Not until Im sober

I am drunk right now. I admit it. I will not post this unless i deem it okay. Tomorrow maybe. So fine. What i wanted to talk about was private, angry but private. As i thought about last night's dream, I found myself unreasonably confused. I was at a private resort with my mom, where i met this girl who tempted me onto her vacational veranda. She was chocolate, and i loved me her chocolate like really. I got lost on the way back home, where i realized my mom wanted me to leave. I went back to the pool to get my swim goggles when i came onto her. Only, she wasn't a she. She was a he in disgiuise. We began to make out on the wet floor, my towel felt cold yet still there. He lied me down onto the concete when my mom popped up and called me for it was time to go. I felt a little embarrased, like she shouldn't have seen me doing what i was doing. I was making out on the floor with an oreo transvestite as the pool was about to close. I decided to allow my mom to watch, and continued with the lovemaking, when she came to my feet and insisted that we must leave immediately. I finished the kiss, got up from the floor and put the towel around my waist. I let my mother lead me away as i looked back, knowing that i did something wrong. I knew that i was leaving something that i so wanted to finish. As I walked away from the pool, I took a deep inhalation of the chlorine filled air, and i looked at who i was leaving....a girl with short brown hair and blue green eyes. She was no longer black, she was no longer boy, she was beautiful, and brown haired, blue eyed and beautiful. I felt my mom's arms pulling me. I felt like crying. I felt like something else.

The Search for Meaning in what We are Afraid to Know

There's a difference between those things that i am afraid to know and things i am afraid to admit. I can't help but know. It's ingrained, and inevitable. Though, to admit it to oneself, there is where the search becomes muddled by two thick hands cupped together as if to protect a worm or a butterfly. This affliction encroaches upon all the leaking facets of my substance. Yesterday, my secret online journal was found by a friend. My extremely private, clandestine collection of salacious stories and wanton fantasies. I was less embarrassed and more disappointed. My favorite thing about secrecy is that it is all mine. Occasionally, i share it with those that i love and trust, but ultimately that is the one thing that belongs to me, and is mine to control. Except when it is stolen, or rather accidently misplaced.
Again, my first reaction was disappointment. How sad, my secret, no more. Next, shame. She knows how i fantasize, and of who i do, and why. And that's the worst one of them all. The why. Too personal, too revealing. If someone manipulatively intelligent knew too many whys about you, you're theirs for the keeping, hurting and eventual killing. Third in the line of emotions, fear. Deep, penetrating, unadulterated fear. You know the kind, the ones that run along those old, broken down synapsis underneath all the time of adolescence and young adulthood that whittled you into the half, white-faced ghost of everything you never really were or could be. Or do you know? I'm not sure if those things exist in trueness, and by that I mean atoms, molecules, that type of trueness in substance. Do you know? Does it exist? At least for you, my reader? Anyhow, fear of knowing.
After playing it off, and her departure, I could not walk into the room where my computer resides. I feared to hear it's soft, one directional breath. I trembled in thought of re-reading the last month of filth i had written. I could not even bear to navigate the mouse's pointer toward the right corner X in a temporary fashion of making it all go away. At least for now. All these feelings made me think about my half assed search for meaning in what i am afraid to know. I wondered what meanings each of you seek and what things you must tiptoe around in what you are afraid to know. I pondered whether we share any of the same.
Eventually, i made my way back. After thinking, and thinking, showering, then thinking more, I decided that there is no point in succumbing to the fear. Fear of what, losing? People, self-respect, face, self, memory? Those things can be stripped from you despite what you do to protect them. You can, at any time, lose everything without the slightest clue to its eventual arrival. You can at any time, be absolutely, and utterly alone. Because you are right now? Right? Why am i afraid to be known as a hater, yearner, pretender, dreamer, fucker, down right dirty mothafucka? I don't want to be afraid to know myself. If i depend on a meaning not of my own creation, how can i trust it? How can i trust my own? I don't even know what a meaning looks like, or sounds like. I'm the only one around to tell me that i may be right or i may be wrong. I'm just traveling over the same words that someone must have said before because i feel so bored with it, so absolutely sick with it!

Case of the Mondays

I almost published a post last night that described all my goals in life. I suppose that can be attributed to the end of the year-type shit. Don't most people re-evaluate their lives during this time of year? Especially those poor sorries who are living through their declining 20's? It's easy and expected. Save me some, son.
The key statement, however is that I "almost" published this post. "Almost" doing things is the best. Like when I "almost" was fired, like when I "almost" caught herpes, like when I "almost" started that great liar fire. Wouldn't you like to hear those stories?
No? I don't blame you.
Well, I considered cutting my phone? I only speak to maybe 8 people in entire phone book list. And i'm too lazy to write more. Stupid.

This Honkie

wants a little flag to wave on holidays.

Wednesday Nite in Jail

Do you understand me? The girl looked me in the face. And i knew at that moment when she was screaming in the parking lot. You know, he told me and I wanted to anyway. There has been a warrant issued for my arrest, but i'd like to keep it like Mr. Jefferson. Want some candy little girl? Jesus posted a bulletin focusing on his manly affiliations. I wanted to leave a comment, but he tattled on me before i could fully explain. I'm just looking for some hometown flair. I'd like to dance on yr moonbounce. Maybe we could rent it. Tomorrow, in the snow. Maybe we could drink winter on my balcony. Meet me, like phil, like pancakes, like little Ms. sausages. I'll climb on yr belly and run through yr motel. We'll go the distance. We'll find a bar that may or may not accept all the things we've gotta say, today.

Frisson

There's this thing I love to do. Ingest substances and write. Before typing, i'd become bothered by messy writing and repetitiveness. These days, i ignore all sense and make it public. Public to who? To you. I guess if we can't drink it up, together, after a long day at work, or at the hospital, or wherever the long day takes us, at least there's lonely, drunken writing on a Thursday night. There are lists to be made, and an endless source of stupidity and sloppiness. When i think about some people, i feel ashamed in comparison. They do things like work or ceaseless study, making a difference, improving their situation in life, making friends, making love. Sometimes i try those things, but they confuse me. So whatcha gonna do with all that junk? All that junk inside yr trunk?

"This is the best day of my life"--austrian Michael Jackson fan---June 14, 2005

Fossils

Remain in the holy land. Want you to forget them, love the lives you make them. I always thought yr back looks like a fossil. If an intelligent asked me why, i'd probably answer, cuz it's so little. So discreet. So foreign and strange. So sleek and sexy all the while.

Two at Large

I'm so much smarter than you, while you stay sexy. Actually, i'm exaggerating both our strengths, but regardless, you still win. It's because I love to let my attention run wild. And yr so wild. And so that's how it will always go. I'll be the old man, and you'll be the bambino bound.

The Timeline of Non-Sexual Fantasy concerning the Realm of Comedy---A Work In Progress

1985- I'd sneak into my parent's room and call Ghostbusters. Peter Venkman would come to my house and find no ghosts. He'd make fun of me a little, then tickle me and let me ride in his ghostbuster's car.



1987- I'd live in the days of Mexico, when Mexicans spoke English. Lucky would call me his little Buttercup, and fly me in an old fashioned Wright Brother's plane. Also, he'd kiss me goodnight when I went to sleep.

1987-My dad would get over his racism and buy me a toy. Of course, I am not a white boy, but my toy would entertain me anyway. We'd break into the department store and steal more toys. Richard Pryor would speak to my class on Career Day, and make everyone laugh. We'd walk home after school, hand in hand. My dad would see us, and throw my toy away, I'd cry myself to sleep that night.

1988-I'd ride on the back of Steve Martin's dentist motorcycle and we'd breathe that funny gas, and he'd beat me. But he'd be kind afterward, while healing me with hilarious song and dance.

1989- I'd wonder why grown men cry after seeing that man on my way home from school. After talking to him for awhile, i'd ask if he'd like to watch cartoons at my house. He'd call himself Leo Bloom, but I'd know his actor name was Gene. This would be because my dad has schooled me on all good comedy. We'd play Monopoly on my bedroom floor, but he'd threaten to leave when he caught me stealing money from the bank.

1990-Jim Carrey would come over after school and we'd make up the funniest scenes. He'd go back to the set of In Living Color and pretend that they were his ideas, but I wouldn't care because he'd rock me to sleep at night.

1991-I'd eat fancy arugala salads with Vinnie while he'd speak New York to me, and buy me hot dogs at the baseball game.

1991- "Bob" would stay with us during the summer, and climb into my bed at night because he was afraid of "forest snakes". My dad would suspect that there was something funny going on, but he'd just attribute it to Bill Murray's uncaged onscreen humor.

1992- Harris meets me in the restaurant where nobody believes his stories that he can talk to a sign. Being a kid, i believe, of course. After an hour drive through LA traffic, he leans over and kisses me. I notice that the sign told him to do that. I get mad, and leave. Only to be stopped because I'm stranded on a freeway, very far from home.

300th Post

Is that any sort of milestone? I bet it doesn't count. 300 units of undercooked, unorganic beef fat.

Degringolade

Like when I worked at the snack bar, and we sold giant pickles and cup of noodles. Like when I watched Kill Bill 9 times in a row within 1 week. Like when I forgot about my poor little hamster. Like when I drank drinks from the tables of Kilowatt, un-21, on T-bones big birthday. Like when I lost my virginity to an unmentionable alcoholic. Like when I accidently slapped Vanessa during lunch that one day. Like when I threw my brother's hat off of the Santa Monica pier. Like when I screamed to Violet that cold summer night in the central wing. Like when I threw that tantrum during my 3rd birthday party. Like when I fell 8 feet onto my back and never lived to tell about it. Like when I felt up my friend in a very inappropriate manner. Like when I did that over 3 times. Like when I ditched my 5 year old brother, constantly. Like when I drew on the wall in the doctor's office. Like when I spent the weekend in the abandoned porno treehouse by the sewer drain. Like when I wanted to kiss her as she cried in my arms. Like when I made the call, both days after I should have and 5 minutes before I should have. Like when I told my dad that our babysitter hit us with the swing she broke. Like when I tricked my very first best friend into taking his pants off. Like when I just couldn't make it on the drive back from El Cerrito. Like when I digested rocks during the war. LIke when I peed on my brother. Like when I snorted salt off the Carl's Jr. table. Like when I was made to drink charcoal. Like when I waited all night for the end of the night. Like what I told my mom when she asked me. Like when I spent the whole party staring out my window thinking you'd steal my friends. Like when I wet my pants on the merry go round during recess. Like when I'd climb into my brother's bed when I got so scared. Like when Isaac saw me touch Aaron, Aaron saw me touch Paul. Like when thought I might have broken a heart. Like when was too scared to dive from the Commerce pool. Like when I told my mom the name of the nice lady who took me swimming. Like when I punched the cat off of the wall.Like when I humiliated my 2nd grade deaf, best friend. Like when I cried to get what I wanted. Like when I knocked on the hotel room door of the Air Force man. Like when I cried the night of doing blow with my mom. Like when I stole the dreams of those better than me. Like when I wanted to seduce my priest at 14, but didn't, because I was just that uncreative.

The Purpose of Dreams

I dreamt that i lived in a nice house. It had dark, oak hardwood floors, and an upstairs, and black/stainless steel, matching kitchen appliances. I had 3 roommates, Xevar, and a bitchy, blond and a faceless scenester whom i know nothing about. There was a party thrown by the girls, and I hated it. Oscar was there, and i said hi. The blond was making some comment about me, and i went into her face and said, "don't make me knock yr block off". Her lame laugh was followed by her response of "what? have we traveled back in time to the 50's? Who says that anymore?". "No, but yr going to be traveling to hospital if you talk shit again, you no-good trash heap." She laughed and walked away. I thought, fuck....i gotta get outta here. So i went into the kitchen to grab my tea. Much to my shock and surprise, I found Xevar and Sally making out on the stove. Their position suggested i interrupted only seconds before there was to be skin to skin action. I awkwardly grabbed my tea and excused my interruption. I went to my room. My room was okay, nothing seemed familiar. I had all new stuff. My bed attire was plain and cozy. I sat on my bed and listened to the new CD I bought. It was called Red. This cd sounded wonderful, it sounded like the color red. I couldn't believe that i had never heard this new subsection of music called color music. It totally sounded like red. I loved it. The lyrics were so clever. So Red, if you can imagine it. Well, I did.
Xevar came into my room with a serious look on the face. Xevar touched my arm sympathetically while muttering a "i'm really sorry". I asked, "for what? What's up?" Xevar just continued with a look of concern and continued, "i'm sorry you saw that,i hope yr not mad or sad or jealous, or anything like that." I said, "no, no why would I be? Look, there's something I've been meaning to tell you, i've thought alot about how you said that I may be have the tendency to be wrong in my automatic assumptions, and my belief in my power to read minds and intentions. Maybe you are right, maybe i'm crazy, but i may just be......hahahah, just kidding. No but really, Maybe i am wrong, continuously. Maybe i don't know. And on this note, maybe i'm wrong in thinking that you have this adorably egocentric idea that i'm in love with you. I love you, alot, but i am not in love with you. I would never even consider being girlfriends. Could you imagine that? Never. We are breakers, and destroyers, and besides, i predict that i'd only want you once, like most other things and people. However, i have my tendencies of being wrong. So, who knows, huh? But no, no, I'm not in love with you. And no, i don't care that you were about to fuck Sally on the stove. In fact, I think that's hot! Haha...get it? And while all this is true, it IS hot, and i'd have loved to watch. I'm happy for you and Sally. I have a feeling it won't work out, but i hope for your sake it's good for you. And since i'm being all honest and shit, maybe i am just a little jealous. Only a little, only the amount needed to urge me into wanting an intimate companion, that i laugh with, and fight with, and love with, and play on the stove with. In that way, you hurt me, having something that i'd like to have. Well, at least right now, at this point in my dream. Tonight."

So the purpose of this dream was discovery. I discovered the words i never even knew that i needed to think. I discovered Red. After Xevar left, i remembered thinking....now for Blue. I need to buy the Blue CD.

Enfant Terrible

Baby is soooo deliciously tired, fallen to sleep on the breast, breathing in the warmth of underbelly. To dream of daggers, slackers, and stills. I'm not angry, i swear. I don't care, i doubly dare!!! I'm in the happy place, dinosaur park, red see-saw. Going up and down and up. I find you cheating, cuz we aren't equally matched. We never were, and will never be. Yr a cheater. At last, i've found yr the secret to yr half ass success. It's so ugly without all yr glittery illusion. I'm bored of giving up, its so predictably me. So predictably self-defeating. I'm gonna scream, and kick and drool on the bars....i'm gonna bite yr tail, i'm going to terrorize yr name with my faulting breath, i'm bringing down the shades of my eyes...you can look no more. I'm making habit glances and rabid advances in yr filthy direction. All's fair in love, war, and baby hating.

Jealousy Vs. Envy

Jealousy lives in the past where i wanted what you had
where envy is in the now where i want what wants you.

WKNSS

Those awful sensations of sharp, jagged pulsing
an envious electricity underneath my rib cage
it doesn't hurt like appendicitis,
more like conjunctivitis
i'd never know this had i never learned to read.
jealousy is so distasteful,
so revealing of all you want
for the mere sake of what you haven't
today feels so empty, like yr casket
yr so alive, it only makes me wanna XXX
in five.

My Goodness

I was going through some of the 'decide not to post list'. Fuck, it's hard to decide between ruthless bitch and pathetic loser. I hope i don't ever really get mad. I might be worse than my mother. Fuck.

I'm Officially a Lame Ass

I just finished my making a Powerpoint Presentation for a class project i'm to turn in ON WEDNESDAY???? Who is this bitch and why aren't you putting me outta my misery?
For serious!

Pitter Patter of Baby Feet

If i had a baby, it would be bitter sweet. Not like how you'd want it at all,
we'd cry like hitler's fall.
I'm a doormat with higher prices, i'm like sheet and Dionysus.
Frog on my butt, i want us to compare like close to human
Mexicn hair. Let us go there, let us be fair
Fuck, i scream for yr attention.
You'll never be my husband, even though you'd be so great at it.
Let me call us kids, cuz of that.
I'm fat, and you know that.

I said those things

cuz i was hurt,
cuz i was mad,
cuz you made me want the things i left
back when i had.
cuz i'm alone,
and reprised,
a girl with even bigger eyes!!!!

Soft

Soft isn't enough these days.
Like it was in those.
Remember how soft it used to be?
But it isn't like that at all
these days.
That just means i miss it more.

I miss how

you smell like baby powder....maybe it's 1995, maybe it's teen spirit, or maybe it's just how you smell like baby powder. I miss you, nevertheless......

Hush, because

your whispers don't sustain my interests anymore.......I hear too many snakes hiss and monkey growls. This world is full of noise from every pack of tender boys. Sheeeeyeah!
Pelicans are the night sabres, while peacocks guard the rattlers. I personally find the cobras to be the leaders of the crew, makin' strife wif the owls in the petty pantry. Should the forest awake and call yr bluff, i'd be intrigued to say the least. I'll deem you an emu, at best. The bird with a beak left to fight among the meek. A soldier among the feathers, a hell cat believer, an eyebrow tweezer.

We could make music with our wings, should you call off all the other things. Romanticism made it easy like that. Like 3 little batty bats. Foxes run through the reeds, and many other things, but you--you seem a little make believe. Too bad to be false, too focused on the cause. A blinder clause. A mystic pause.

Let's play a game. The one we've played before, like a funny television show. Lying in bed with an oversized shirt, like brothers and sisters on thursday's dirt, friendship's perk, i lurk at you. Don't make the trees be your sole relief. I scoff at make-believe when you keep so mystique.

Listen to my musik, like i do yrs, and we'll be even in this match of unequal masterpeices! Playful telekinesis, dangling strings of innocent sleeze.....
Don't tease!!!!!

Oh, you were right....

So yes, there was a missed call indeed. Your story checks out. Interesting.

Senor Pixie, Deja Me

Corazon de diablo siempre me intentas rebajar,
Con las cosas que haces
Y las palabras que difundes contra mi.

Corazon de diablo seguiras engallandome,
Con tu falsa sonrisa
Y tus canciones de sirena,
Sonriendo, engallando,
coqueteas conmigo hasta que no hay esperanza,
Respondiendo, degradando,
de rodillas intento agradarte.
Pero te quiero sin embargo y te deseo piedad,
A mi lado y veras lo que significas para mi.

Corazon de diablo siempre me intentas rebajar,
Con las cosas que haces
Y las palabras que difundes contra mi, sobre mi.

Corazon de diablo siempre me intentas rebajar,
Con las cosas que haces
Y las palabras que difundes contra mi,sobre mi.

Que harias sin mi,
sonriendo,engallando,
Coqueteas conmigo hasta que no hay esperanza.

Traci, you silly goose

I do not have any missed calls from your source. Hang on, I have to lube up Moto's back. I wrote a blog about it. Wanna hear it? Nah, just playing. So ya, i have no missed calls. I feel like perhaps this might be some ill devised smoke screen, initiated by the beetle-nosed ant eaters in your eyes and ears. What else do ant-eaters eat? Termites and soft-bodied grubs. Houses never fall on an anteater. Them frames is sturdy!!! I am probably going to smoke all of Moto's cigarettes tonight, because I am far too paranoid to walk amongst this wicked ghetto. Traci, you should eat more cheap pizza. Is Lanesplitter cheap? I wouldn't know, i have never eaten there. In fact, before you visited me that day, i never even knew what Lanesplitter was. But I do now, so that is good.
Know what else is good? That song that goes like this.....
Elle sait je lis pas
Elle sait j'écris pas
Mais ce sont des lettres de Melody
Apprends moi à lire
Apprends moi à écrire
Voilà les choses que tu peux faire pour moi
Ce sont les choses que tu peux faire pour moi


Wouldn't you agree? So maybe soon we can chill in a living room and listen to music and talk about the olden days when butter wasn't yellow and cheese wasn't either. I decided to take a class at Laney after all, but there are other things i'd rather do than dance. And yoga's already in my brain. Have you taken a look through my brain lately? I've updated all the shotty color schemes and falty links. Come by sometime, and I'll show you. T, i didn't drink tonight, but i feel that i should have and will do now. Wine time. I'll save the Champ for later,
Alligator.

5 Favorite Nursery Rhymes

Goban--Peter Peter pumpkin eater,
Had a wife and couldn't keep her!
He put her in a pumpkin shell,
And there he kept her very well!

Yoban--What are little boys made of?
Snips and snails, and puppy dogs tails
That's what little boys are made of !"
What are little girls made of?
"Sugar and spice and all things nice
That's what little girls are made of!"

Sanban--Georgie Porgie pudding and pie,
Kissed the girls and made them cry
When the boys came out to play,
Georgie Porgie ran away.

Niban--The cheese stands alone,
The cheese stands alone,
Heigh-ho, the derry-o,
The cheese stands alone.

Ichiban--There was a little girl,
Who had a little curl,
Right in the middle of her forehead.
When she was good,
She was very very good,
But when she was bad she was horrid.

dare? dare? dare?

Who is this for?
For me- It helps to have somewhere to put things. I like looking back after some time. It helps me gauge my tendencies for cycles and patterns. I try to look at last year as if i were a different person. I wonder when i will be a different person. People who change alot, are the same in that way.

For you- If i were to cater my subject topics to things that you might be interested in, i'd be stricken with this obsession on keeping you amused. Why would i want that kind of pressure? I see the way others bend to the whims of their readers and their reader's opinions and reactions. I don't want that. I'm a sucker who'd get pulled in much too easily. It is not my job, or anyone else's to go out and search for new and interesting things for you to do, see, feel, or listen to. Do something for yourself.

For the other You-- I'm so glad that you don't bother with my blog. It is usually so vague, angry, and unexplained. Writing to a "you" is so pussy, these days. I wish you were around so you could tell me how much you don't care about me. I'd love that.
Maybe we can schedule something around next week, maybe....Barney's on Peidmont? Great, we can share a shake.

The Easier Temptations

I get the urge to call on the specifics of your behavior. But then that would require my own set of explanations for caring. I have dos blueys in me so i'm feeling the loop. I'd kick you if it weren't the darkest night of the year. December is so final, so endy. I'm not scared of it anymore. This annoys me. I annoy this.

The Hamper Effect

SMOKING After a short bout with the attempt to quit smoking, I made the public descision to now "smoke more than ever". It's been going well, and i have made new and glorious strides in my endeavor. However, the onset of this "malady" is now hampering my ability to keep up with my ridiculous goals. As i try to push through the runny nose, congested bronchial regions, and stabbing throat pains, I find that my sleepiness is the hardest on my smoking. I cannot keep to a pack or more a day when i cannot keep awake for more than 8 hours. I've been told that there is a Sudafed on the market that masks flu-like symptoms while pumping you up with ephedrine-esque chemicals. I'm sure this would encourage a smoker to both drink lots of water and work on her smoking. Had I more than $3.14 in my bank account, i might check it out. How am I making rent you ask?

RENT I have found that school isn't that hard when you don't have to keep a job throughout the process. This does, however, deeply affect my taste for mildly expensive habits such as smoking, drinking, drug use, and eating. Rent tends to hamper my dedication to my lifestyle. I bet I'd live alot longer if I paid more in rent. Unfortunately, I'm not well to do in these areas of decision making. You can form your opinion where you will. How do I react to your opinion, you ask?

YOUR OPINION Well, on individual accounts, i take it in stride. I figure you spend alot of time thinking about yourself, and in reality, I am just but 10 to 15 minutes of thought wasted while on the internet. Or maybe in person. Even when we are together, i accurately assume that you are probably not thinking about me. So, on individual accounts, i feel miraculously unhampered. There are moments, strangely indeed, when questions are asked. Luckily, i'm known as a jokester who can get out of a serious question when times appear to be crooked. I find that the Christmas holiday encourages people to ask more questions. Why do i shirk from both inquiries and the holiday season, you ask?

THE HOLIDAY SEASON I'd be pretty pissed off if I were Jewish. I don't want 8 crazy nights. I don't even want one. I like the action of searching through large superstores, and purchasing. I don't feel hampered by long lines, just the stupid chatter of the shoppers behind me. However, if i did not grow into a rage when entering a mall, I'd feel like i have lost something from childhood. I like thinking that you would really like this present. I hate being there when you open it. You never really like it as much as i thought you would. It makes me feel worthless, and unknowledgeable. And who wants to feel like that after eating turkey, ham, cookies, pie, egg nog....or whatever? Who, you ask?

NOT ME If there is any single entity which hampers ceaselessly, it is me. I guess it is my never-failing ability to lose interest. I feel it happening already. There are 2 more major points i needed to express today during my hour of time wastage. BLOGGING, that was one topic. The other, MEGALOMANIA. I bet if I wasn't so lazy, i could combine them both in a beautifully wrapped present for my number one son.

Verdad?

How have you never noticed this before? Aren't you all about patterns, cycles, and misdemeanors? There are magnets at work here. Two likenesses show that something grand is happening. I've shuffled the deck and i'm prepared to play again, this time with a face all anew. Too much effort has been placed in fruitless underestimation. A new go with a new road of smiles and pretense.

Dear Diary,

The dream I had 2 nights ago has opened a door. Though in the dream, behind the door, it was 3 loco ass Mexicanos about to beat the shit fuck outta him. We were looting their house, what else is there to expect but a good ass kicking? But most men, especially mexicanos will probably not kick the ass of a young woman, unless it is their vieja. At least, that's the status quo in my subconscious playground. So I ran to them, jumped onto their bats and paddles, trying to create time and an aversion for his escape. But he didn't run, like i wanted and expected. Instead, he walked up to us, pulled me off of them and told them we would leave. The fear in my throat pushed out the words, "you idiotttt!" His face was disappointed in my reaction, and his ass got beat. I awoke.
Before this, I had never had any real belief in either dreams or wakefulness that he was capable of standing up for me. My dreams of him usually portray a superficial alliance. He'll either diss me, or abandon me. My fears are strong in my dreams. This dream is very new. And despite its existence as a dream, on this night i believed in him.

The Ox Has Fallen

I'm a braggart. On this subject, yes, it is true. I'm proud of my immune system. It is definitely a champion. But there are always dark periods. My medicine is the bombass soup i discovered hiding in my fridge.
First i sauteed onion, lots of crushed garlic(an entire flower), dry asiany, short grain rice. After the slightly browning the rice, enter fresh spinach,leek,zucchini, carrot, potato, cabbage. Really, just the vegetable soup shit. After it has wallowed in its deliciousness for a bit, fill the pot with filtered water. Next, squeeze like a whole bunch of limes or meyer lemons. Seriously, i mean pretend yr making limeade. Then add miso until it tastes like broth. I'm kind of a food hippy these days, so i threw in small squares of tofu. Boil until it looks oishi, and makes yr house smell like Momma's. Then eat. By the way, make some for tomorrow, because it's doubly good when reheated on the stove the next day. No microwaves.

Wasting Time Like Wanda

She wants to know where you keep your wine, but you never told her that you have more under the house. Your cellar, if you will. But she prefers white, anyway. So that is that. In the Fridge. White wine for the white girl. Cold wine for a cold girl. She talks about her Saturday night while watching you type on your computer. She doesn't care if you listen because you never really listen anyway. So it's all in the same. Formalities really. She shouts, "I hate Macs! They are so stupid. Nothing is interesting about them at all." You respond with faster typing. About 30 seconds pass until she changes the subject to the things her mother wrote in an email. You take a breath from your typing and type yrself a quick mental email reminding yrself to someday touch on the weirdness of how Wanda does not ever actually speak to her mother, but instead writes long, horse-drawn e-mails. After you send, you stand up and head towards the kitchen. "You know, Wanda..." She interrupts with an immediate slap of sarcasm. "Yes, XXXXX?" You shudder with annoyance, but continue anyway. Macs are the smart people. Yes, everyone knows how to use a PC. But there are better, more efficient ways to the internet, media editting, and so on. You, Wanda, are just slow in the brain.
Everyone wonders if anybody heard what you just said.
And if yr in a band.
Everyone wonders why you are such a smug, hypothetical asshole. Did your mom humiliate and spank you, pants down, in front of the entire family at that BBQ when she caught you peeing on yr sister's doll? No? Then fuck off.

Faces of Wood, Hard, True,

All the shadows slide down the trees
and onto me
and without the wind, i wouldn't believe you
without the wind, you'd be silent to me
I'll bury pictures for you to soak and eat
But i didn't dig holes into the ground,
So should i die before you
At least i was free.

Louder and better than ever

is my guitar. My G string broke, and at first i thought life was terrible. Then i bought new strings and everything is just great.

Nine

Nine is the new magic number. Do you think i should start lifting weights? Nine. Because it is never a good idea to try and think about things.

dead drop dipshit

Drip drop, the water will never stop.....clouding in yr eyes
slinking in yr demise, nor being a disguise
in all you've made of me,
baby.

Dear you and always will be

I don't want you to think these things about me. I can be professional. Sure, i'm now but a professional. I was the cutest kid, i promise you. Don't do make me show you. I like fruit loops and super mario brother. I'd be yr blood brother. I'd slice a tree in three for thee. And i hate hate. And i love love. I'm just all alone in this myriad, right now. Right this instant.

I'm

as drunk as you promised i'd be by tonight. What else could you expect, i'm me. I've love alcoholics since the day i was born. Cuz he carried me, cuz she carried me. I'm gentle, love, i'm as gentle as you'd expect me to be. I'm the baby you wanted me to be when you carried me. If you can't understand, then look to your parents. I'm sure they've got their names for people like me. Infidel, lackluster, someone you should never put yr trust in. You should never love me, for i am a selfish pissant on the verge of middleclass mediocrity. I've got the freeway, babe. What else have you got?

So Slow

People are slow creatures. It takes us time. To be and to realize. We move so very slow, like cadabras, like blindness. We have to learn to use our ears, then our mouths, then brain. People like us are so slow until people like you come along. Then we are just reckless. You make us quick, but reckless. Restless.

Watashi Mo

Out in the sea, we may share the same boat, but i intend on keeping mine clean. My half will sink no longer. Mine can float alone. It always could. And when you look to the method of madness, you'll see that there's no madness at all. My cowardness ends here, from the sea of treachery. A weakness is all. Will they understand?

Apparently

I do care what people think. Even invisible strangers. I must again come to terms with the fact that i'm dumb that way. Damn, i thought that shit was over. It ain't no thang, though. Cuz i'm sleepy, and in my dreams, i'm my own man. There, i have the courage that i lack in wake.

I wanna eat cat

well, cuz alf eats cat. Cat is good, like chicken. I want cat. I won't share no cat with you, cuz you've got yr own cat to hold onto.

Title

I wanted to talk about something so personal. But i feel i might not be okay to do so. I'm in sensitive slash drunk slash honest zone. That's why i told myself no more drunken postings. I wanted to talk about us. By us, i think of you and me, in the craziest sense. Cuz whenever i write, i'm either talking to you or the other you. And yes, sometimes me. Sometimes i talk to yr lover. Sometimes i tell him he's an idiot, sometimes i tell her she's unworthy. Sometimes i think that everybody's the same, all in the same. Cuz really, there isn't much difference between all you all. The only difference is in my head. And my head is the safest safekeeper. I'll keep you safe. Even if i throw you into the arms of danger, we are safe. Ya, sure, so i knew that's how i'd spend today, maybe tomorrow and friday.....just like this. But safe, all the same. Beer, biru, amai biru....I really don't love you, but i really don't hate all the same...................................

Warui tomodachi

And you don't even know it? Cuz you can't speak it....I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry for what i've done.

I'm Allowed...

...because i feel lonely. Not because of the holiday thrown upon us, but because I'm a 26 yr old sucker. A six yr old in a body so old. I'm not feeling depressed, just so old. But i'm not old, tomorrow i'll be old. Tomorrow i'll lose all my friends, tomorrow i'll be alone. But not today. Because if today i called my father, he'd talk to me. My mother and brother too. The trinity, they are permanent that way. It's okay to be like this, because they made me this way. And i somewhat like today. Who cares, it doesn't stop, does it? I have 2 cigarettes left. One for me, and one for me, later. You don't play here no more. And you don't smoke no more. So i don't save for you no more.
I'm allowed because I'm a sensitive soul, far too soft for your too hardcore. But i don't show that no more, so i forgive you. I'm in a constant state of forgiveness. As far as y'r concerned. I only said that cuz i'm drunk. Talk to me tomorrow, and i'll erase all of this. Pretend it never happened, cuz that's what i d whenever it concerns you. Right, ? Isn't that true? Remember 7 years ago? Ya, i'm talking to you!!!!!! Ya, you.

Guilty Conscience

Dear Diary,
Moto says that I am nothing but a dirty Catholic. She says, she may not know me very well, but that since i was raised Catholic, I must be a very guilty person. In some ways this is true. There are times when something bad has happened, like a wallet has been stolen from a backpack. I think, it was me and they know i did it. I'm going to be found out, and everyone is going to know that i'm a thief. But i didn't steal it. I don't like to steal like that. It's too easy and wickedly underhanded. I'd rather steal from assholes and pedophiles. (Steal their magazines). Nah, but I feel guilty...i feel what the person who stole it would feel should they be standing there. I may be wrong, Catholic style. Well, i sometimes partake in activities that i keep from other people. Anger would happen should they know. These activities, i feel guilt. Lying, i feel guilt. The funniest part though, is that i've learned to pour guilt proof linings around my stomach and bile pit. So though the guilt is there, and in great abundances, it no longer affects me. I'm wondering if this was the way out of the shackles of a Catholic upbringing. Or maybe the way in.
To lie, then deny. Superb.

February 10, 2018

Dear Diary,

I thought today would terrible to get through. It was surprisingly easy to wait in line at the post office, and through the freeway traffic. I decided to change my mind and wait until tomorrow. I need a better reason than today to become a better follow-througher. I'll probably just leave a couple of voicemails and go to sleep. Plans have become much easier to stick to now that nobody answers their phones anymore.

Prophetic FowL

I woke up on the floor with all my blankets on top of me. I studied till 1am, drank some water, and slept. I made a new song. I liked it. I dreamt about my chickens again. I haven't had that dream since i was a kid. Have i ever told you about my chicks?
When i was a kid, every christmas, i would ask for a baby chick for christmas. I wanted one so bad. Then, in my dreams, i'd have them. I'd be kneeling on the driveway, petting and feeding them when something bad would happen. Since this dream was recurring, the situations would change often. Sometimes, they would run away and i wouldn't be able to catch them. Sometimes, they would climb into a hole and disappear. Sometimes they'd be stolen from me. I never had a good time with those chicks. I was always so worried about them. Those dreams eventually made me give up on having a baby chick, i'd just be disappointed. Last night, i dreamt that i had a box of chicks in my car. They were not mine, they belonged to Moto. I was wondering if maybe she might give me just one, since there were so many in the box. With the momentum of acceleration, the box slid off my back seat and flew out the window. The box was smashed by a Semi.
Besides being a chick dream, it also has some more significance. Last weekend, i dreamt that my brother had also fallen out of the passenger's side window and had been smooshed by a small car. Specifically, his head. I never understood my chick dreams. And how the fuck did i fall off my bed? Something strange is happening in my head these days, and i'm sure it will introduce itself at the right time.

Suiting of Fancy

The Open Window
by Saki (H.H. Munro)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"My aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel," said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; "in the meantime you must try and put up with me."

Framton Nuttel endeavored to say the correct something which should duly Hatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing

"I know how it will be," his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; "you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice."

Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction came into the nice division.

"Do you know many of the people round here?" asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.

"Hardly a soul," said Framton. "My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here."

He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.

"Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?" pursued the self-possessed young lady.

"Only her name and address," admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation.

"Her great tragedy happened just three years ago," said the child; "that would be since your sister's time."

"Her tragedy?" asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.

"You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon," said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.

"It is quite warm for the time of the year," said Framton; "but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?"

"Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day's shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favorite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it." Here the child's voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. "Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back someday, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing 'Bertie, why do you bound?' as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window--"

She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.

"I hope Vera has been amusing you?" she said.

"She has been very interesting," said Framton.

"I hope you don't mind the open window," said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; "my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They've been out for snipe in the marshes today, so they'll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you menfolk, isn't it?"

She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic, he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.

"The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise," announced Framton, who labored under the tolerably widespread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one's ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. "On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement," he continued.

"No?" said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention--but not to what Framton was saying.

"Here they are at last!" she cried. "Just in time for tea, and don't they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!"

Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with a dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.

In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window, they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: "I said, Bertie, why do you bound?"

Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall door, the gravel drive, and the front gate were dimly noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid imminent collision.

"Here we are, my dear," said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window, "fairly muddy, but most of it's dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?"

"A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel," said Mrs. Sappleton; "could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of goodby or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost."

"I expect it was the spaniel," said the niece calmly; "he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve."

Romance at short notice was her speciality.

White, and loving it!!!!!

I'd slap you silly, if you were my friend. Luckily, you're not, because you seem to be nothing but trouble. I know your kind, i'm friends with yr kind, sisters with yr kind. "Yr one of my kind". I'd still like to slap you, regardless.
Hey, kid, that's not a compliment. Dumb ass. You're really stupid aren't you? Well, that's okay, it took me this long to really notice it, so the blood is on everyones' hands, isn't it? God, it makes soooo much sense to me. You think you know it all....? Well, let me throw this one out there....Did you ever wonder about the past? Oh shut up!!!! You know exactly what i'm talking about. Think about it...huh. Yes, think. You think you can talk without me knowing? I haven't proven myself to you, is what you are really saying. That's sad, though. Sad that you haven't realized just how much i haven't any need to prove. It's not like i have a list, you know. It's not like i have it all written down, on carefully drafted blueprints marked with donut stains. You probably think i eat alot of donuts? Oh don't lie. I don't care. You are making a very complicated bed. Yes, soul cracka, tangly, with deep shade. In reality, i don't know you and you don't know me. But i nominate myself as a very reasonable person, who partook in the very same thing. Best wishes on Phase two, you achromatic drifter.

tHIS sERIOUS mOONLIGHT

We all know what baby does when she's put in a corner, right?
DANCE!!!

"LET'S DANCE. PUT ON YR RED DRESS AND DANCE THE BLUES."

Someone wants attention. Baby wants attention. Gimme, gimme, gimme. Call me on the phone. I won't answer at first. I'll let you hear my delicious voicemail. After that, i'll drink some. Pretty soon, i won't be able to hold out much longer. Babies have no patience because when your life is divided by months, minutes seem like days. It's in my hand, waiting. And remember, son, "if you say hide, we'll hide."

To Know Better

I suggest you stay away from explaining idioms. They are too tricky for both children and other learners of a foreign language. "You know better than that", you never even considered this one. It seems so easy, in any language. It's not an idiom, idiot, it's a universal phrase. Shy around a drunken bonfire? You know better than that. Take more than "a penny"? You know better than that. Reading a personal profile? You know better than that. Fall in love with the hand who holds your back? You know better than that. Once a turk, always a turk. You know better than that. Writing nonfiction in the form of a fable. You know better than that. Whispering truth in a crowded bar? Ya, to know better.

The Passage of all Time

Corrodes like a snake in the road,
like the rust on yr remote control,
Be like the Stone, or a falsetto
and the steam from the gates, of a deathly parade, will spit you, no, swallow you whole!!

Let's go MeeMeez

It's sanjini in the freaking asa dude, and watashi wa yon hon biru o nomimashta. Nihongo o kakiru koto wa dekimasen. Or can I? I don't know, it's a mystery to me.Ima, I have nothing of value to contribute, demo watashi wa kaite imas anyways. Probably because i want something to do while i chain smoke. Chain smoking alone is so sad, but with imaginary audiences, a bit better. Maybe if i told a story, what i am doing would sound more legitimate. Too legit, too legit to quit, byotch. Maybe discussing the day I punched a cat off the wall while running from the car? Or perhaps the time my mom sat on me and peed? No, wait, i bet the repetitive nightmares of floating up onto the ceiling and being pulled towards the door is much more meaningful. Ain't nothing meaningful here, slut. Okay, fine, how about the hours i would spend walking across the schoolyard stepping on bees, with injuries so slight, holding by wings, into a plastic jar? No? Still nothing? Fine, maybe descriptions of the softest sand in the world can satisfy. Children's village was no laughing matter, friend. There, i was the loneliest i've ever been. That was the day i was stung by the bee. But i wasn't collecting at the time, i bet they sensed that. I was making soft sand. How does one collect soft sand? Well, you pour sand onto your corduroy pants, and pat the edges until the rocks fall down. What is left is soft sand. You put it into a ziplock bag. You make alot, and bring it home, stashing it under your bed. Soft sand might be valuable to someone, someday. Kumquats are also collectable items, just make sure that you don't forget about the ones at the bottom of your backpack, or else they might tease you for smelling of rotting citrus.
Don't lose your jacket, kid, don't lose your pail. That shit cost money, you know.
Let's go other places. Let's go back to days ago, i was felt it then too. I wasn't in warzone, there were no alarms. I was just in bed, asleep, dreaming. I was awoken, and i love, and i'm a bad lover. Shame on me. I'd apologize if i meant it, but i didn't. I was innocent that time. So innocent, i swear.
What about standing in line to be checked for head lice, for the bookmobile, for the hearing tests? SRAs anyone? I was so obvious at that time. So eager to please the computer programs. They gauge intelligence, you know. Ya, you know. What about the day i did the bad thing? The day i started a trouble i couldn't control? And that night i screamed to angry songs? Everyone pretended not to hear. I hoped they would do just that. How about the day i read that thing that made me want to hurt the one i thought i loved? But that's just too similar to the night my dad snuck in to say goodnight, i was a sneaky bitch even then. I pretended to be sunken down in the corner, i pretended to be dead. It was just divorce, not war, no funny business. That's not that bad. What about the hotels, the pools, McDonalds? What about Rosewood park? No, still not worthy. Okay, then how about the treehouse, the bonfire, headlights, poison, the moon? How about mid-day naps when it is warm and safe? What about the sunken cheeks, Walden in the bedroom, and Alton in the garage? Morphine? Vicodin? Tequila? Soundgarden? No, too juvenile. Fine, then, I'll tell about Our Lady of Assumption, she had the best, biggest burritos in town. Traci knows, doesn't see. I was not part of the riot, i was so new. I always learned to go from scapegoat to clown college. I think that is where i belong, the circus.

Mistaken

She's had too much to really make any sound judgements. Her womb is empty. Fallopian.
Crybaby.

Less Interesting

I love stupid people. I am stupid people. Babies in Bags, babies in bags. Stupid, not stupid!

Don't look at Me Straight, I'm shy

Today I completed over 3/4's of the "list on things to do today so that i can feel better about the disorder in my life" list. Really. Today I spent 7 dollars and 8 cents on things like faxes and transcripts. I have 237.68 to last me until December 9th. It's a month. That's alright, i did the math. So 3/4 of the list. Can you imagine the Sake filled celebration that I'm going to have with myself tonight? I feel much too good about myself today to let it go to waste.
Would you rather i talk about you? Probably. You pretend to be shy, but nobody really thinks so. I decided to change my style of music today. As of today, i no longer enjoy sad, comforting melodies, preferably from long ago times. Music that survives the test of time is best. That's right, from now, i listen to jagged screams. I'm looking into punk, but i might just go with industrial. I need someone who knows more about this to guide me. You see, I am lazy and mistrustful of review descriptions.
Oh, I forgot, love, i was supposed to talk about you. No, just kidding. Would you like me to make you tempura? I make the bomb ass tempura. You don't like sweet potato or carrots, but the zuccini's just pull you right in. Have you seen that movie Redemption? Yes, friend, it does have a Wayan Brother in it. I'm sorry, but you should check it out. Maybe I'll rent it, you come and eat my tempura.
Wanna know what i'm thinking? I'm remembering the excerpt from a book I read last night. It made me think of Winnie Cooper. I'm also trying to look onto my neighboring computer's screen to see what he's got to say. I read about a paragraph when I was coming back from the printer, but all that did was get me interested enough to keep wondering. It's written in italics, as if told in dialogue. As I reread what i just wrote I sort of whispered it under my breath. I wonder if he heard. No he didn't.
I still have errands to run. I don't write drunk no more. No, I don't.

April Fool's

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.......the joke is on me.
ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha......i'll never learn, will i? will i?
ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha.....it's so funny, funny funny.....ha, ha, ha, ha,
not even everybody laughs, because it's so funny that they don't see so funny.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha......i laugh till i cry. I laugh, then i cry.

RunnyEgg

It goes from my mouth, all the way down to my underbelly. Yes, maam, I'm that disgusting with and without you around. It ain't easy, it just ain't that easy.

Kiyonen

If I'm into my blog at any given time, such as how i am these days, then I have a little ritual. I like to delve into the past and see what was up last year at this time. Since it is All Saints Day, or the beginning of a new month, I check out last year's November. I like last year's November journaling. I remember feeling just as lost as i do now. Isn't great to know things never seem to change? "Isn't it kick you in the crotch fantastic?"

T-bone, do you know that quote? Yes, you know that quote.

do it for the kids, y'all, do it for the kids

THis is just another one of those things for my education class that I wanted to keep saved. The book gives an interesting perspective on Education.

Lives on the Boundary by Mike Rose.


It wasn't until I reached the middle of the book did I realize that Rose actually had some real life legitimacy in how it related to this class. I must admit that I wasn't very impressed with the fictional way it was written until it actually came to the point in his life where he had become a tutor, then teacher. Once he reached the point where he began describing the different types of problems he encountered with learning how to understand the problems of his students, recognizing from where these problems stemmed, and how he came to the conclusions on how to solve them was when this book turned great.

He hit upon every topic that we have discussed in this class: language barriers, misunderstanding and mislabeling certain kinds of learning problems which just further the learning gaps, the problems surrounding standardized testing, etc. What I found superior about his book, though, as opposed to some of the articles we have read, is that he doesn't just recognize the problems and print them up for others to marvel at. Instead, he has taken the time to investigate the possible reasons and conclusions that leads to these problems. Then, he goes a step further and pokes for the answers by listening to the questions of the students with the problems. He doesn't just assume that he knows the answer, instead he makes sure that he's perfectly understanding the break in the link of understanding between teacher and student. He delves into problems, and then finds solutions in how to translate the meaning into ways where the student can understand. He holds this refined sensitivity for the feelings of his students, probably because he understands what it feels like to come from that frame of mind.

The example of how he tutored Ruby for the SAT-esque test dealing with prefix definitions took the reader into a step-by-step process of how to recognize how your student's logic is working. Once he saw that she was simply searching for synonyms of the root, he was able to adjust his explanations into a way she could understand because he understood her. Once he showed her how the tests work, she succeeded in getting the rest correct.

Last Friday, I had a similar experience in the 9th grade classroom. The kids were in groups and they were making posters of the main characters in the book, Tangerine, that we have all read. Their assignment was to draw the character, then list 5 adjectives of the characters. I noticed one group was writing sentences of things the character does. For example, "he plays soccer" "he stands up for what he believes in" "he hates his brother". I knew that was not what Mrs. Munkelt was expecting even though in theory, they were giving her descriptions of the character. I noticed that they just didn't understand what the definition of an adjective was. I tried to explain what an adjective was, but i wasn't doing a good job of making my point clear. They didn't understand the difference between what i was trying to describe and what they were doing. So instead, I gave examples of adjectives. I told them that Mrs. Munkelt "spends her lunch time helping the seniors write their college essays". I said "that is what she does". I said, what she does shows that she is "caring". Caring is an adjective. I then said "Luis plays football, basketball, and baseball" that is what he does. "Luis is athletic." That is what he is. At first I wasn't sure if that was the best way to get the message across because it still may not have been the best way to define an adjective, however, I was pleased when I asked "So, Erik (the brother character in the book) sprayed spraypaint in his baby brother's eyes" That is what he did. So Erik is_______?" "Mean?", said one of the students. "Exactly, maybe even cruel?"I asked. "Yeah! Cruel! Ya Ya, write that." After that, they finished up the rest of of the adjectives with no problem.

I was pleasantly surprised when Rose began to discuss problems with curriculum, and the reason why its set-up is almost designed to fail. He quoted Dewey by recognizing "Only in education, never in the life of he farmer, sailor, merchant, physician, or laboratory experimenter, does knowledge mean primarily a store of information aloof from doing." (190) He made an excellent points in describing some of the poor planning in the structure of curriculum. He mentions that history is not taught in any linear way so that it becomes a story with noticeable cause and effect which relates it to modern day. Instead, it's broken up into time periods and random facts that are easily forgotten after the tests are taken and the papers written.


I found many of his ideas inspiring. For example, when he talks about the activity where he would play Beatles' songs and have the kids write creative essays on how the song should end, it seemed like something different that would provoke the kids' attention. It's very Deweyian in that, it incorporates the other senses such as listening to music as a way to expand the learning environment. This activity has given me an idea for an exercise i'd like to try with both the 9th and the 12 graders. I want to play the introduction to Missy Elliot's "Under Construction" album which talks about redefining your opinions once something huge happens. She talks about 911, about the East Coast/West Coast rapper wars, and the death of Aliyah. Her message is very positive, and she says it quite eloquently even if she's speaking in "ebonics". I want to play the 30 second clip for the kids, and have them write a journal entry on what message she is trying to get across and why they think it might be important, and how it can relate to their own lives. I also believe that this could be a good thing for them to think about since they have recently had a tragedy occur surrounding a former student of the school who many of the kids know and liked. This girl was shot to death at a San Leandro school which she just transferred to from Tennyson by her boyfriend who then shot himself.

I feel like the kids need to talked to about these issues in ways that they can understand, and hear it from people they may possibly admire, such as Missy Elliot. I feel that if they can make connections with positive spokepeople, then they can develop their own sense of positivity, even in a world environment that shows so much negativity. I hope that this project for Friday is okay with Mrs. Munkelt, since it was inspired by such an enlightened figure as Mike Rose. I really enjoyed his opinions and ideas about educating and motivating "America's educationally underprepared."

dreaming of your own choosing

dear diary,
circa 1997 ish i was on the phone with a dear friend who opened my eyes to something indescribably simple. Before that, i had learned the lesson in elementary school. I recently had to re-remind myself about these things. If you don't remember what i'm talking about, just remember sitting on the pink carpet steps in the middle of the night, holding the phone, with tears in your eyes, hoping that the cold glass of water will help your voice stay steady. The way i feel today, is like how i felt right then, to the T. I'm sad to say that my eyes had closed since the day they were opened. But i'm awake again, today. Hopefully I'm awake forever.

si morir

tomorrow, you are going to look me straight in the eye, like a stranger with strength. you'll smile with conceit and rest a lonely cigarette against your index finger tip. you'll know i want it because i can't stop but look. I'll say no, i don't do that no more, and you'll laugh like the milky way. You'll barf into the stars, and me stand entranced. I'll never shed the thinest layer of rolled up bible paper. I'm weak, like the ants in my yogurt bowl.
Plastic bag over the head, rubber bands on the neck, leaned back much like Al Bundy, ears in a bowl of flowers, feet pointing straight towards the sky, on a black cotton robe with roses, dia de los muertos, yr the only one who'd get it.

Kasa

So typically typical. To lose one's wallet, one's umbrella, one's temper. I don't know why i can't keep a hold on things. Maybe i try to hold too much. Maybe my grasp is much more limited than i'd like to admit. If you were to call me up, though, at this raucous hour i'd stand corrected. I can't keep tabs, i can't keep plans, and i can't keep umbrellas. I love to lose. It's lovely. So play with me again, because you're a winner. You have all the luck these days.

SMB2 vs. SMB3

Wasn't there a big deal made about the newest version of Mario and Luigi? I remember watching that movie with Fred Savage. Oh, how i wanted to be in the contest. I used to be good at new games back in the day. But SMB3 was nowhere near as awesome as SMB2. Sure, that leaf would make people to fly, and you could swim under the water with a frog suit, but it wasn't anything like how you could squat into a vase and pluck vegetables in utter darkness. I used to have dreams about those levels.
So when you're looking for an explanation of why I lack imagination, or why i have a slight distaste for physical activity, well, you can blame Japan, for producing the rich, son-of-a-bitch lovin' Nintendo. God, i loved that shit, and my Sega...Seeeeegaaaaaa! Now, for sure, i'm going to leave this library and drink some chai. Hiya, chiya.

Two Ass, One Puntang

That bastard laughed his ass off at the mere mentioning of the sound of Puntang. "It's PUTang, yew idiot", his uncle yelled from across the table. It's funny when the words of Uncle Chazzy reverb lewdness throughout the park. Sitting at a picnic table provides the least amount of back support, and this hunched over, hillbilly positioning makes the words "it's PuuuuuTang, youuuuu eediot" ring like a crystalline bell on velvet. He slouches closer to his audience, your boyfriend and his two roommates, as he eyes the truck's window, "don't tell the old woman I told you this, but the way i first learned about the true meaning of Putang was in my first week in Haiphong. My buddy who i had known maybe 2 weeks before i was put on that plane, had a bit of a brain deficiency. I don't know, he was retarded or something. Honestly, i didn't think it was legal to send retards to the war, but i guess they were short of hands, or something like that. So basically, i let him follow me around mostly because i felt sorry for this poor son of a bitch. So I lost track of him after the first few days there, until we were maybe in week 9. I saw him in a local pharmacy covered in layers of those bullshit silk coverall bitch shit, and i pulled them off his head. I was mad because i was thinking this retard wasn't no retard at all, that he was actually just playing retarded so that he could ditch his duties and go fooling around in these towns. His eyes were bloodshot, and he grabbed my arm and told me that he had something to show me. The way he snarled, i just followed his pull up the steps leading to a small hut. He led me inside where I saw this old, man kneeling beside this cunt who was maybe about 13 or 14. When i try and remember, i don't think she had even got her hair yet, son. And this guy, with his beard all up in her shit, he didn't look right either. His eyes were something. Anyway, the whole point of my story kids is that when my retard buddy came in and threw the bag onto the bed, another young girl crawled in from behind a dusty crate. Her eyes, too, were bloodshot and as placed one hand on her breast and the other on the retard, she said, "Watashi wa nihon kara haifongu e ikimashta. Chichi o hanate kudasai, watashi no chichi no onamae wa Furukawa san. Ochiya o nomu mashiyo, Itsushiyo ni shimashio ka? Ie, ii desne.""
Kono onna wa takute mo ii desu. Nichi yobini watashi no uchi e irukoto ga dekimaska. Doshite, nihongo o hanatsu koto ga dekirundeska. Ikimashio. Sono hanashi wa zenzen omoshiro ku arimasen. Iidesne? Haha.

No Matter Where you Run

You just end up running into yourself. You outta believe it, poundy puppy. I noticed a little bit of a leak. It's cuz you didn't seem as full of it, as usual. Part of the nonsense we discuss, has real life consequences and still none at all. It's because this place is run by unattached jokers who tell the tales of idiots, done with the sound and the fury, signifying nothing! I semi stole that from someone famous. I just want a cigarette and to be done with it.

For Hire: Professional Snoops

For more information on the new position, please submit your resume to the following address.

http://www.geocities.com/axlelaser2/Dailysnooping.html

El Dia De Los Maridos

Mark and Traci, I wanted to preserve proof of this on the immortal reigns of cyberocity. I can't take risks with things this important.

Cuckoon

MM: Ca-ta-pil-la tra-ci,Ca-ta-pil-la tra-ci, Ca-ta-pil-la tra-ci, spi-nning in her coc-coon......

Realization Aftereffect

(i realized that with a new title, it can be okay for this place.)

""""these childish names mean no harm when said with childish voices. but in adulthood, they mean more, they mean meaningful when yr over twenty four. they are the words that kill you when yr trying to step over the death. In an earthquake, in a fire, in a goddamn castastrophe, you'd do alot to keep one happy. I live in a time of two thousand and five, where i write in my blog, as if it were my friend. I pretend this thing is my friend, my confidant, my bff. i'd admit it to yr face if you weren't such a motherfuckingpussy ass bitch. i'd tell you to yr lips if i didn't think it would be wasted like a tree. We're all trees, you and you and me, we are all hippies in this motherfucking cruel ass motherfucking habitat of webs and trees. So fuck what you say about cleanliness and hypocrasy. We're just two or three little animals, fucking stupid berkeley squirrels who come out for the nuts and a little attention. On yr part and her part. Parts are stupid, didn't we agree on that last week?"""

SHE

is "a" smart one, but not "the" smart one to whom I always refer. She analogizes me to many things, even when i ask her not to. She's a demon in the showroom and on the dance floor. I beg of her not to show her shit. But she a smart one, i'm telling you.
She tells me what i do all wrong, why i do it, and when I'm gonna die....Truth is, I never confirm to her that she has it all right. If fact, I try and undermine the authority she feels in herself. I do such things as an after effect. When I look back on it all, i begin to wonder if i have any effect on her self esteem. I couldn't imagine that i come off that bad. Though, i can't imagine very much, unless it has already happened. She calls me uncreative, and I agree.
Part one: transience
Part two: bed rest
She's a magnificent companion, she loves all to herself. There was a moment in the night when i heard her confess a mystical complaint. She remembered how nobody steals anymore. "They're too old, and boring." She was dead with a bullet. She was a cleat with the knee. Fuck, she was saying the same bullshit from three years ago, and still meaning it. Shit.

I'd pull the blankets off of the bed, and shave the shears of thier follicles. I'd knight the peices should they filter through. I'd climb like a saru through the open brush and bring the shrouds to their motherfucking banana knees. Fuck that shit, yo.

I loved her though, like a sister, like a "I'll kill you in the hills this time", motherfucking bankrobber, biznatch. Party like a Y2K sista snapping bitch, yo.

shamen

aka: the smartest person i've ever known. well, he so she would say the same about me. i asked them a pretty sorry question and they answered it with glee. i don't care about all the words you know, or the manners in which you tape them to. you could be a savant if all i knew. The french meaning isn't nearly as impressive. Take me to your hole and smother me with tea. I'd love for you to embellish me, for you to braid me in yr sleeve. Catch an open window, i'm adult enough to know. She, he, we are open fellows, who cower in the snow. Big bear has snow now, it is officially winter, love. Be like a snail flower, be like a fox, be like a pretty gun whose shiny in the box. Pul-lease, don't forget me. Pul-lease don't you leave me. Pull the fucking trigger, i'm outta the box, so sneeze.

The Bog of Eternal Stench

So long as you dip one finger in the Bog of Eternal Stench and you'll smell forever. That's a life long lesson that ain't nobody can teach you. Only if you remember the dog and his knight who knew it was the only thing he knew, and that nothing smelled more beautiful on those hot, rancid days. We learned it as children, and relearn it now. Can't no one escape from where they came because when you leave the bog, nothing smells as sweet. It's not true and not sad, so don't reminisce, you bastard, just pillage. Shine yr anger down like the molten sword of yr chin on a shiny golden egg. Princes love beauty like kings love gold.

My Last $30

Fearing Time

I don't remember how to think about things.

It's Nothing Personal.....

We just like it better here. There isn't as much noise, and there isn't anybody audacious enough to speak frankly. Nobody to interrupt daydreams, well, not to your face. So psychodelia is the newest thing? Interesting. Let's play witty banter all night long, we're a good pair, us. Separate, i make less sense but together disgusts. Ain't there an answer? Nobody gets away, really.

Happiness is a Warm Gun

I woke up with this in my head, and it stayed there all day long. It's amazing what you can remember from age 16. Still though, it is not as amazing as how unbelievably clueless....end stop.

"She's well acquainted with the touch of the velvet hand
Like a lizard on a window pane

The man in the crowd with the multicoloured mirrors
On his hobnail boots
Lying with his eyes while his hands are busy
Working overtime
A soap impression of his wife which he ate
And donated to the National Trust

I need a fix 'cause I'm going down
Down to the bits that I left uptown
I need a fix cause I'm going down
Mother Superior jumped the gun
Mother Superior jumped the gun
Mother Superior jumped the gun
Mother Superior jumped the gun

Happiness is a warm gun
Happiness is a warm gun, momma
When I hold you in my arms
And I feel my finger on your trigger
I know nobody can do me no harm
Because happiness is a warm gun, momma
Happiness is a warm gun
-Yes it is.
Happiness is a warm, yes it is...
Gun!
Well don't ya know that happiness is a warm gun, momma?"

Fancy Ways to Say Never

I've always relied on observation as the tool to understanding the questions that you just can't ask. There are many reasons people don't ask. Mostly, they don't care. You didn't notice that i smirked? Well, you must not care. After mostly, there's social standards. You can't very well approach an acquaintance and say "What's with your desperate attempts for attention? Were you ignored by your father? Did the kids shun you at school? Do these people truly provide you with the gratification and validation that you so apparently seek?" And well, it goes the same with those people who are more than acquaintances. In the past, i've been more than confrontational with such intimate analysis, and it always goes unappreciated. Nobody really wants to think those questions, much less be expected of answering them. Nobody wants to hear them from someone like me. Well, few, if any.
I personally find myself eternally grateful for the harsh criticisms i impose upon my own immaturity. I bask in the constant critiques of my behavior, motivations, and inner demons, my playthings. You could call me egocentric, and you'd be right, yet i think about you just as often. On this night, i felt especially nervous, i couldn't think, i couldn't do anything but focus on my flipbook thought patterns. I'd think about someone, i'd feel paranoid, change the subject to another, feel even worse....and so on. I felt uneasy about my future plans, so unresolved, so up in the air and it drove me straight here, the lazy man's diary. Fine, lazy woman's.
I began by writing about the trouble closest to the surface, the power of observation. I have difficulty separating the actual entity of the observation from my own interpretation of how it relates to me. This is very misguiding, childish, almost criminal.
An example, the bus driver scowls at you after you thank him for actually stopping at the stop you pressed the button for. You become confused. Why is he scowling? Did he scowl at the previous departing passengers? Is it you? Did you press the button too close to the stop? Do you appear unfriendly? Are you weird looking? Is it him? Does he hate his job? Is his health suffering from sitting 40 hours a week? Is his wife a dirty whore? Or is his face in permanent scowling position? All these questions and more could be the one or collection of why i wasted time thinking about that moment of time and space. Now see, that does not matter, this is trivial, however it happens to me all the time. I can't get that trivial stuff out of my head.
Then to think of how this obsession with trivialilites affect my observations of the people closest to me? I'd almost call it torturous if it wasn't so ingrained into my being as if it were a necessity, an integral. Do you ever wonder how your judgments, the words and opinions that spew from your mouth affect the ones you love or love you? God, i almost felt like i was inhabited by Montell, much like Whoopi jumping into Sam. Yuck. I don't want to make out with Montell's wife. Well, maybe.
But anyway, i can't get this thing out of my mind. You said it so matter of factly, so condescendingly as if you meant it for me. I'm so ashamed (well, as much i can be when imposed by another, but i have strong walls for those things, so don't feel too bad. Okay? Well, you don't read this anyway, so it's okay.)
There was this one ridiculous day, the day i spent in watching movies with my sister in my parents living room. It made me cry, that goddamn Legally Blonde or what it the sequel? Whatever, i remember i wrote about it at the time, but all i can think of now is how i felt on that day i cried. God, i'm such a pussy, this girl "feeling" bullshit is really starting to piss me off. I hate it. Weakness is despicable.
I almost admitted what is really bothering me, but i know i don't need to because i always remember the backdrops to what spurs these nonsensical rants. All i'll say is that i am forever in debt to that thing that someone smart told me...."anger is just the cover for disappointment and hurt feelings". I mean that literally, i am truly in debt to that smart ass son of a bitch. Being in someone's debt is not a positive feature, i wish the English language would cut that shit out of our idiomatic usage. It's fucked up, for real.
The truth is, though, is that should you cut all the bullshit and confirm what my observations so strongly suggest, i'd never talk to you again. How dare you think that way, how dare you. I'm strong enough to do that, you know. And i know that you know that, which doesn't do anything for giving my doubts any serious validation.
The nerve.

Jeesh.

Two posts in a row about Nip/Tuck? Well, i don't have a functioning TV, and its good, ok? Ok. I'll do whatever i fell like...Gosh! Oh nevermind, fuck off.

Sideline

I was watching Nip/Tuck, a strangely interesting show. Those people's marriage seemed so fucking shitty. Yuck. They had this somewhat disturbing scene where they are having the most pathetic sex i've ever seen. It's actually in the pilot episode should you be interested in pathetic sex. As i think about how i can't get that hideous picture out of my mind, i began to think of how the only thing i look forward to doing in a marriage are the affairs. What is marriage anyway? Uh blah ahh.
Also, a word to guys and girls who are strong willed, adventurous, hard to please, needing excitement, love to love....don't fucking marry a pussy. You two match well now, but god, don't ever marry a pussy. Then again, that's just what i learned from Nip/Tuck. Don't bother listening to me.

The Yeck Stick

I wanted to write about that funny guy or my secret fantasy, but i just smelled the fresh scent of french bread. I haven't eaten today, and i'm hungry and bread and butter sounds heavenly. So does anything else who's scents will reach my nose.

I like that that whole minute series of comic genius in the Family guy movie. You know, when they are on the red carpet? Kool-aid guy, drunk Lois, trisha takanawa, oh my god classic. I'm in the library. They have Family Guy stickers on the computers. I'm not creative.
Ya, well neither are you, really.

At times, I am Forced

to think somewhat logically and write in that manner. Here's how I spent the last hour. Education is interesting, right?




It was interesting to read a somewhat dated article on the decline of cultural literacy in American schools because it seems to conflict with the concerns that educational policy-makers are writing about currently. Hirsch makes a good argument that students must have a somewhat uniform subject matter basis so that as adults they may communicate amongst society effectively by having common knowledge to base their conversations around. It is true, the ability to communicate both in oral and written form are necessary in order to get things done promptly and efficiently, to spread ideas and keep current with the newest advances. With the passage of this No Child Left Behind policy, schools are focusing less on teaching these pertinent common knowledge type things, and instead relying on exit exam test scores to act as determinants of a satisfactory literacy level.
Though I agree with Hirsch on these specific opinions, I found that he may be viewing his idea of the changes between 1950's American society and the 1988 society to be at a level of higher standards of which they actually were. Obviously, he is a very learned man who has such a vast knowledge in order to have made that list "What every literate American should know". But I think that his vast bank of "Trivial Pursuit" type knowledge clouds his realistic vision of what this country has always been about. I suspect that it may not be the intention of these policy makers to want the whole of our society to participate in real, thoughtful conversation. He refers to a theoretical main goal that high school graduates should be able to read the newspaper and not only understand the underlying story, but also all the references that have been alluded to while telling the story. I understand that he didn't write this article last month, and that if he read our newspapers today he'd probably be horribly dismayed by the lack of quality that he was warning, and slightly predicting about the future. I'd also like to see his face when he watched an episode of a reality TV show from the last Fox season.

I didn't read newspapers back in 88 because i was only 8 years old, however, from the history I've learned about this country, things have not changed that much. There has always been a certain level of ignorance that has been encouraged by educational policy makers in order to distract from more important issues. Sure, maybe a higher percentage of people in the 40's recognized a higher percentage of topics on his list, but they were still gathering Japanese-American citizens and segregating them from the population due to WW2. The point I am trying to make is that I think he missed the point, while Donald Gallo hit it right on.

Gallo's opinion is, that in English classes, reading the classics is not the only route to take in regards to encourage children's literacy. He argues that "the classics are not about Teenage concerns! they are about ADULT issues. Moreover, they were written for EDUCATED adults who had the LEISURE time to read them. They were also, not incidently, written to be ENJOYED-not DISSECTED, not ANALYZED, and certainly not TESTED. When I became an adult, I became interested in adult things...and I finally appreciated them (the classics). )78 I particularly enjoyed that he supplied his own list of more interesting and appropriate literature for children and young adults. I also appreciated that in his list, he named some of the books that i specifically remembered seeing in Ms. Mundelt's classroom library, namely Starchild and Monster. I picked these books up because of the facinating titles, and I read the summary suggesting that Monster is about a kid who experiences Juvey. Gallo points out that important lessons of societal affairs and social interactions can be just as effective in this more current, interesting literature.

Gallo wasn't suggesting that classics should be outright ignored in schools, and neither am I, however we should be realistic and take a clear look as to what our society is really like. A vast majority of people, both adults and children, don't really read the way they did in the 40s, but watch movies, TV etc. If we want to heighten literacy and the love of reading, as teachers, we need to compete with the excitement of Fear Factor, and the similar. It's sad, but we all know that it is true.

During my first field work session at Tennyson, I was in the 9th grade classroom and Ms. Munkelt was describing to me privately that on some days the kids just don't feel like reading, but all in all, they eventually make their way back to the book. One of the female students was listening in and she exclaimed, "You win some, You lose some, but you live...you live to fight another day." I smiled and recognized this quote from the 1994 classic, "Friday". Sure, this movie is not the most appropriate entertainment for 14 year olds, since it somewhat glorifies drug use, however, I was impressed. Her response was immediate, and I found the comment remarkably fitting to what we were discussing and the comparison to how it is used in the movie was clear. The reason I found this moment in the classroom relevant is because it goes to show that you don't necessarily need to quote Richard the III to make yourself be understood amongst intelligent society. An appropriate reference to sustain your point is enough in order to convey your point as long as other people have read the same books as you, watched the same movies, had the same school curriculum, and have the same memory capacity as you. Ideal, yes, realistic, no.

My Bad

I have strict orders from the wiser side of my brain. No wine during the week. And I fucked it all up. I didn't study watashinonihongo, I slept through an hour of my sculpture, i feel yucky, i'm embarrassed of the messages i leave, and i might have roofied myself, and i have a bottle less of wine for a good time. I wish i had one of those AA type people who you call up when you're sitting alone in yr living room, and everyone is too busy to talk to you and y're sick of being productive, and you just wanna put yrself down. Down on the Ground.
Also, i hate when i write whilst drinking. You should see my notebooks. They are ridiculously illegible scrawlings of self-directed rage mixed in with pleas of helplessness for an unknown savior. Next time, because i can't honestly claim that there will be no next time, I might suggest writing to Jesus (pronounced He-tsuz) because even though he disses me constantly, i like trying to impress God. I heard a funny God joke recently, but it's forgotten right now.
I have a job interview in an hour, and this activity seemed more appealing than benkiyoshimas-ing. I don't want to work. But i hate being poor. I wonder where that guy who stands by dwinnelle and never shuts up lives. Is he independently wealthy? Retired? Homeless? Why doesn't he have to work? What can i do to be more like him? God, i hate that guy. Even before I wondered about his life. I have a problem, though. In sculpture, i used Gorilla glue and it got all over my fingers. One of the teachers said that i should really avoid getting it on my hands, and i said, "ya, okay.........not..(very softly) So not only did i have a bunch of this glue on my fingers, but they became dirty from the sawdust and tool dirt. She was right, this glue cannot be removed. So now i look like a homeless mechanic, and i've got this interview. I've thought of 3 options. 1)Wear gloves. 2)Just ignore it 3) Explain the dirty hands. All three sound equally unappealing, but i think i may just wear gloves. I mean, maybe i can pull off the burn victim look. Maybe I should smear Vasoline on my face to distract from my hands.
I probably have about 10 more minutes to write. Should I or shouldn't i have a smoke before my interview. Probably no, huh?
Today in Sculpture, we had critiques of our first project and I've found my 2 favourite people. First, this guy made this nasty ass chocolate box filled with twinkies, unwrapped, melting 2 week old candy, etc. It's outside by the art building. It's alright, i guess, but there's this girl who kept eating the things out of there. She's in my class, she knew they've been there for 2 weeks. Someone commented that it's probably not a wise move to be eating those things. She responded by saying "just find me another melted twix". She's awesome. I like her. Her project was my favourite. I took a picture of it. It's this swirly plastic container with holes that stands on a pole above a pool of water. She placed Poprocks into the spinny and spun. The candies fall through the holes and land it the water. It sounded like rain. That's been bumped up to favorite sound since i was in Tennis class and we were all bouncing the balls at the same time. It echoed crazy, yo. I don't have time to describe my second favorite person. I have to put on my gameface now and that can take up to 5 minutes. Pardon.

What I learned on AOL Today

6)A man said this, and I quote "I have a weakness too, and it's always been the sight of an angelic brunette with legs that can melt butter (and at times that weakness spreads to Eastern European blondes with racks that would make Costco blush). Though said brunettes can cause my most primal urges to get the better of me, I can still keep it my pants. It's a habit that won't destroy me."

5)William Bennett has a "damn yr cock looks delicious" face.

4)Kobe Bryant has a "yr white, I'm black" face.

3)Harriet Mier has a dog face. (Shitszu or maybe Australian shepherd)

2)Tom Delay has a "is that pate?" face.

1) Chewbacca is a Lefty.

Story Hours

One day, I'll explain everything to you, with many minute details. My motive? Boredom. My venue, vino. Wine is very intimate, they say. I'm a very lonely girl who doesn't understand the power of prison, so, in that case, I will buy 5 cases of Chuck Shaw and shower you with lavish attention and keep your crackers flowing with apples on brie. They say kings dined on Brie, you know.
I've built a very large, felt storyboard on my West side wall and i've made cut-outs of every last character. Even Jenny from Osborne street. She jumped over the wall and swam in our pool while my parents were at work, and us, at school. I thought that the reason she had this kind of free time, was because she was ReeRee*. I thought ReeRees didn't have to go to school. Somehow, in my next 18 years of life, I learned that ReeRees do have to go to school. But she lived with her disabled grandparents, and everyone knows that the disabled don't care about shit, especially grandchildren. Even Jenny from Osborne Street. You know, that story we listened to on tape in Isaac and Aaron's backyard, the one that ends in "And Jenny's head, Fell, Off!!!"? Well, I've got the instrumental tracks on CD. They'll be on in the background. You see? For you, anything.
I've designed a whole new line of fashion for your Feltie. I'll sign over the rights to you once i'm finished. It's the least I can do, after all the inspiration you've put on my plate these last few years. You should see Mom's Feltie. She's got all the newest, ghetto fabulousest accessories. I've even made a black-and-white flashback sequence of Felties that will explain all the mysteries of the seventies. I haven't forgotten the pages of nights we spent hovering over Studio 54 flyers.
All in all, I'd have to admit that Trader Joes isn't always the best place to buy cheap wine, but you could never be as entertained and drunken on anything else. I almost forgot about the cost, and considered buying cases of Champ, but the bubbles are harsh on the memory. I learned that the weekend before last. And the prior as well. You want to know what i did? No, you really don't. And, I don't blame either of us. One of the reasons that Champagne is the Champ is because Traci Ikegami says it is, and she's never been wrong. About champagne? Never.
I rented Twins and Ghostbusters. For some reason, Captain Video does not keep 3 Men and a Little Lady in stock. I did make a quick stop in the adult section where I thought about renting the Boyscout Gaysians, but then I decided that porn doesn't sit well with Felt. It never really did, did it? My DVD player tends to skip since I spilled it with that Kangaroo Merlot I like, so please bring yours. I won't be serving Yellowtail on that night, so you needn't worry about my clumsiness. I don't want to spoil the surprise, but it's going to be on October 29th. It's a Saturday. So keep that weekend open. The invitation will be in your mailbox soon, so don't worry about remembering. Keep well, Walgreen.

*ReeRee-Retard

The Snake Charmer

The smoke who rises from your glass is trickery. The inno- of the hana
closed my throat hole shut.
I'd explain, but my breath is caught
I may deny but my scents has stopped
Good sense, bad sense, make sense, i cannot
Please let us not
Picky, piney, prosy pony
Yes, please, let's not.
My atmosphere is everywhere, except the little hole where the smoke will always go.
This place is still the darkest room, but my arms are never lost
Just polite, that's right, in spite
After all, are they not mine?
No, they are not.
Only snakes in charm, in time
All the consequence of chime
Poets warn the haze of blaze, and legend keeps the heedence tame
And there's a light behind the cave of the largest, darkest room.
You have no idea, You have no idea, you have no idea,
no idea, idea
Of everything you and Ikea
Have made of the Snake.
Kill Bill.

I'm my own Girl

and i ain'ts got to listen to what you say. You're a bluebird, with chicken wings.
i ain't gots to care that yr feets too big.
My granmammy wants me to tell you something different, for her, for WW2.
She's got brothers all over this mother fucker.
She's gots brothers in the grave. Cuz a her.
And i ain't even lyin.
He cried when she left. Like me.
The only two or three, if you count em.
Partners in crime aint shit these days.
They ain't even nothing.
Nothin
No thang but the O-thang.

My wings do Cry, on some days

Pardon me, with craft, superstore
Something something is what's in store
for tu
para mi
para su.
One eight five, is alive..........
gonna realize it then,
so sad
so late
so uncontrollably blatant.
Yr a sore on my nose on my bloody, bloody nose.
Fifth grade, too late, 11th made me upstate.
And straight
till you princess car, mistake.
Once, twice...i still wallow in yr wake.
Princess car. Toyoto rojo. Listo, esperando.