leave me out with the waste.

I'm thinking someone's trying to fuck with me
and set fire to my wood

[. . .]if you can't tell if I’m lying
then you do not belong.

ep ep ep.

my phone is dead.
I am still not writing.
brookhaven at the end of the month or early july.

re: wg^2 // jg & dl--screw talking, I would have let maura drown in her emo poetry.
I liked the rest.
I cannot quite fathom eating two burritos, let alone one. I suppose this is why I am not tiny-size.

eta: zune marketplace is listing music so obscure that even it does not have the music available for purchase--and youtube only has live versions of the music.

there are grammatical errors in this book. (not referencing the following.)

purchased this afternoon: books // godless by dan barker and the new paste (technically a magazine). tea // two boxes of double bergamot earl grey tea and decaf chocolate hazelnut tea (the latter of which I bought for my mother).

sent out letters to s. and z. I hope they appreciate my massive skills with crayon utensils.

"lake pontchartrain" by ludo is a good song. it is also placed in the area where I grew up, though the woods flooded far more than the interstate.

send me letters kthx.
and cheez-its.
and tea bags of known sources.

"high maintenance" means
you're a gluttonous queen
narcissistic and mean.

I have to use cooke and mack in lost odyssey (360), because the guys in my party can't find another way around some ancient ruins. the only purposes they serve are to link their skills to my immortals.

and their voices remind me of the rugrats' voices from that awful cartoon.
the rugrats.

I would probably be angry at myself if I sharpie'd this laptop screen.

arbyyyyy's.

it would be interesting to start a secular/freethought student organization here. I'm really not sure how many members it would procure, this being mississippi... maybe if I served pralines. everyone loves pralines.

the vp is speaking spanish in the bathroom.
the free box on my floor is almost overflowing.
I put a flower in my hair today, but it was uncomfortable.
I rediscovered public libraries. my younger self is, no doubt, horrified at the distant relationship book borrowing and I have had for the past few years. in my defense: my permanent residence's public library is pathetic, and I can't find anything there.
hemingway is pretty ace.

when I shave in the morning
you don't recognize me

I ask if you're still there
and you answer, "truly"

- stars.

also:

according to wikipedia, this is a part of one of brendan behan's poems:

"I absolutely must decline
To dance in the streets with Gertrude Stein
And as for Alice B. Toklas,
I'd rather eat a box of Fucking chocolates."

mmmm. toklas chocolate.

to echo ashlyn's post from long ago... I'm writing nonfiction willingly.* I should probably be having an existential crisis from this, but I have one everyday, so it's passé.

*semi-willingly. I avoid writing about my family and myself. I hate being a coward in any way, so I'm forcing myself to write about these things. GO ME. Tea in two and a-little-more-than-a-half days.

end stop

my short story is fragmenting, and I do not like writing it.

I want to live in an apartment.
I want to live in a house with open space. call the laundry room the mudroom. have a balcony. live on top of the roof in winter for a day, for as long as it takes to count the roof tiles and tire of having no walls.

will grayson, will grayson is out.

this song has the most mediocre metaphor repeated over and over. I still like it.

I was called a bitch today--I've never regretted, and I still don't, what I've said before someone called me that or the equivalent. usually, in my view, what I said would be something they would have said had to someone else in the same situation if they had more of a spine.

or maybe I am just a virulent fucker, ha ha.

tea tea tea tea. why do they only serve cold drinks here? they're either diet or filled with a disgusting amount of sugar.

april fifth

tapes should still be a popular medium so I can make mix tapes instead of mix cds. mix tapes = romantic, mix cds = how nice. it would be a tale if you could set someone on a course through a series of rooms: every room would have a different song, and the person would have to stay in the room until the song was finished, even if it had ten seconds of unnecessary silence at the end.

related music: "the mixed tape" by jack's mannequin, "mix tape" from the avenue q musical, charlie's playlist in the perks of being a wallflower.

napowrimo is going to be a series of mediocre, hasty poems. I feel it.

white oleander = done reading.

collateral murder. incidents like this have probably happened before, but that doesn't make the isolated incidents any less disturbing. they were laughing about it, these men that represent my country.

I was reading poetry's april 2010 issue, and though I do not like the poem, Outage by rae armantrout, the poet's response to "how far does Like go?", referring to a line from the poem, "Like only goes so far.," was interesting--

"Poetry is full of comparisons and parallels. It seems to trust in resemblance. But the value of rsesemblance--and the empathy it provokes--is rather starkly limited. Even twins or clones don't literally share the same sensations. That makes me wonder what makes a self a self..."

oh, and janie's got a dissolvo ray.

book.

will grayson, will grayson comes out soon. yeeeah.