oh.

oh burn it all to hell.

why am i so pathetic?

so i suppose zooey deschanel may be the most intruguing actress on the planet.

i adore how his shirt says "shave ice" instead of "shaved ice."

it's awesome.

and the moment will come when composure returns
put a face on the world, turn your back to the wall
and you walk twenty yards with your head in the air
down the liberty hill, where the fashion brigade
look with curious eyes on your raggedy way
and for once in your life you've got nothing to say
and could this be the time when somebody will come
to say, "look at yourself, you're not much used to anyone"
take a walk in the park, take a valium pill
read the letter you got from the memory girl
but it takes more than this to make sense of the day
yeah it takes more than milk to get rid of the taste
and you trusted to this, and you trusted to that
and when you saw it all come, it was waving the flag
of the united states of calamity, hey!
after all that you've done, boy, i know you're going to pay
in the morning you come to the ladies' salon
to get all fitted out fo the paperback throne
but the people are living far away from the place
where you wanted to help, your a bit of a waste
and the puzzle will last till somebody will say
"there's a lot to be done while your head is still young"
if you put down your pen, leave your worries behind
then the moment will come, and the memory will shine
now the trouble is over, everybody got paid
everybody is happy, they are glad that they came
then you go to the place where you've finally found
you can look at yourself sleep the clock around

-sleep the clock around
belle & sebastian

'For I am the door and I am the Key
I am the messenger that only you see
I am the keyhole, I am the wall
I am nothing and I am it all...'

another funny one.

must make best use of time before the sadness begins again.

“I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.”

-Haruki Murakami

ha.

from my fabulous friend's tumblr over at http://nadinepicurus.tumblr.com/

she always had admired girls with bob cuts. there was something very refreshing about them; they seemed freshly foreign and regal. now, her hair had recently been cut quite short. at least it was quite short to her mother who detested her daughter's obsession with such a boyish look. it was bad enough she was already so skinny. her inability to gain and hold onto weight had left her breasts small teacups, her hips narrow highways to her one defining female part. and it wasn't like she couldn't carry off a shorter hairstyle. it was just that her strikingly classical features morphed into an androgynous visage to accompany her slim frame.

lola dompe had done it. cut her hair, that is. she marvelled at the elegant pixie cut, printed pictures of her muse, and planned outfits in her mint to compliment her ideal style. 'no,' her mother had said. 'you should strongly consider getting just a simple trim.' she wouldn't say no. she knew her daughter was too fragile for that. she would just burden her with disappointment, hoping that that weight could somehow fill in her curves. her mother mourned the loss of another female even though the blood continued to flow from between her slender legs.
and so she took matters into her own hands. and then scissors. and then bits of hair, frizzed and uneven, snippets of her girlish charm. the pieces fell everywhere. the tiny cups of a bra left carelessly on her dresser-top gathered the feathery remains, building a soft nest in her breasts' indentations.

perhaps her hair spoke for more than her appearance. the scissors chopped clumsily through the thick wet darkness, like a bushman tearing through a jungle, her mother shaving her secret hiding place. the frontal portion of her hair was easy enough to trim. it was easy to see in the mirror and quite accessible. it was the back that presented a challenge. her hands moved unguided, poking the back of her neck, claiming clods of hair. she ran her fingers across the edge of her work and felt the jagged peaks and valleys. but it was alright. she thought, 'it's better this way.'

'what will you do next, shave your head?' her mother remained in a state of shocked awe, lamenting for her daughter's death. but that was simply out of the question. there would never be a shaved head. it was not cleanliness that she longed for, but rather a release. she had evolved with this hair cut. no longer confined as a woman she drifted into ambiguity. and they all saw her around, reveling in her trimmed, pruned, genderless perfection. in a way she had died. but there was order. there was control. and there was beauty.

sort of a short story i am still working on.

did anyone else thing that physics exam was unreasonably difficult?

2: it is so nice to connect with someone again. you have no idea how badly i've been hurt by people i've tried to be close to.
1: i will not do that to you.
2: thank you.
1: you are welcome. i like having someone to connect to as well. that is hard for me to do, but you really facilitate it.
2: it may not always seem like it, but i also have a really hard time with people.
1: everyone does. it is just that we have a harder time than other people.
2: yes. and i am going into my sad months. i feel it. it has been six months. that is part of my secret.
1: what secret?
2: why i have been so happy.
1: so it is in cycles?
2: yes.
1: well i will try to make this your happiest sad six months ever.

it's alright.

what was it like?

the black and white must have been stunning.

springtime, right?

it's alright.

i don't blame you.

people always say that's a good time for new things, new beginnings.

too bad i realized i loved you in the summer.

maybe that's why i don't know what it was like.

i was a season too late.

i bet she cried.

i think you might have leaked a little, too.

it's alright.

i don't blame you.

i would have been dry for weeks.

and i'm feeling myself disintegrate.

maybe if i'm lucky you'll bring her and them and take pictures of my cacti and sunsets.

a new desert will always bring in tourists.

of course the ending would be unbearable.

but i wouldn't have lived enoughto know the finality of it.

it's ok.

i don't balme you.

you made something permanent.

strong enough that half of them break.

because no one gives a damn anymore.

i wish i didn't either.

so while you're moving your bags

to the other side of the platform,

i'm left here

looking at the elephants in the empty white hills.

i'll say it's ok.

and i won't blame you.

I was standing in the shade bordering an ice cream parlor. It seemed as if the sun was pressing down onto the asphalt streets. I touched my forehead and felt sweat beads beginning to swell. I was counting all the red cars that go by, and smiling at every pretty girl that looks my way. I ran my forearm across my face and went back to my observations. I saw an old man feeding pigeons ahead of me. I wondered if he has any regrets. Is he satisfied? Surely he knew his life was disintegrating into the past. I wiped my face again. A new president was elected this year, I didn’t vote for him. I didn’t vote at all. Imagine my curly head in a voting booth, pulling down a lever for a great American who I believe represents me the best. It’s all a joke.I saw a girl walking across the street. She stood tall and thin, with bright red hair with gentle waves. She had a large “Vote for Nader” pin on her aquamarine knapsack. She was walking into the ice cream shop. I leaned back up against the wall and gawked at her from the top of my glasses. Her appearance was startling. She smiled at me and I nodded my head back and returned the gracious mannerism. James Dean would have laughed at me. She walked in the shop and after a brief hesitation I followed in after her. Her sun burns showed evident in the harsh lights of the parlor. Now seeing her a little better I recognized her from the university I attend. I stepped in behind her and followed to the back of the line. I watched her eyes study the menu overhead. “There sure are a lot of choices,” I say in her general direction.“In what?” she replied, her eyes never leaving the hanging menu.“In flavors.”“Oh, yes there are a lot of choices.”I take my sunglasses off and slide them into the left front pocket of my jeans.“I think I would get the mint chocolate chip, if I were you.”“If you were me?” she puts her bulky sunglasses into her knapsack, “What stops you from being me?”“Uh… Chromosomes?”“No, surgery can enhance your body into the female form.”“Well, I guess nothing can stop me from being you,” I say with a smile.“Oh yes, there is something.”“Oh really, what’s that?”“Me. I’m an ever changing human, with my own personal experiences, my own personal dreams.”I paused for a moment, “Do you think you are always going to like Nader?”She looked at me. Her stare was so concentrated. I wanted to close my own eyes.“Maybe,” she tore her eyes away from mine and moved up next in line.“He never wins,” I say jokingly.“Then he practices his own values, perseverance.”“Perseverance, I believe Wile E. Coyote practiced that as well.”“That was very clever.”“Thanks,” I smile at her and cross my eyes playfully.She reached into her knapsack and pulled out her wallet. She was in front of the register now. “I’d like two mint chocolate chip ice cream cones please,” she said to the cashier.“Are you buying me ice cream?” I say with a laugh.“If I were you, I’d eat the ice cream.”“If you were me, you’d have testicles.”“Wow, not only are you clever, you have class.”“You should hear me when I’m drunk.”“I don’t drink,” she said.“Why not… Are you Mormon?”“Why? Do you have something against Mormons?”“Sort of.”She began to laugh. I could have counted her teeth. I followed her outside and we both sat down on the sidewalk. There was a stray dog eating pieces of dropped popcorn on the other side of the street. The pigeons must have not liked the old man’s gift too much. I wondered if his grand kids gave him any gifts when it was his birthday.“Well do you smoke pot?” I asked, while giving my ice cream a lick.“No, I did once, but I didn’t like it,” she said.“So basically you don’t like to have fun,” I said while chuckling.“Are you saying, one has to be intoxicated to have fun?”I laughed out loud and then said, “I’m having fun, and I’m not intoxicated.”She gave me a smile, and I felt happy. I watched her lick the melted ice cream off the side of her index finger. I was seduced. “What were you doing standing outside of the ice cream parlor?” she asked.“I was people watching, ya know, and I was just thinking about things.”“Do you do this often?” she asked.“I don’t know, it was hot outside, and I wanted to get ice cream. So I was just waiting on some poor sap to come along and buy me an ice cream cone.”I started laughing and she punched me in the shoulder. I over exaggerated the pain by moaning loudly, so she punched me again.“No really, why were you just hanging around?” she asked.I shoved the rest of the cone into my mouth, “I already told you, I was people watching,” I replied with a mouthful of ice cream. She looked down at her sandaled toes and then up into the sky, “There are no people worth watching in this city.”“If you stand in the summer sun long enough, people start to get interesting.” I said with a laugh.She paused for a moment and then looked at me, “What about that old man, earlier, when I was walking up?” she said.“What about him?”“Did you notice him?” she said, and then taking a big final bite of her cone. “Yeah, I noticed him; I am probably the only person who has noticed him in a long time.”“Why do you assume he’s lonely?”“I don’t know, this might sound weird, but I’ve been noticing him for awhile. Whenever I leave the university I stop by here and just watch cars and people pass by, and just think to myself. But anyway, whenever I’m here, he’s there, on the bench, feeding the pigeons popcorn. And I can’t help, but think about him and how pitiful he looks, feeding those damn pigeons popcorn. The pigeons don’t even like the popcorn that much. I don’t know what I’m saying; I just think he isn’t happy about something, something deep that my juvenile mind will never, ever understand.”“Maybe, he thinks the same thing about you.” She said turning her head my way.I feel uncomfortable so I begin to laugh as a retarded defense mechanism, “What do you mean?”“Did you ever think that maybe he just finished golfing with his old people buddies, and now he decided he wanted to feed the pigeons shitty popcorn to get back at them for discarding their unwanted fecal matters everywhere. Not only that, but maybe he’s thinking the same thing about you.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”“Maybe he thinks that you are some poor loser boy who can’t get a girlfriend, so he spends a portion of his afternoon watching… anything.” “But that’s not the case.” I say quickly.“He doesn’t know that. You’re not him.”I stop for a second, “If I were him, I’d find a new hobby.”“If he were you, he’d probably feed the birds.”After she said this she proceeded to stand up. She dusted her lovely bottom off with her hands. I stood up too. I tried to run my fingers through my hair. It was a failure, it’s too curly.

-grant stone

it was one of those flickering bulbs,

the kind that can't decide to stay on or off

just dancing on the border of light,

jumping through the darkness.

her hand lingered on the switch,

poised to

kill and cut and rip.

and then it was unconscious,

body disposed of,

mind clean and unused--

florescent.

and then on.

brilliant, clear, peroxide in her mouth.

for six months it glowed

and she smiled.

flip.click.

and then off.

now came the heaviness,

dull and slithering, liquid gravel.

the thickness forced itself into her mouth and up her nose

sealing in the still air.

and the point would move

back and forth.

her side's pink stripes

lightened her body at a distance,

flickering neon in the night

-- the remnants of the light

that had gone to hide

with all of the other illnesses.

unreal is more powerful than the real. because nothing is as perfect as you can imagine it. because its only intangible ideas, concepts, beliefs, fantasies that last. stone crumbles. wood rots. people, well, they die. but things as fragile as a thought, a dream, a legend, they can go on and on. if you can change the way people think. the way they see themselves. the way they see the world. you can change the way people live their lives. that’s the only lasting thing you can create - chuck palahniuk

2: there always seems to be something heavy weighing on my heart.

2: no no no. it was beautiful. i'm not expecting anything. i just like to be with you.

1: i like being with you too. i feel all jittery inside.