Log in

No account? Create an account

Jan. 26th, 2010


i just completed a 20-minute
brisk walk around the office perimeter.
and ate the 5th pre-meditated meal in a row.

dairy is also back in my life.
as are acne face washes,
matching socks,
and the strokes.

i could get used to this tingly feeling.

Jun. 28th, 2009

we put the 'us' in trust, but also in puss, and cuss...

at the tender age of 24,
he dreams of sutherlandesque lore,
sustaining shots to the chest, 
heavy breaths,
but never, ever
to a mental death.

i, on the other hand,
am still
in hasty zombie-vampire defense,
complete with kitchen knives, and saving lives.
lectures on fruit fly control,
cereal milk left in cereal bowls,
apology, guilt, kiss, cajole.

perhaps there'll come the day
i could trust him with my life,
or scheming til it ends in playing

Apr. 3rd, 2009

Oh, Amy.

This is going to sound pretty random and selfish, but I really wish Amy Winehouse would get her shit together. We're practically the same age, and if in some alternate universe my destiny was to become a Grammy winning artist, I'd probably try to develop similiar vocal aesthetics and work on similar projects. I just heard an Artic Monkeys cover of one of her songs, and it was pretty much donkey doo-doo.

Seriously Amy, don't waste away. I still want to see you live. And live.

Mar. 5th, 2009

Cheaper than cable

Last night I had an extreme series of realistic dreams encompassing other dreams. Among many, there was one scene between a dude that looked like my downstairs neighbor executing a Mexican guy with an AK-47. Another scene took place during an unconventional adult class (possibly a writing group?) wherein a middle-aged white woman, who'd obviously missed the last three meetings, came in late and kept asking me when the spooning would start. Oh, and also a large black rat attacking my face while I was lying in bed. That particular segment woke me up as I began crying aloud for help in real life.

And as horrific as these events seemed, I'm strangely attracted to the idea of going to bed intentionally angry and emotionally disturbed again in hopes to rouse a similar series of images and situations.

I'm kind of broke and I could use the entertainment.

Feb. 18th, 2009

They eat off of you, you're a vegetable.

So as of this morning I've been recruited to join my boyfriend's departmental bowling team for the annual CHP tournament. He's also requested that I come up with some clever psychology related team name, but here are a few that I like in general:

Cog Jammin'
The Big Bobinsky
Mamase Mamasa Mamawawa
Little Lebowski Urban Achievers
White Russians
Gutter Despair
Gutter Humiliation
Split Happens
Bowl Movement
The Pin-tecostals
Splitting Headaches
Two Finger Hookers
I Can't Believe it's Not Gutter
The Holy Rollers (Ned Flander's team)

Feb. 17th, 2009

We are SO a writing group.

To be perfectly honest, throughout the day I grew to dread the thought of even showing up tonight. It all started when I began to mull over the fact that my big Monday night exam had been postponed until Thursday. Whenever my professors push exams back, I have an evil habit of just procrastinating further. I hate it. I planned my week and the following weekend with the understanding that I would have had this exam aced and over with by Monday night. And I planned A LOT, which is kind of foreign to me. FML! The rest of the week was supposed to trickle down like a happy little Bob Ross stream on a moss laden rock waterfall (that flows off the page).

But, I somehow managed to get my pity-food-eating behind out the door and into Abby's living room where we performed an unexpectedly enjoyable exercise. We took some random 'thing' (in this case, the sound of a car starting outside at the moment) and just wrote for fifteen minutes. No further direction.

What resulted was surprising in the sense that, as reluctant as I was to not create anything worth remembering (because I was still urgently trying to convince myself that I needed to abandon ship and go back to studying cramming), I managed to pencil a short vignette on the quiet debauchery that played out on the block by our geriatric neighbors come Social Security check time. Without much effort, I maybe even felt my creative tendencies begin to precipitate in a somewhat digestible portion. In other words, I was shocked at how distinct my voice was compared to the other members of the group; I even took a little comfort in taking credit for what was remotely perceived as 'style'. 

Anyway, I guess this is where I acknowledge that writing this is further worsening my examination preparation situation. And in the take out box? Planning can only be taken so far before it becomes counterproductive.

Posse out.