomfortably and spit out something that sounds like “Ohoha, no, thank you, heh.”
Thank you? Since when do rules of etiquette apply to potential rapists? The man, who introduces himself as George, swindles a dollar out of me and disappears. I see him minutes later seated next to a coy blond teenager on a stairway, convincing her to surrender her bag of pretzels to him. Security hollers and sends him on his way, but he's a happy camper - proudly displaying his dollar and a bag of pretzels in tow.
3:30 PM - I call Scott to let him know that I'm on my way, and before I can insert my iPod earphones I hear "You goin' to see your honey, too?"
He's a nice kid, I find - Michael (or Matthew or something): 28, bearded, artistic, and annoyingly restless. He spends the next couple hours offering me food, telling his life story, showing me his photography and explaining his perspective on art. I really want to just read my book.
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
So I oblige his anxiety and listen to him rattle on about the things he sees in the clouds. The clouds are grey and the sky is peach at this point, highlighting all the God-fearing billboards I see on the way. "IF YOU DIE TODAY, WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY?" Ohio has a lot of these, and a lot of oversized domineering crosses that sneer at you as you drive by.
There is a cute girl on the bus - 20, with wavy dark hair, purposely tattered jeans, pumps, and a tongue ring. Her voice is sulty, sophisticated - and she works at Hooters. I think I have a hetero-crush.
This fades the second I arrive in Cincinnati and set eyes upon my boy. It's hard to appropriately explain times like these with words alone, even in a poetic sense. It needs a soundtrack and it needs texture - and you need to feel how warm he is. I can't take my eyes or hands off of him for the next 48 hours, which are spent mostly in a hazy state of euphoric rapture. Athens, Ohio - I owe you somethin'.
I spin into slumber Friday night and roll into consciousness Saturday morning, suffering the painful consequences of overindulgence. Furthermore, I'm afraid I'm actually ill with some sort of virus or food poisoning. Saturday and Sunday are a struggle, and I try my best to act fully functional around his family and friends, but my attempts to ignore the agonizing pain in my stomach are futile - whoever said that stuff about mind over matter is full o' shits.
If I were funny I'd make a shit joke right here.
You are wonderful. There are times where I purposely distance myself from you, physically - by a couple of feet or so, so I can take all of you in - head to toe, every observable quality and quirk.
Saturday Night Live is no longer funny, even in the slightest, by the way. That's a shame.
Scott sends me off on Sunday afternoon, back onto the Greyhound and back into the wintry grounds of Cleveland. The windows of this bus are so sullied that their stains match the post-Cincinnati sky, and I soon realize that it doesn't matter which I choose to focus on - both are equally dismal.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
6:45 PM, West Salem, Ohio
West Salem, Ohio has a population of less than 2,000 people and I am convinced it's the darkest town in Ohio. The cornfields I see are frighteningly vast; the gas stations I see are shut down; the signs I see warn of horse-and-buggy crossings.
And here we were, stuck in somebody's front yard, because our driver thought it was a good idea to turn around in somebody's dirt and gravel driveway. Beyond that, we're lost, I'm hungry, and I'm terrified. But there is rapport on this bus - there's nothing like fear to bring people together. We arrive in Cleveland three hours later than expected, and though I'm thoroughly annoyed, I've been laughing my ass off with these folks. But don't tell Greyhound that, because in an hour or so they're going to get a distressed phone call demanding a refund.
Home. Nothing worth mentioning here.
2:15 PM, 1465 Chester Avenue
Cleveland, Ohio – Greyhound Bus station
To Cincinnati to see my boy.
Couldn’t be more excited.
And Pops couldn’t be more apprehensive. He hesitantly leaves me after buying me a watered-down Diet Coke and encouraging me to stick around the security guards. I’m personally unafraid – the fact that I’m the racial minority doesn’t frighten me. Of course, the first person to approach me after I’m left unattended is white. Picture George Carlin, but a little more rough around the edges, with dirtier fingernails and less teeth, and sweatpants and big black sunglasses.
“Can I sit here?”
There are many open tables, but maybe his sunglasses have obscured his vision.
“Oh, sure.”
“It’s cold, huh? Real cold when you’re homeless like me, ya know?”
Because I can relate. “Oh, yeah.”
“You reading a book?”
No, I’m fixin’ on eatin’ it. “Mmhmm.”
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
“I’ve got a room. You want to come with me?”
I want to ask him how a homeless man has a room, but instead I chuckle uncomfortably and spit out something that sounds like “Ohoha, no, thank you, heh.”
Thank you? Since when do rules of etiquette apply to potential rapists? The man, who introduces himself as George, swindles a dollar out of me and disappears. I see him minutes later seated next to a coy blond teenager on a stairway, convincing her to surrender her bag of pretzels to him. Security hollers and sends him on his way, but he's a happy camper - proudly displaying his dollar and a bag of pretzels in tow.
3:30 PM - I call Scott to let him know that I'm on my way, and before I can insert my iPod earphones I hear "You goin' to see your honey, too?"
He's a nice kid, I find - Michael (or Matthew or something): 28, bearded, artistic, and annoyingly restless. He spends the next couple hours offering me food, telling his life story, showing me his photography and explaining his perspective on art. I really want to just read my book.
I’m a bitch. Maybe he just wants someone to talk to. No harm in that, really.
So I oblige his anxiety and listen to him rattle on about the things he sees in the clouds. The clouds are grey and the sky is peach at this point, highlighting all the God-fearing billboards I see on the way. "IF YOU DIE TODAY, WHERE WILL YOU SPEND ETERNITY?" Ohio has a lot of these, and a lot of oversized domineering crosses that sneer at you as you drive by.
There is a cute girl on the bus - 20, with wavy dark hair, purposely tattered jeans, pumps, and a tongue ring. Her voice is sulty, sophisticated - and she works at Hooters. I think I have a hetero-crush.
This fades the second I arrive in Cincinnati and set eyes upon my boy. It's hard to appropriately explain times like these with words alone, even in a poetic sense. It needs a soundtrack and it needs texture - and you need to feel how warm he is. I can't take my eyes or hands off of him for the next 48 hours, which are spent mostly in a hazy state of euphoric rapture. Athens, Ohio - I owe you somethin'.
I spin into slumber Friday night and roll into consciousness Saturday morning, suffering the painful consequences of overindulgence. Furthermore, I'm afraid I'm actually ill with some sort of virus or food poisoning. Saturday and Sunday are a struggle, and I try my best to act fully functional around his family and friends, but my attempts to ignore the agonizing pain in my stomach are futile - whoever said that stuff about mind over matter is full o' shits.
If I were funny I'd make a shit joke right here.
You are wonderful. There are times where I purposely distance myself from you, physically - by a couple of feet or so, so I can take all of you in - head to toe, every observable quality and quirk.
Saturday Night Live is no longer funny, even in the slightest, by the way. That's a shame.
Scott sends me off on Sunday afternoon, back onto the Greyhound and back into the wintry grounds of Cleveland. The windows of this bus are so sullied that their stains match the post-Cincinnati sky, and I soon realize that it doesn't matter which I choose to focus on - both are equally dismal.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
6:45 PM, West Salem, Ohio
West Salem, Ohio has a population of less than 2,000 people and I am convinced it's the darkest town in Ohio. The cornfields I see are frighteningly vast; the gas stations I see are shut down; the signs I see warn of horse-and-buggy crossings.
And here we were, stuck in somebody's front yard, because our driver thought it was a good idea to turn around in somebody's dirt and gravel driveway. Beyond that, we're lost, I'm hungry, and I'm terrified. But there is rapport on this bus - there's nothing like fear to bring people together. We arrive in Cleveland three hours later than expected, and though I'm thoroughly annoyed, I've been laughing my ass off with these folks. But don't tell Greyhound that, because in an hour or so they're going to get a distressed phone call demanding a refund.
Home. Nothing worth mentioning here.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
