Saw the worst decision driving down the road tonight. Ugly thunderbird and te smartest guy in school, driving around with a beard and one of the oddest and most sheltered girls I know. It's just a reaaalllly bad decision on his part. I hope one day he doesn't have to find out just how bad.

I find walking through the woods, and just walking in general, not running, helps put the whole writining fire in my head. That and my English summer course workbook "1100 words you need to know"

And with that I'm going to go watch the stars.

"Don't do anything risky"

Chris Brown!

This blog goes out to my besty for L1FE, Chris. I think you might be 8 years old now. And you're my cross country coaches' son. You'll probably grow up to be a terrorist. When you steal my frisbee and throw it at people, hard, it only makes us better friends. And when you say my name with your definitive lisp that they will have to correct through your whole elementary school career it makes me feel bad for you. So here's to you, spiderman. May you be climbing walls and jumping fences and running around like your pants have been set on fire by 3 hobos that just ain't got no fire wood. I raise my glass. Best fwennnndddsss. No seriously, my name is Kate, not Katie.

Gak!

I Missed You!

"Wow, you were growing older out there, look at your skin, you so tan gurrlll."
"Blog, I'm sorry to have neglected you!"
"Fuck you, did you go spelunking!?"
"...No."
"Then you have failed me and every word you type, we are now going to grow as limp as a clock in a Salvador Dali painting and fall off the page as you type... OOOOoooOOo nooOOO slipping. Now if your going to put down elephant shit poems you have to go eat worms off of Billy Idol's face to earn our trust back, the trust that you won't leave us so lonely and cold out where creepy old men can read your thoughts and actions...."
"I'm sorry! I thought about you when I was driving my car around with children under 16 in the back seat!"
"Not hard enough! Think harder! Let me see your toilet face!"
"I don't do any...."
"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWW!!!!!!"
"Ehr?"

__________ Blog's Back!____________________________

Futurama

"Why was that the first thing to come to mind?"
"Little Pussy?"
"Yes! Why was the ghastly fuzzy creature put into your mouth from your head, from your tiny little brain cells, in which small cheesy grits slip into holes filling out words in an elimination process. Whever the sheesy grits land is where a letter won't be produced because the letter cannot fall through the hole because of artery clogging cheesy grits."

....


So for college essays

works of art for common app:

>> my first run in with Paul McCartney

>> Microcosmos

>>first Dr. Seuss reading experience

>>Andy Goldsworthy

>>Levi van Veluw

>> Cross Creek

Traveling Sleep

Bad dreams in a strange bed as your neighbor sleeps on and on. You turn on the tv, you turn it on, only to here its static song. Telephone lights of people in far off places, with nothing to do but send you the messages about their life. Wanting attention. Your stomach rumbles as you get up and walk around quietly, shuffling your feet, groaning, blurry eyed with sleep and bad vision. The clock glows a red six o four. The silence is too grave for sleeping, outside is too dangerous for waking. Washing your face off in the mirror you stumble back in bed, which is cold now, unbearably so. Your mind drifts. Complimentary breakfest, ha, that's what we're all waiting for.

Soc(her)

I may have drunk thirty gallons of water. Ah water, tasty water.

And it was watching 30 boys sprint into dorms for bedtime.

And today soccer camp was done. It was my first taste of the insanity and training that are involved, (and skill) of these superhuman girls that I was going to camp with. They were man fast, they didn't look down, they dribbled past you in a flurry of adidas climate cool shorts and generic soccer t-shirts, doing pull backs and volleys and turns until your calves grew weary from your controlled watch on the ball (and their hips) and you melted to a puddle on the turf with heat and despair. But then you got a water break and you did it again. With a positive additude and some pizza in your stomach.

So now I'm reading Ender's Game, staying up late after a midday nap, blogging, listening to Frank Zappa and watching parts of Heathers that I can't remember word for word... because it's on Youtube. Tomorrow consists of evening out my soccer tan, packing for Tennessee and working. Not very interesting for now, but I must prepare myself with the uninteresting so I can savour the interesting, the incredibly interesting familia road trips. I'm dissapointed hat the Grand Ole Oprey isn't in refurbished yet. :[

Tonight I had a long discussion over how old farmhouses rank over most new houses for "livability". I find them very attractive. Sort of like black and white stenciling and leather couches.

Summer song.

Summer is many things. An escalation of heat mirages. A dip in the creek of a neighbor. A heat stroke mid July.

It's when the flowers of the roadside are grey with dust, and so is the sky, an orange haze sweeping over the mountains in a gauzy fog, blurring out their crisp silhouettes from the dimming day.

When the oil runs like water, a heated syrup dripping from every nozzle of every gas pump for miles and many more miles.

It's the popping of the ears in a pool ten feet deep, with skin drenched in chlorine.

When the tanning oil babies run to the sand, and lay there, throwing their bodies on the Earth, belly down, their skin sizzling.

The sound of chalk dust on concrete. The sound of bicycles whirring away down hills at night. The taste of Kosher hot dogs on the air.

It's a midnight sparkler.

A heat filled room. Stifling, with no breeze.

It's sandals full of well... sand.

The late night shindigs thrumming a house up with yellow light and conversational voices, echoing out across a star filled lake.

It's slippery when wet. It's a flash flood. A downpour that was unexpected.

It's the night bugs rasping out their Summer song all night long.

Jahahahahaha (Mexican Laughter)

Best Facebook Message I've Ever Been Sent Goes Something Like---

"Yeah so I deff just face book stalked the hell out of you lol, went through trevs friends just had to say sorry about being short with you to day I was late to getting my rabies shot. Nice seeing you tho..."


I appreciate this. The nice touches like, getting his rabies shot. Must be protected from those crazed mooses.

Rolling.

When I'm on the road, little ideas about how to describe the things I see, feel, hear, smell and lick are so much easier to think of because I have so much time, and since I fail at thinking of things on the fly, those little fleeting thoughts just get sucked out with the raging wind coming in the car windows as everything flies by at 75 miles per hour.

And.

When I'm on the road everything seems so far away. It's almost as if I'll never see the same people or places, because all I can see is this new land roling past me.

And.

When I'm on the road and I'm away, it's as if somebody pushes a reset button in my brain. It used to happen all year, never settling. But I don't know if I like it now...

And.

When I'm on the road at night, anything seems possible, and it is. But I have to deal with the consequences, especially if it was trouble that was playing its hand. So I can store them away, those consequences, and try and forget them in he morning. But fate never really likes to be forgotten. And there is always a road near at hand. Ready to make or break you.

And.

When I'm on the road, I always want to take you with me.

Leave off

So the other day, I asked my mom as a gag would it be okay if I went to art school? And, her face sort of dropped after the question was asked, but then I waved her off and told her I was joking. No, but really, I don't belive there is any talent in me to waste my time going through art school. Art and nature can coincide, but when I go to college fairs my first question is, Do you have an environmental science major? And then I move on to, Well what about scholarships? But, what if don't even know, what the bloody wang I want to do.

Jesus.

So anyway, I figured out I could twirl a small kitchen knife in my free time. And then I reconsdered practicing before some and more turned into not having a thumb to hold a gun with.

Yesterday, I went out to sit outside of Baines and just sit and read, with my dog, in the heat, but then she wouldn't sit so I took her to my mom and whn I got there her first comment was "Your shorts are too short". It's 100 bajillion degrees outside mother, I'm not dressed like a skank, and besides, I have proof that you were just completely off the handle when you were younger, so just leave off. Leave me be.

You know those days when you feel like you've been underwater, ten feet underwater all day? You figure your dead and then you get off the couch to get a drink of water and your eyes slowly roll back to the front of your head but you still can't shake the teaspoon of water you have stuck in your ears? Yeah, I know the feeling.


I guess I should pack soon. It's going to be a hell of a drive. Expect really long texts about nothing in particular.

Woody Allen is a good storyteller.