Meh, Creative Writing Class, you have doomed me!
I can't write a play.
Plays have a completely different set-up than normal writing.
You have to SAY everything.
I am, very bad with dialogue.
If my characters were real people, they would be the kind of kids you stick in the trashcan.
Just cause it's easy, ya know?
I haven't been home on a weekend in ages. It's been really bad.
I WORK on the weekends. And I yoga. What am I supposed to do.
Anyway...
I'd just like to throw out the fact that...
THERE ARE 55 DAYS 'TIL GRADUATION
geh siked, geh geh geht siked!
I'm actually not excited. Except for April 1st.
We had our first thunderstorm today, in March.
And whenever we have a thunderstorm, my 90 pound lab, my protector of the house, the beautiful KILLAH... turns into a mass of furry Jell-o. She quivers and whimpers and rolls around on her back like some ANIMAL. And, she isn't an animal, she is expressive and has a vocabulary.
WOOF- I want in!
WHINE- I want out!
GRUMBLE- Hungry, feed me now, bitch.
Soccer has been taking up my time. I luvr it, I reallah doo.
My mom has her 50th birthday next week. So, if you see my mom, run up to her and flash her. She's old and would beat you with her cane.
Just kidding...my mom doesn't have a cane.
She has a chainsaw.
I wonder how many bananas you can eat in one day without getting physically sick?
Talking about MOMs, does anyone remember MILF.
What other things would ILF?
Dolphin skin.
A jet stream.
Empathy.
$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$
YOU LOOK AND SMELL LIKE MONEY
Word.
Thursday, March 10, 2011
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Redemption.
First--
Click HERE
It will lead you to youtube, and music.
Then start the link. Let it load. Don't let it pause in the middle of meditation. That always throws my zen off.
No, it is not about Red Dead Redemption.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Remember those night runs, with headlights bouncing, as the summer's humidity pushed beads of sweat through your skin, only to cool in the darkness of night?
The frogs choke near ponds and in gardens and the woods are lush with their noise.
People appear out of their houses later into the evening, voices call out and hang like slow falling fireworks.
It feels good to lay in bed, no covers on, and feel night air on your skin after a brutal day.
The moon seems always full and savory, like apple pie.
Nights when you find yourself wandering and pulled into shops where music plays and its bluegrass. Where the food is always fine and fresh and growing a few miles away.
The clarity of sky and the freshness of water as you plunge into it.
Spring, come sooner.
Click HERE
It will lead you to youtube, and music.
Then start the link. Let it load. Don't let it pause in the middle of meditation. That always throws my zen off.
No, it is not about Red Dead Redemption.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Remember those night runs, with headlights bouncing, as the summer's humidity pushed beads of sweat through your skin, only to cool in the darkness of night?
The frogs choke near ponds and in gardens and the woods are lush with their noise.
People appear out of their houses later into the evening, voices call out and hang like slow falling fireworks.
It feels good to lay in bed, no covers on, and feel night air on your skin after a brutal day.
The moon seems always full and savory, like apple pie.
Nights when you find yourself wandering and pulled into shops where music plays and its bluegrass. Where the food is always fine and fresh and growing a few miles away.
The clarity of sky and the freshness of water as you plunge into it.
Spring, come sooner.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Indian Summer
In a day the crocuses are in full bloom.
Opening pretty yellow eyes to the sky.
They are the size of toes.
In a couple days everything will bloom.
In an Indian Summer.
"Don't let the darkness eat you up."
A handwritten note, tacked to a tree.
I weave the horse down the slope, muddy, and rolling in grass, sweet with a new sunny warmth. The bones under my legs heave and muscles bend. I give the horse her head as she weaves through broom straw down to the paths edge, lined with tiny sycamores. They shed their skin in papery slips, and I tear one as I pass by and tuck it in my pocket to write notes on. I pass by two mated hawks sitting high in an oak in the forest later, their massive white feathered breasts unsettled in the graying light. Two other hawks fly by, chased by a flock of crying crows. Crying because they've hunted their mates out of the sky. The clop and sighs of the horse under me give way as she startles and takes off, gathering the massive body under me and leaving me to gather the reigns.
A glass jar of tulips sit on my counter.
Mason jars litter the rest of the space.
Winter seeps under the doors and chills the floors.
It will not release the reigns yet.
Opening pretty yellow eyes to the sky.
They are the size of toes.
In a couple days everything will bloom.
In an Indian Summer.
"Don't let the darkness eat you up."
A handwritten note, tacked to a tree.
I weave the horse down the slope, muddy, and rolling in grass, sweet with a new sunny warmth. The bones under my legs heave and muscles bend. I give the horse her head as she weaves through broom straw down to the paths edge, lined with tiny sycamores. They shed their skin in papery slips, and I tear one as I pass by and tuck it in my pocket to write notes on. I pass by two mated hawks sitting high in an oak in the forest later, their massive white feathered breasts unsettled in the graying light. Two other hawks fly by, chased by a flock of crying crows. Crying because they've hunted their mates out of the sky. The clop and sighs of the horse under me give way as she startles and takes off, gathering the massive body under me and leaving me to gather the reigns.
A glass jar of tulips sit on my counter.
Mason jars litter the rest of the space.
Winter seeps under the doors and chills the floors.
It will not release the reigns yet.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Typical.
I hate the way you talk to me,
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car,
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick,
It even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you’re always right,
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh,
Even worse when you make me cry
I hate it when you’re not around,
And the fact that you didn’t call
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,
Not even close…
Not even a little bit…
Not even at all
I find the greatest satisfaction in not pledging loyalties.
I'm flighty.
Unfocused.
Self-interested.
Abusing.
But, it's really just rare that my attention is held, past the three seconds.
Maybe that's why everything fell apart in such blazing impossibilities.
Impossibilities. Things we didn't believe would happen.
They did.
Shrug.
There's someone new.
I keep them at arms length.
As, I do most.
The people that are closest don't have any direct stake in my life, usually.
I'm afraid of their judgement.
But, there's still the same beat within me. Fun, caring, if just jaded.
I admit:
Self-Interested.
Do you feel melancholy?
I don't.
I can't be tied down. Not for long, too long.
And, that's why I had to go.
I have someone new.
Keeping them at arms length, just as I should have you.
Happy Valentines Day.
God Bless.
And the way you cut your hair.
I hate the way you drive my car,
I hate it when you stare.
I hate your big dumb combat boots
And the way you read my mind.
I hate you so much it makes me sick,
It even makes me rhyme.
I hate the way you’re always right,
I hate it when you lie.
I hate it when you make me laugh,
Even worse when you make me cry
I hate it when you’re not around,
And the fact that you didn’t call
But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you,
Not even close…
Not even a little bit…
Not even at all
I find the greatest satisfaction in not pledging loyalties.
I'm flighty.
Unfocused.
Self-interested.
Abusing.
But, it's really just rare that my attention is held, past the three seconds.
Maybe that's why everything fell apart in such blazing impossibilities.
Impossibilities. Things we didn't believe would happen.
They did.
Shrug.
There's someone new.
I keep them at arms length.
As, I do most.
The people that are closest don't have any direct stake in my life, usually.
I'm afraid of their judgement.
But, there's still the same beat within me. Fun, caring, if just jaded.
I admit:
Self-Interested.
Do you feel melancholy?
I don't.
I can't be tied down. Not for long, too long.
And, that's why I had to go.
I have someone new.
Keeping them at arms length, just as I should have you.
Happy Valentines Day.
God Bless.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Singled Out.
Body Is A Cage
FUCK YOU BLOGSPOT, DELETING MY POST WHEN IT'S ALMOST PUBLISHED, WATCH ME SWITCH TO TUMBLR
FUCK YOU BLOGSPOT, DELETING MY POST WHEN IT'S ALMOST PUBLISHED, WATCH ME SWITCH TO TUMBLR
Monday, February 7, 2011
Constant Companion.
So, creative writing class this semester, I will totally take you on. I will climb your remarkably easy curriculum and I will stand atop that high mountain of success with one hand shielding my eyes from the penetrating rays of being SO DAMN HIGH UP and use one hand to hold a shovel to take on my next task- Digging through the Earth to an Indo-European country.
I've been trying to think about how I should sum up what I've been doing all this time while not blogging.
*taps chin pensively*
*waits a few minutes*
*makes a sandwich*
*remembers English paper is due tomorrow*
Returns.
Not much. Other than pickin' fights, celebrating black history month, and reading books about sassy generals. Perfecting my coffee making skills, swimming, yelling sweet nonsensicals and throwing yoga balls at people.
I've been trying to think about how I should sum up what I've been doing all this time while not blogging.
*taps chin pensively*
*waits a few minutes*
*makes a sandwich*
*remembers English paper is due tomorrow*
Returns.
Not much. Other than pickin' fights, celebrating black history month, and reading books about sassy generals. Perfecting my coffee making skills, swimming, yelling sweet nonsensicals and throwing yoga balls at people.
Being Short
has its exceptional qualities.
If you are short, you can easily morph into BACKPACK MAN.
(is where you just run into a group of preferably friendly people and jump on their back like a backpack yelling 'backpack man!')
If you're short you could be a Hobbit in the new Hobbit movie!
If you're short you could fight a bear by just running around his feet in constant circles until he becomes dizzy and staggers over a strategically placed cliff.
If you're short you can still fit into refrigerator boxes all the way and then just pop out and scare unknowing passers-by.
If you are short, you can easily morph into BACKPACK MAN.
(is where you just run into a group of preferably friendly people and jump on their back like a backpack yelling 'backpack man!')
If you're short you could be a Hobbit in the new Hobbit movie!
If you're short you could fight a bear by just running around his feet in constant circles until he becomes dizzy and staggers over a strategically placed cliff.
If you're short you can still fit into refrigerator boxes all the way and then just pop out and scare unknowing passers-by.
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
So in January...
January is almost over!
I wore my snow sweater and it worked, enacting a whole day of cancelled worthless classes so that I can go frolic and ski. I'm in an extra whimsy mood. But not in the sense of creepy whimsy (see the jump).
Whimsy as in drawing my name on my fogged up bathroom windows and listening to She & Him and reading all day in some nook. Writing haikus. Puddle jumping.
But really I've just been reading a really well written biography on our faithful defender Robert E. Lee, wearing ugly sweaters, watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (excellent but sad) and playing guitar.
I feel like this February will be an extra sort of sweet.
Oh gawd, February! When all girls hark about is Valentine's Day and sex (not really) and candlelit dinners blah blah blah
And if that is how you feel you should stop reading ---now.
Because truly sweet Valentine's Day-ing is of the utmost importance. Men get to show how much they actually care. But most of them opt for the really boring "I love you", kiss on the cheek, tasteless necklace sort of deal. Which is sweet and classic and totally what you expect from everyone who doesn't know anything.
But a real man would take his special lady on a date.
To wherever.
Preferably somewhere warm depending on the weather.
A beautiful view with a hot thermos of tasty cocoa and sweet mugs.
What!? The man doesn't have a car? ...Bicycle.
Not a real date. On a real date the man drives, gets out of the car before the lady and opens the door for her. This is a classic and overlooked ritual only given on days of special importance.
Or the date could be a restaurant that you've never been to before, a coffee shop, a concert, ice skating, karaoke, going to the zoo, adopting a cat. Whatever, it need to be cool.
I wore my snow sweater and it worked, enacting a whole day of cancelled worthless classes so that I can go frolic and ski. I'm in an extra whimsy mood. But not in the sense of creepy whimsy (see the jump).
Whimsy as in drawing my name on my fogged up bathroom windows and listening to She & Him and reading all day in some nook. Writing haikus. Puddle jumping.
But really I've just been reading a really well written biography on our faithful defender Robert E. Lee, wearing ugly sweaters, watching Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (excellent but sad) and playing guitar.
I feel like this February will be an extra sort of sweet.
Oh gawd, February! When all girls hark about is Valentine's Day and sex (not really) and candlelit dinners blah blah blah
And if that is how you feel you should stop reading ---now.
Because truly sweet Valentine's Day-ing is of the utmost importance. Men get to show how much they actually care. But most of them opt for the really boring "I love you", kiss on the cheek, tasteless necklace sort of deal. Which is sweet and classic and totally what you expect from everyone who doesn't know anything.
But a real man would take his special lady on a date.
To wherever.
Preferably somewhere warm depending on the weather.
A beautiful view with a hot thermos of tasty cocoa and sweet mugs.
What!? The man doesn't have a car? ...Bicycle.
Not a real date. On a real date the man drives, gets out of the car before the lady and opens the door for her. This is a classic and overlooked ritual only given on days of special importance.
Or the date could be a restaurant that you've never been to before, a coffee shop, a concert, ice skating, karaoke, going to the zoo, adopting a cat. Whatever, it need to be cool.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Jolt.
With the side of her forehead pressed against the cool outer glass she stared out onto the frozen streets. Her breathe streamed a little to the side when she blew out all the spent air, it locally fogged up the window.
The seats were hard. Each manhole cover jarred the bus and she shifted in her seat. Left cheek, right cheek, both, never keeping all her weight on one. Last time she had sat flat on her butt like any normal person would do, but this time was an experiment, to keep her but from getting sore.
Every two or three minutes she would try to hold her breathe as long as possible. A minute and a half was all she had lasted so far, heaving out the air onto the window where it would obscure the view. Half a minute was weak, she could do better.
There was no point in bringing a book to read. The bus ride made her so nauseous, with the back of her throat twitching, that reading would lead to a most violent upchuck on the hard plastic seats.
There was that cold sweat, with the recirculating air of the bus staying stifling, hot but never reaching the inner confines of her clothes. It just heated the air she breathed out and blew it back down on her to breathe in again.
The headphones were the protection from older women, bored from the ride, who would try to talk to her if she took them off. It wasn't like she looked particularly friendly, but they were drawn to her, little moths that smelled like cheap perfume to her consuming flame. There was no eye contact on the bus, no friendliness, she just kept within her head nursing empty thoughts.
"Why is the sky blue?" I can't remember, I learned that back in freshman year of high school, but it's gone now.
Each jolt of the bus knocked her head off the window, but it would then return with a dull thunk.
She practiced holding her breathe again. Half a minute really was weak.
The seats were hard. Each manhole cover jarred the bus and she shifted in her seat. Left cheek, right cheek, both, never keeping all her weight on one. Last time she had sat flat on her butt like any normal person would do, but this time was an experiment, to keep her but from getting sore.
Every two or three minutes she would try to hold her breathe as long as possible. A minute and a half was all she had lasted so far, heaving out the air onto the window where it would obscure the view. Half a minute was weak, she could do better.
There was no point in bringing a book to read. The bus ride made her so nauseous, with the back of her throat twitching, that reading would lead to a most violent upchuck on the hard plastic seats.
There was that cold sweat, with the recirculating air of the bus staying stifling, hot but never reaching the inner confines of her clothes. It just heated the air she breathed out and blew it back down on her to breathe in again.
The headphones were the protection from older women, bored from the ride, who would try to talk to her if she took them off. It wasn't like she looked particularly friendly, but they were drawn to her, little moths that smelled like cheap perfume to her consuming flame. There was no eye contact on the bus, no friendliness, she just kept within her head nursing empty thoughts.
"Why is the sky blue?" I can't remember, I learned that back in freshman year of high school, but it's gone now.
Each jolt of the bus knocked her head off the window, but it would then return with a dull thunk.
She practiced holding her breathe again. Half a minute really was weak.
Crabs.
I'm surprised by the people at my school who don't read quality fiction.
Sure, I read serial novels every once in a while. I can get into a series. But I enjoy the classics.
Reading: Currently? The last book of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo series
Reading: For Research: Lee's Civil War
I only have three classes this semester. I wish I had more. I honestly don't know how to fill my time. I'd love to be volunteering though.
My lack of direction caused my to not get to the C-Ville round of The Jefferson Scholarship, such a disappointment.
I should have applied to UVM, it seems like a much better Northern choice.
I've been using my free time to catch up on movies
- The Social Network --phenomenal, I don't know why I didn't see it before, makes me want to attend an ivy, not that I have that choice...
- The Kids Are All Right -- beautiful, but also... lots of sex
- Shawshank Redemption -- again, why did I take so long to see this?
It would be fun to go shopping soon. I think I'm taking a coffee pilgrimage to Lexington some time.
I also want to go rock climbing.
And bake cookies.
But first I have to work on my Lee Jackson essay, college is so greedy.
Listening currently-
-The Social Network soundtrack- is brilliant, and you can download part of it for free (not the best parts though)
-Dr. Dog- anybody up for a concert in C-ville next month?
-Iron & Wine - Kiss Each Other Clean- I could sing praises for Sam Beam all day. All all day.
- Zooey Deschanel's Dream A Little Dream- singing at open mic soon
Back to another month of not blogging and being a hermit.
I'd put a bunch of hermit crabs in a tank together, then they would be mingling crabs, very rare.
Sure, I read serial novels every once in a while. I can get into a series. But I enjoy the classics.
Reading: Currently? The last book of The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo series
Reading: For Research: Lee's Civil War
I only have three classes this semester. I wish I had more. I honestly don't know how to fill my time. I'd love to be volunteering though.
My lack of direction caused my to not get to the C-Ville round of The Jefferson Scholarship, such a disappointment.
I should have applied to UVM, it seems like a much better Northern choice.
I've been using my free time to catch up on movies
- The Social Network --phenomenal, I don't know why I didn't see it before, makes me want to attend an ivy, not that I have that choice...
- The Kids Are All Right -- beautiful, but also... lots of sex
- Shawshank Redemption -- again, why did I take so long to see this?
It would be fun to go shopping soon. I think I'm taking a coffee pilgrimage to Lexington some time.
I also want to go rock climbing.
And bake cookies.
But first I have to work on my Lee Jackson essay, college is so greedy.
Listening currently-
-The Social Network soundtrack- is brilliant, and you can download part of it for free (not the best parts though)
-Dr. Dog- anybody up for a concert in C-ville next month?
-Iron & Wine - Kiss Each Other Clean- I could sing praises for Sam Beam all day. All all day.
- Zooey Deschanel's Dream A Little Dream- singing at open mic soon
Back to another month of not blogging and being a hermit.
I'd put a bunch of hermit crabs in a tank together, then they would be mingling crabs, very rare.
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