This year, I:
-lived in Barcelona
-learned Spanish
-learned Catalan
-had sex
-had a boyfriend
-went to France
-took acid
-lived in Brazil
-barfed
-took prozac
-cried
-moved three times
-hung out with my beautiful cat
-couldn't sleep
-tried to destroy somebody's life
-wanted someone to die
-got lied to
-went to Uruguay
-danced on top of a bar
-got wasted
-smoked cigarettes
-broke up
-found out I had been cheated on
-had sex with two different people
-bought a plane ticket
-couchsurfed
-car-shared
-danced ballet
-swam
-made a documentary
-fought
-had my fucking heart broken
-got depressed
-went to uni in Barcelona
-went to uni in Brazil
-masturbated
-had really crazy good amazing sex
-dieted
Thursday, November 13, 2014
My calligraphy
where do butterflies dive under sand
so the crinkles around his eyes
might know when the blossom tree
season is on. whilst working on
a loom late one night I was
approached by a stick bug
that started bitching to me
about a praying mantis, so I
started crucifying my shrapnels
left over from the war so as
to christen his misdemeanor
with a crown of popcorn. I
asked him if he'd ever noticed
the smell that whisltes from the
trees and he replied that indeed
the center of this universe is when
you are alone, but the center of
the palm of God is when you are
singing. I cried so much last night
by the riverside as the fireworks
exploded all the joints of traction
within the citadels of the rock
'n' roll notes and I cried out "save
my baby" and I tore through
the autumn leaves and bit a
snake on the mouth with my
chest. when you were born nothing
ever smelled of anything other
than you. And you were not grateful.
Calamities strewn so tightly over
your thighs like tights that
coil at the stroke of midnight.
spiders rustle charmingly over
the penis of the drangonfly-
lord and in sequence there
tends to be swimming pools
instead of stakes that get
driven into cardboard innuendos
and crocodile tears on birds'
faces. my vagina is holy as from
it shall emerge my calligraphy
so the crinkles around his eyes
might know when the blossom tree
season is on. whilst working on
a loom late one night I was
approached by a stick bug
that started bitching to me
about a praying mantis, so I
started crucifying my shrapnels
left over from the war so as
to christen his misdemeanor
with a crown of popcorn. I
asked him if he'd ever noticed
the smell that whisltes from the
trees and he replied that indeed
the center of this universe is when
you are alone, but the center of
the palm of God is when you are
singing. I cried so much last night
by the riverside as the fireworks
exploded all the joints of traction
within the citadels of the rock
'n' roll notes and I cried out "save
my baby" and I tore through
the autumn leaves and bit a
snake on the mouth with my
chest. when you were born nothing
ever smelled of anything other
than you. And you were not grateful.
Calamities strewn so tightly over
your thighs like tights that
coil at the stroke of midnight.
spiders rustle charmingly over
the penis of the drangonfly-
lord and in sequence there
tends to be swimming pools
instead of stakes that get
driven into cardboard innuendos
and crocodile tears on birds'
faces. my vagina is holy as from
it shall emerge my calligraphy
Granny died
Granny died
it exhausts me
I keep overplucking
my hair
and it exhausts me
Al doesn't give me as much attention as I'd like
and it tires me
It makes me tired.
I want to do everything perfectly
and it kills me
it exhausts me
I keep overplucking
my hair
and it exhausts me
Al doesn't give me as much attention as I'd like
and it tires me
It makes me tired.
I want to do everything perfectly
and it kills me
Thursday, September 15, 2011
Journalism... Day 1
I want thirteen year-old Alexia who moved to Waldorf in 2004 to hold my hand through this. Even though she is thirteen and I am twenty, she is older than me because she existed, happened, took place, or was born, exaclty seven years ago... and I am here right now. I am newer. I've been here for less time.
Harkness method, hello-o... 5 years later it's still the same talk.
I'm sort of awaiting disappointment but I hope it doesn't come.
Harkness method, hello-o... 5 years later it's still the same talk.
I'm sort of awaiting disappointment but I hope it doesn't come.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
You win me
You win me over every time I see you
I miss you so much, I miss you all the time, even when you’re there
You tell me I’m putting up a wall
And we’re still at the point where the fact that you are hard-headed is extremely charming
and works to my advantage
And you hide little glares that beam on me like I was pig meat
You’re a huge weirdo
I miss you when I’m sleeping next to you in your bed
We’re so scared of each other and have no business being together
Sometimes I see you and you look so blunt
And only later does your face become jovial and keen again
You’re probably working so hard right now
Whoring yourself out
You have no esthetic sense and are a little bit tasteless
You want me to go buy clothes and glasses with you
We’ve come a – relatively – long way
Your parents probably think I don’t know you were an accident
If you outgrow me, I’ll kill you
You have the power to make me feel stupid
I couldn’t define what type had to do with me, and you’re so different from all the types I fathomed were my type, that I think I found what type has to do with me
I miss you in my sleep
and I don’t care if you have morning breath
You’re almost thirty
You like someone shorter, smaller, younger, and less accomplished than you
You are remarkably giving in bed
insomuch that you could scar me for life with pleasure
You treat me like no one has before
It almost makes me feel ashamed
Because it makes me feel like I’m being so greedy and spoiled
Asking you to tie yourself to me and to let me do the same to you
Knowing you, you’d say, But I want to
And we would just be two greedy people feeding off each other’s – delicious – greed
I miss you so much, I miss you all the time, even when you’re there
You tell me I’m putting up a wall
And we’re still at the point where the fact that you are hard-headed is extremely charming
and works to my advantage
And you hide little glares that beam on me like I was pig meat
You’re a huge weirdo
I miss you when I’m sleeping next to you in your bed
We’re so scared of each other and have no business being together
Sometimes I see you and you look so blunt
And only later does your face become jovial and keen again
You’re probably working so hard right now
Whoring yourself out
You have no esthetic sense and are a little bit tasteless
You want me to go buy clothes and glasses with you
We’ve come a – relatively – long way
Your parents probably think I don’t know you were an accident
If you outgrow me, I’ll kill you
You have the power to make me feel stupid
I couldn’t define what type had to do with me, and you’re so different from all the types I fathomed were my type, that I think I found what type has to do with me
I miss you in my sleep
and I don’t care if you have morning breath
You’re almost thirty
You like someone shorter, smaller, younger, and less accomplished than you
You are remarkably giving in bed
insomuch that you could scar me for life with pleasure
You treat me like no one has before
It almost makes me feel ashamed
Because it makes me feel like I’m being so greedy and spoiled
Asking you to tie yourself to me and to let me do the same to you
Knowing you, you’d say, But I want to
And we would just be two greedy people feeding off each other’s – delicious – greed
Monday, April 4, 2011
Bus Musings
how fast can you get me home
I'm sure my immune system will do its best
The best pens are taken ones
cool little theories
I think I should shapen up my vocabulary
It's just a matter of time before a speed bump messes up my handwriting
I love being touched, but I hate it when strangers touch me. Unless they're hot.
I love the color of this page
I feel like God when I'm writing
It's very simple.
Architecture becomes the most high-paying job in the world
My college becomes the top quality and renown college in the world
I am truly more talented than anyone else in the world at architecture and will therefore be the best-paid and most sought-after architect in the world.
I am very happy and do pretty much all the things that I want to do and am not neurotic.
Gabriel is gay but he goes straight for me and we have an intense, wonderful, romantic, sexy, fun, loving, serious, long-lasting relationship together.
I'm sure my immune system will do its best
The best pens are taken ones
cool little theories
I think I should shapen up my vocabulary
It's just a matter of time before a speed bump messes up my handwriting
I love being touched, but I hate it when strangers touch me. Unless they're hot.
I love the color of this page
I feel like God when I'm writing
It's very simple.
Architecture becomes the most high-paying job in the world
My college becomes the top quality and renown college in the world
I am truly more talented than anyone else in the world at architecture and will therefore be the best-paid and most sought-after architect in the world.
I am very happy and do pretty much all the things that I want to do and am not neurotic.
Gabriel is gay but he goes straight for me and we have an intense, wonderful, romantic, sexy, fun, loving, serious, long-lasting relationship together.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Meeting My Dad's Girlfriend
Bam.
I woke up on a Saturday afternoon at about 1:30, looked at myself and said
Why am I naked?
You're just a motherfucker with a tattoo.
The thing is, if you get a tattoo... you're just a motherfucker with a tattoo.
I didn't just wonder why I was naked. I wondered why I was born. Man this shit sounds so philosophical and deep, but really it's just a drunken bipolar syndrome and what might soon become a cocaine problem. Or a baking soda problem.
I don't know why and I know it's super crude and even crass but "motherfucker" is like my favorite word. I have blithely replaced the word "person" with the word "motherfucker" in every sentence in my mind.
This shit pen is running out of ink on me.
I have to become a good and decent person. I am most of the time, it's just that to me last night was worth like a whole month of rock-bottom trashiness and just doing the direct opposite of whatever I'd normally do.
Oh yeah.
I woke up on a Saturday afternoon at about 1:30, looked at myself and said
Why am I naked?
You're just a motherfucker with a tattoo.
The thing is, if you get a tattoo... you're just a motherfucker with a tattoo.
I didn't just wonder why I was naked. I wondered why I was born. Man this shit sounds so philosophical and deep, but really it's just a drunken bipolar syndrome and what might soon become a cocaine problem. Or a baking soda problem.
I don't know why and I know it's super crude and even crass but "motherfucker" is like my favorite word. I have blithely replaced the word "person" with the word "motherfucker" in every sentence in my mind.
This shit pen is running out of ink on me.
I have to become a good and decent person. I am most of the time, it's just that to me last night was worth like a whole month of rock-bottom trashiness and just doing the direct opposite of whatever I'd normally do.
Oh yeah.
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