Some poetry for your Coca Cola

I wish I was a true soul, a new soul without a heart to wander with.

I wish I were dark and deep
within air that's thick with leaves that blow
in rhythms that glow in what is unseen,
I wish I were between
the black that makes the air sweet with rain
and makes you feel at peace with mystery and fear,
at home in the unknown,
high on wine or love that doesn't know love,
I want to feel lost but safe in the mystery-
to feel the heat of summer nights
and its thickness supple in my skin,
high within me.

I wish it were in me to be more than the night,
to feel the stark contrast of brisk mornings
with glazed sleepiness over coffee new as snow
with grass awakened by dawn,
I wish I was on a routine,
with pens and paperclips,
paintbrushes neatly aligned in the cleanliness of a room washed in sunlit windows
with plants as my furniture,
I wish that I could be content enough with that.

To not find solace
in embrace of mystery and desperate affection from the equally lost,
with music being the only friend,
I wish I could not wish anymore,
to just be and to know,
to find affection in what I sow, not eat cake.
Drink dark deep beer to the bottom of a glass into the hollowness of myself,
I wish I could be myself
instead of letting the levity of alcohol play puppeteer.

I wish I were here,
to appreciate the feel of my shoes,
the sounds of tinkling piano,
to feel an inner beat that steals the fullness of my heart and need,
to make me move, to move and be at home in being alone.
To be ok with glad and sadness.
To be ok with all my badness,
I want to encompass my displacement and my soul's pressure building like a balloon
and whisper it out into a feeling contrived and true,
deliver it to you.

The feeling of a compliment,
the feeling of flattery to your lips,
irreplaceable affection unique and self-aware,
I want, I need, I must, I cant.
Never and always.
I am no longer.
I is replaceable and impersonal.
I is universal and all mine.
But it isn't.
It is yours.
I am yours.
Tomorrow is years and yesterday.
It is familiar, irreplaceable, a glimpse of all, a passing thought.
I choose nothing.
I am.
I do.
What can I say about this?
I can't about anything.

I am insignificant to all, for time will weather me down to dust, you to dust, this to dust.
My affections are sighs lost in a second amongst infinity.
They are priceless.
Nothing and everything.
Like brushing my fingertips in the palm of your hand while you dream.
I don't exist.

Well.

Today is a better day, and my mood is far more elevated than the morose self-pitying entry below and my skin is in a better mood too.
These are good things. Today's agenda includes some much needed housecleaning, it's amazing what the accumulative affects of slacking off can be and to see how many glasses I use on a given day. I also may be paid a visit by a good friend, a Mr. John Lair.
We had a great phone conversation last night, as good friends do, covering the topics of life, geese, and Carol King. And pancakes.
Which I am about to have in approx. 5 minutes, and boy they smell delicious. Too delicious to finish writing this.

So.

If you think your week was shitty, that you have punished your body with finals or the gluttony of spring break,
think again.
Better yet, thank your lucky stars and laugh at me being a ding-dong poor bastard and realize your life is probably pretty flippin good in comparison.

To elaborate, the first of many things that made this my shitty week was:

1.)A cold.

A cold in and of itself is not a bad thing. This I can live through just fine and be perfectly content and happy. It was the:

2.)Systemic poison oak spread to the inside of my ears and nose

that made it slightly miserable, the stuffed up sinuses aggravated by itchy poison oak blisters really doing it for me.
How I got systemic poison oak all over my body is a mystery.
I went up to my boyfriend's parents' place to start our new project of building a guesthouse for them, and since we're building it in the woods, I figured there was bound to be poison oak. I get poison oak just by looking at it funny, so I took extra precaution by covering up every exposed part of my body like a good girl, stayed out of areas I thought may have it, and made sure I took a shower with technu soap afterward.
This to no avail.
Two days later, with a cold and a poison oak sprouting up like springtime in ungodly places, I went to the doctor and was prescribed:

3.) Steroids.

The problem with steroids, other than making me loopier than little latin Lou, is that they are probably as affective as meth or cocaine in putting someone to sleep. As a result, this week I have routinely laid awake until 5 in the morning getting an average of 2-3 hours of sleep a night.
Awesome sauce.
Another thing about steroids I have come to find out, or having poison oak for that matter, is that you are also not supposed to be out in the sun while you are on them, which is why:

4.)Snowboarding all day in the hot sun without sunscreen and cooking my face

was probably a big fucking mistake.

So, laugh.
Be merry.
Thank your lucky flippin stars.
But most importantly, enjoy your spring break and if you don't have one, still be thankful you did not have my week.

My adoring public-

Bongiorno ragazzi e ragazze,

I... am a terrible blogger.

But that's alright, because I never said I would be good at it. I do strive to be consistent in my endeavors, and as of late that has meant neglecting my blog in pursuit of more important things, such as life... and school.

Both of which I have been very active in.

So active in fact, I have sprained my ankle from jumping on a trampoline and am recovering. Of course, the purpose of me jumping on the trampoline was to reach a second story window to a burning apartment and save the baby that was on fire, but I am no hero.

On the plus side, since I am already an established clumsy dunce, I have my own pair of crutches that I've saved from previous accidents so I don't have to rent them.

Down side, crutches don't do favors for your armpits and hands, and I forgot that until yesterday after gimping around campus. Dang those bad boys can hurt, and icy sidewalks are not their friend, neither are stairs.

So recap, crutches are not friends to:

• your hands
• your armpits
• icy sidewalks
• stairs
• escalators
• hills
• buses
• cramped spaces
• leg that isn't crippled
• overall well-being
• Zombie defense
• slugs

But they are great conversation starters, particularly with creepy people on public transit so I guess that makes me a winner.

Just a casual day in the house, very quiet especially for a Thursday in comparison to the last week's break-neck pace of finals. I'm here with my coffee and computer, and by all illusions it seems like I'm somewhere else in time and place, it looks like November outside when it should be June.
Maybe it is just because it is very overcast and sprinkling, but I think this last school year has really thrown me off. The only part of it that seemed like it has existed has been the beginning of winter, and everything else comes back as a blur.
Maybe it is because I am getting older and experiencing what my elders have described as an acceleration of time, because half a year just disappeared and I feel like I missed the party.
But I'm not sure it's all that. Maybe it's been a time just not worth dwelling on, or it might be easier not dwelling on it.
Or perhaps Spring is just a fleeting thing, and I don't appreciate it. Spring awakens bugs, allergies, heat, rain, thunder, fire, and one can only expect what is unexpected. Maybe I just haven't woken up yet.
Now that I have drowned you in all of this philosophical talk, I think it is necessary to hear from a true professional:


Tropic Thunder quote of the day:
"Beds give me nightmares."

Hello All,
I am a failure at this blogging thing already and I've barely started. AH well...since I haven't posted in about half a month, I'll try to make this special, although it probably won't be since forced awesomeness just isn't much to write home about. So...
maybe I'll just update you on the life and times of me. Coolest website ever to play in the background while you're online has to be hands down:
www.pandora.com
You wouldn't know it but I'm listening to it right now, and I tell you it be great. Essentially what it does is base a radio station on an artist or song you like and with each song they play you can rate whether you enjoy what they are playing or not so that gradually the station becomes your own little personalized vault of kickassedness.
So far my stations are:
Elvis Presley radio
Nina Simone radio
Modest Mouse radio
The Dodos radio
CAKE radio
Old 97's radio
Sean Hayes radio
Allison radio
Beck radio
Running to Stand Still radio
Waiting in Vain radio
Bob Dylan radio

and so far the ones really paying off have been Modest Mouse, Nina Simone, Bob, and Elvis.... but all of them are pretty good depending on what mood you're in.
So check it out, if you want. Makes for some seriously nice background music for homework, surfing, partying, sex, okay...I don't know why you'd want to use a computer ANYWHERE near where you'd be having sex or a party (nerd alert)
unless you were really hard up for some music, but there you have it. Pandora is an option, so make me proud and get in that box.
You know, I doubt ANYBODY really reads this thing anyway, so all this typing is probably beside the point, then again, some of the best work of literature, art, humanities and inventions in general in the course of history and mankind and the world,
have been done when the individual or group felt like they were on their own.
Random fact:Vincent Van Gogh didn't sell a single painting during the course of his career, shot himself in the chest when he was 37, and died two days later in a motel bed.
And now he IS art. Who doesn't know Starry Night? Or a sunflower?

With that said, here's the quote of the day from Tropic thunder:
"Man, I don't drop character til the DVD commentary."

Enjoy:

Tropic Thunder : Film Clip - You're My Brother - watch more funny videos

Another day working in the gallery, it took FOREVER to try to figure out the measurements to hang the work right, about... 2 hours?
So, here comes the real question:
How many art students does it take to solve a simple multiplication problem?
Answer:
None.
All four of them need help from 2 different calculators and to resolve it about 8 times approximately to get it right.
But eventually after racking our brains we were able to figure it out and come pretty darn close to seeing the secret of the universe before our heads turned into total mind goo.
Also, About A Boy is a great movie. Just watched it again tonight after about three years, and it was even better than I remembered it. The boy is my kind of gangsta fo' sho, but I can't find a clip to show what I mean. Instead I will just post this, because it's funny: