he was sitting at the table staring at his feet
bow-legged so his knees never meet
face rough like a leaf-littered street
never met a rodent that he wouldn't eat
he kept saying: grilled squirrels are a good source of vitamin rat
Yours,
I
If I were four-legged, I would be....Perdita to your Pongo
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Monday, March 30, 2009
she looked at him through the grey-green eyes of loss must make you feel weak and abandoned house on the hill looking down the rabbit hole up and wait for the worst to pass the peas and mashed potato famine left millions stranded in the middle of nowhere in particular about his ties and cufflinks it kind of makes him a jerk off to a poster of Farah Fawcett tacked to my younger brother's bedroom wall between you and me I feel like we can't even talk radio on the ride to work it out between the two of you I want nothing to do with it was as though he had this thought his entire life and it was now only starting to ripen into fruit of the gods can only help you now that you're alone let me take you in my arms around me and left me sighing with bliss bliss bliss
Yours,
I
If I were an unknown legend, I would....be somewhere on a desert highway, riding a Harley-Davidson
Yours,
I
If I were an unknown legend, I would....be somewhere on a desert highway, riding a Harley-Davidson
ten-thir-ty (rhymes with 'dirty') three (rhymes with 'tree') ay em (rhymes with 'them')
burning stacks of sunset-coloured leaves me whistful for playground rules all the serfs like a tyrant on the run from your problems and you will be free with regular purchase it's a steal your heart with a three-pronged fork in the road less travelled far away from her heart and mouth were not on intimate terms of endearment
Yours,
I
If I were a moment of peace, I would be...resting my head on his belly
Friday, March 27, 2009
huevos rancheros
yellow white circle-like
Break the shell and
crack!
Runny, fried,
sunny-
side
out of the frying pan
onto the plate
No feelings, no fate
No life, just promise
But promises are meant to be broken
Over bread and beans
Spicily yours,
Inari
If I were Latin, I would be....a Peruvian Chili Queen
Break the shell and
crack!
Runny, fried,
sunny-
side
out of the frying pan
onto the plate
No feelings, no fate
No life, just promise
But promises are meant to be broken
Over bread and beans
Spicily yours,
Inari
If I were Latin, I would be....a Peruvian Chili Queen
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
it's a fantasy; let me fantasize
I do not like being oppressed.
I constantly get "A's." Worthless "A's."
"A's" mean nothing to me. You can take your "A" and shove it up your ass.
I feel like A's are oppressing. As if those who can give A's get some sort of sick power rush from their ability to do so.
Would you give Picasso an A? Would you?
Would you tell him to make his lines a little straighter? His colors, a little more coordinated?
Not everything is life and death... and when it is life and death... it's not life and death enough unless it's immediate impending death. Come to think of it...everything IS life and death no matter what. We're either dead or alive... is there really an in between? Doubtful. Or Possible.
WELL FUCK ME. And do it hard. And then give me an "A" for how good I was.
I'm sick of all this A business. I'm sick of people who get hard off A's.
I like creating for the sake of making strong art -- I don't care how artsy or pretentious that sounds. Because I'm not pretentious; I'm honest. I do not lie.
I value genuine feedback and criticism. Harsh skepticism. But above all UNDERSTANDING.
I'm in one of those, "can't I find someone who just understands me?" "am I that much of a rogue?" - kinda moods. Honestly.
I'm just sick of all these A's. A's are generic and easy.
I long for honest complexity...
But i'm over the whole gold stars thing.
It got old right up there with masturbation.
And in this day and age... everything is masturbation.
xo
If I were any book I'd be banned by the school board.
I constantly get "A's." Worthless "A's."
"A's" mean nothing to me. You can take your "A" and shove it up your ass.
I feel like A's are oppressing. As if those who can give A's get some sort of sick power rush from their ability to do so.
Would you give Picasso an A? Would you?
Would you tell him to make his lines a little straighter? His colors, a little more coordinated?
Not everything is life and death... and when it is life and death... it's not life and death enough unless it's immediate impending death. Come to think of it...everything IS life and death no matter what. We're either dead or alive... is there really an in between? Doubtful. Or Possible.
WELL FUCK ME. And do it hard. And then give me an "A" for how good I was.
I'm sick of all this A business. I'm sick of people who get hard off A's.
I like creating for the sake of making strong art -- I don't care how artsy or pretentious that sounds. Because I'm not pretentious; I'm honest. I do not lie.
I value genuine feedback and criticism. Harsh skepticism. But above all UNDERSTANDING.
I'm in one of those, "can't I find someone who just understands me?" "am I that much of a rogue?" - kinda moods. Honestly.
I'm just sick of all these A's. A's are generic and easy.
I long for honest complexity...
But i'm over the whole gold stars thing.
It got old right up there with masturbation.
And in this day and age... everything is masturbation.
xo
If I were any book I'd be banned by the school board.
Monday, March 9, 2009
Mommy, can I go out and kill tonight?
“A kill’s a kill,” I’ve so often heard the bastard children of the 21st century slur between their chugs of Bud and sucks of spliffs. But a kill is not just a kill. With each bullet blocked by contraceptive, comes a story, a memory, an inspirational anecdote that one can reflect on and share with others, regardless of how thoughtless, numbing or gratifying the feat for either party involved. Subsequently, one can relate more to others and connect to a greater demographic of the outside world. So, I conclude ladies and gents, that a kill is not just a kill – whether man or woman, whether for game, erotic ecstasy or love. It provides an individual with an experience that is very much humanizing. Raw, and human.
That said, I have decided today that I am almost wringing dry the life experiences I have had up until this point. Regardless of how they continue to haunt me day in and day out. I therefore plan to operate in a much more “take chances” “let’s do that, now” sort of way.
Here are some song lyrics that I currently find very inspirational:
"She" - the Misfits
She walked out with empty arms
Machine gun in her hand
She is good and she is bad
No one understands
She walked in, in silence
never spoke a word
She's got a rich daddy
She's her daddy's girl
She loves naked sin
He loves evil stare
She has lost control
They are growing old
She will hide in silence
Then her day will come
She was virgin vixen
She is on the run
She is on the run
SHE IS ON THE RUN!
xoLO
If I were one station of the cross I would be: Jesus meets his mother.
That said, I have decided today that I am almost wringing dry the life experiences I have had up until this point. Regardless of how they continue to haunt me day in and day out. I therefore plan to operate in a much more “take chances” “let’s do that, now” sort of way.
Here are some song lyrics that I currently find very inspirational:
"She" - the Misfits
She walked out with empty arms
Machine gun in her hand
She is good and she is bad
No one understands
She walked in, in silence
never spoke a word
She's got a rich daddy
She's her daddy's girl
She loves naked sin
He loves evil stare
She has lost control
They are growing old
She will hide in silence
Then her day will come
She was virgin vixen
She is on the run
She is on the run
SHE IS ON THE RUN!
xoLO
If I were one station of the cross I would be: Jesus meets his mother.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
ALL-NEW Lost, followed by your Local Weather at 10.
It’s been slipping back and forth between freeze-your-eyeballs cold, to spring groundhogs popping up, and back to piss popsicle cold again. Sometimes rainy. Sometimes sunny and freezing at the same time. I think that was hail I encountered on Friday. Perhaps Mother Nature suffers from a hormonal imbalance too?
I’m lost. There’s no way to say that without some sort of smirk, because Wednesdays ARE in fact Lost-centric, are they not? Well, I don’t have a TV, and must therefore wait to download it when it goes online later... so that’s not quite what I am talking about at the moment. I’m talking about the out of control emotional upheaval that comes with an ‘under the (...fucking cold) weather’ both heart and uterus.
Not to be too awkward about this, but I hate periods.
About, oh let’s say... one year, four months, and two weeks ago, I turned down s-e-x with the only man I have ever loved because I was on mine. The NEXT day he went on a date with the girl who became his long-term girlfriend. Do you believe in fate? Could this to be equated with having your numbers come up the week you forgot to buy a lottery ticket?
What if, What if, What...
You can’t live in the past, but as writers, I think we often do. Just as much as we live in the future, and many alternate realities. We play the ‘what if’ game, and we play it long into overtime. Not because we are our characters, but because we are NOT. Their lives are in control. Ours. They can get what we can’t, and what makes them even luckier is that they can get over what we can never. We know not only how it will end for them, but everything that could have happened. It’s “Choose Your Adventure” except in life you can’t flip back and compare the other options. With your own characters, you know what they think of each other. We know “Why they said that weird thing”. We know where they go when they die.
I’m lost somewhere in between my real life, and the fictitious adventure of my choice. The sub zero temp is also turning me to ice. Maybe that's why I feel brittle.
I’m sorry if I’ve pissed you off.
-Des
If I were choosing between facing a pack of wolves, or jumping a bottomless pit... I would jump the pit. Turn to page 94.
I’m lost. There’s no way to say that without some sort of smirk, because Wednesdays ARE in fact Lost-centric, are they not? Well, I don’t have a TV, and must therefore wait to download it when it goes online later... so that’s not quite what I am talking about at the moment. I’m talking about the out of control emotional upheaval that comes with an ‘under the (...fucking cold) weather’ both heart and uterus.
Not to be too awkward about this, but I hate periods.
About, oh let’s say... one year, four months, and two weeks ago, I turned down s-e-x with the only man I have ever loved because I was on mine. The NEXT day he went on a date with the girl who became his long-term girlfriend. Do you believe in fate? Could this to be equated with having your numbers come up the week you forgot to buy a lottery ticket?
What if, What if, What...
You can’t live in the past, but as writers, I think we often do. Just as much as we live in the future, and many alternate realities. We play the ‘what if’ game, and we play it long into overtime. Not because we are our characters, but because we are NOT. Their lives are in control. Ours. They can get what we can’t, and what makes them even luckier is that they can get over what we can never. We know not only how it will end for them, but everything that could have happened. It’s “Choose Your Adventure” except in life you can’t flip back and compare the other options. With your own characters, you know what they think of each other. We know “Why they said that weird thing”. We know where they go when they die.
I’m lost somewhere in between my real life, and the fictitious adventure of my choice. The sub zero temp is also turning me to ice. Maybe that's why I feel brittle.
I’m sorry if I’ve pissed you off.
-Des
If I were choosing between facing a pack of wolves, or jumping a bottomless pit... I would jump the pit. Turn to page 94.
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Cheap Thrills & Penny Loafers
How fast we become slaves to our bodies. How addicted we become to things (yes THINGS) that make us feel good. Define "good." Please.
These things can be tricksters. Are we actually emotionally and spiritually connected to these superfluous indulgences that give us cheap thrills and make us jealous, violent fiends?… that make us constantly think about that one thing until we get that one thing again… That make us stay in bed long after we would normally just because some schlong likes it….that make us careless to our own ambition, and completely neglect mundane things… even though sometimes the mundane things are necessities or the things that truly matter. ....Even if it is just platonic, close talk. Do we really like what makes us do this? Like,... "LIKE" like ???
Personally, I used to think I had a similar problem… but apparently my body doesn’t matter as much as i thought. It’s the mind that truly screws you. Or rather… screws with you.
WATCH OUT: Curveball.
I love status quo. I love how suddenly things that were once uncool are “cool”. Irony is hilarious. Seriously. I want big glasses and high-rise pants. Plain t-shirts and cotton undies.
I love this. And I love how we no longer really like each other…(Us boys and girls, and boys and boys, and girls and girls). We like the IDEA of each other. We like shopping for each other. We like the trends we wear and the way we look next to each other. We’re slaves to our own voyeurism. We like a good eye-fuck, that’s what we like. Slaves. I don’t want to be a slave. But sometimes I wanna be... is that so wrong? ... Paradoxes all around and for everyone! I'll take mine in a fishbowl with some lime and salt please.
If you missed it… the tone of some of my thoughts is a bit cynical and I honestly apologize... I'm not criticizing status quo... for I am a part of it, and thus I am merely sorting out the many self-contradictory thoughts I have running around in my head.… Apparently i'm ugly when I'm cynical… but sometimes I think I innately yet purposely make myself ugly to fend off people from looking at me as an accessory. But accessories are fun... I want one of my own. I really do.
BUT why the HELL is American Apparel so expensive!!!!!!!!!!
These thrills, they ain't so cheap.
Hahha, I need to get out more and have myself a good eye-bang because I'm really not as much of a flaming "feminist" (quotations signaling the stereotype definition) as I sound sometimes...
And I guess I just need to let myself shop at pricey stores and charge it to the plastic, like the rest of my age demographic does. Maybe that would make me less cynical and more pleasant. Less of an 80 year old and more of a “20-something”.
Something.
Some THING!
There's a metaphor lost in all of that foreplay. Hopefully you can find it and make it scream.
xoLo.
If I could bring back one thing into popular demand: Duck boots… or the old Chevy Celebrity with wooden panel finish. Penny loafers! (ok, that's 3 things.)
These things can be tricksters. Are we actually emotionally and spiritually connected to these superfluous indulgences that give us cheap thrills and make us jealous, violent fiends?… that make us constantly think about that one thing until we get that one thing again… That make us stay in bed long after we would normally just because some schlong likes it….that make us careless to our own ambition, and completely neglect mundane things… even though sometimes the mundane things are necessities or the things that truly matter. ....Even if it is just platonic, close talk. Do we really like what makes us do this? Like,... "LIKE" like ???
Personally, I used to think I had a similar problem… but apparently my body doesn’t matter as much as i thought. It’s the mind that truly screws you. Or rather… screws with you.
WATCH OUT: Curveball.
I love status quo. I love how suddenly things that were once uncool are “cool”. Irony is hilarious. Seriously. I want big glasses and high-rise pants. Plain t-shirts and cotton undies.
I love this. And I love how we no longer really like each other…(Us boys and girls, and boys and boys, and girls and girls). We like the IDEA of each other. We like shopping for each other. We like the trends we wear and the way we look next to each other. We’re slaves to our own voyeurism. We like a good eye-fuck, that’s what we like. Slaves. I don’t want to be a slave. But sometimes I wanna be... is that so wrong? ... Paradoxes all around and for everyone! I'll take mine in a fishbowl with some lime and salt please.
If you missed it… the tone of some of my thoughts is a bit cynical and I honestly apologize... I'm not criticizing status quo... for I am a part of it, and thus I am merely sorting out the many self-contradictory thoughts I have running around in my head.… Apparently i'm ugly when I'm cynical… but sometimes I think I innately yet purposely make myself ugly to fend off people from looking at me as an accessory. But accessories are fun... I want one of my own. I really do.
BUT why the HELL is American Apparel so expensive!!!!!!!!!!
These thrills, they ain't so cheap.
Hahha, I need to get out more and have myself a good eye-bang because I'm really not as much of a flaming "feminist" (quotations signaling the stereotype definition) as I sound sometimes...
And I guess I just need to let myself shop at pricey stores and charge it to the plastic, like the rest of my age demographic does. Maybe that would make me less cynical and more pleasant. Less of an 80 year old and more of a “20-something”.
Something.
Some THING!
There's a metaphor lost in all of that foreplay. Hopefully you can find it and make it scream.
xoLo.
If I could bring back one thing into popular demand: Duck boots… or the old Chevy Celebrity with wooden panel finish. Penny loafers! (ok, that's 3 things.)
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