M: she has a juicy butt....

M: by which i mean it says juicy

A: you have a one track mind...the PENIS TRACK

A: because christianity is confined to the size of your package

A: you could just send the y chromosome home.

M: ok, guys, go home. (looks at crotch and points out the door)

A: i think we have another x chromosome in the fridge.

live the poetry you cannot write

A poet is an unhappy being whose heart is torn by secret sufferings, but whose lips are so strangely formed that when the sighs and the cries escape them, they sound like beautiful music... and then people crowd about the poet and say to him: "Sing for us soon again;" that is as much as to say, "May new sufferings torment your soul." ~Soren Kierkegaard

Ink runs from the corners of my mouth
There is no happiness like mine.
I have been eating poetry.
~Mark Strand

There's no money in poetry, but then there's no poetry in money, either. ~Robert Graves

Poetry is a mirror which makes beautiful that which is distorted. ~Percy Shelley


A poet dares be just so clear and no clearer.... He unzips the veil from beauty, but does not remove it. A poet utterly clear is a trifle glaring. ~E.B. White

To be a poet is a condition, not a profession. ~Robert Frost

The poet, as everyone knows, must strike his individual note sometime between the ages of fifteen and twenty-five. He may hold it a long time, or a short time, but it is then that he must strike it or never. School and college have been conducted with the almost express purpose of keeping him busy with something else till the danger of his ever creating anything is past. ~Robert Frost

You can tear a poem apart to see what makes it tick.... You're back with the mystery of having been moved by words. The best craftsmanship always leaves holes and gaps... so that something that is not in the poem can creep, crawl, flash or thunder in. ~Dylan Thomas

I grew up in this town, my poetry was born between the hill and the river, it took its voice from the rain, and like the timber, it steeped itself in the forests. ~Pablo Neruda

Poetry is the art of substantiating shadows. ~Edmund Burke

Genuine poetry can communicate before it is understood. ~T.S. Eliot

Each man carries within him the soul of a poet who died young. ~Sainte-Beuve

Perhaps no person can be a poet, or can even enjoy poetry, without a certain unsoundness of mind. ~Thomas Babington Macaulay

The poem is the point at which our strength gave out. ~Richard Rosen


Poetry should... should strike the reader as a wording of his own highest thoughts, and appear almost a remembrance. ~John Keats

I gave up on new poetry myself thirty years ago, when most of it began to read like coded messages passing between lonely aliens on a hostile world.
Russell Baker




A poet must leave traces of his passage, not proof.

Rene Char

God is the perfect poet.

Robert Browning

a cracked polystyrene man

i'm listening to 'fake plastic trees' on repeat and low volume. it's the first time i've checked out the lyrics (i'm completely awful at catching them while listening) and i think i'm in love with this song. i'm also falling for radiohead in general.

i'm peaking on my stimulant and i'm energetic and happy and restless. it's weird how drugs can artificially induce feelings that are normally fueled by situational elements. like that ecstatic restlessness i get sometimes, or that overwhelming feeling of happiness that can bring tears to my eyes, or a crazy desire to clean and organize EVERYTHING.

or the feeling of caffeine flowing in your veins...feels similar, just weaker, to when the nurse injects the delodid into your IV and you feel a shivery energy sweep over your body.

that whole radioactive dye thing though...i have yet to equate that with anything i know. it's a deep, soft-burning warmth that spreads slowly through your body, creating a metallic taste in your mouth, a strange sensation in your eyes, and an overwhelming, burning need to pee in your nether regions.

it is wholly possible that i misunderstand the lyrics

but to me "upwards over the mountain" makes me want a son.

"mother remember the blink of an eye when i breathed through your body
so may the sunrise bring hope where it once was forgotten
sons are like birds flying always over the mountain."

[this is a mental note for me]

encourage biblical confrontation

'niceness' - interaction with another person intended to not make a person feel any negative feelings

my mother is the most beautiful person i know.

most of my problems with covenant can be distilled down to:

they justify what they do that isn't very biblical with "well, we're an academic institution." and they justify everything else with "we're a religious institution."

--------------exposition---------------

in my opinion, they have not done well enough at either of their "goals" to make me proud to be here.

some people are paying their own way with loans. these people deserve a better answer to the question "why" than "because we know what's best for you."

perhaps it's because my parents always explained why they had the rules they did...

i just want the same amount of respect my parents paid me when i was 8 from my college. is that too much to ask? i want the respect that comes with authenticity, straightforwardness, and honesty.

no one told secrets today.

it's almost a blessing. not the secrets. the time. i feel freer now.

there's a richness to life i know. and i'm close to it. so close i can close my eyes and smell the color of it. so close.

like pregnant earth smell, this richness.

like the smell of someone you know,
that heavy, alive smell
of water.

or the musk of birds' feathers.

a strong, leafy smell
on your tongue.

as rich as consciousness,
immediate,
and whelming.

l'hoeuf

true.
i am sharp pieces.
pieces...pie-ces.
pie.
glittering glass pie-ces
of one another.
an-other.
bones are vibrating.
and my tongue.
breathing too fast.
no matter the
words you use,
we are broken.

all held up in our palms.
glittering glass.
cuts and slivers.
hey, you look like me
a little.
and you look like me
more.

have you ever met that guy?
he's big, and strong.
and he doesn't have pie-ces.
but his hands are cut
with slivers.
my slivers.
my cuts.
my glass.
and i love him.

wmode="transparent" align="middle" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" />

break me off a piece of that fan-cy-feast!

ugh...sick no good.
aptmate with no work to do...no good either.
missing scrubs...terrible
not missing the office...happy
missing all my classes today....suck
not being able to turn in my paper til monday...i hate this shit

my first attempt at voice recognition software...

Hello. My name is Mary nothing is no longer on the whole world is no real human evolution I want to buy pizza gave work and work recognizes my voice not your words that you couldn’t well I only get too big and the longer the whole world is no real human evolution of the law I turned it off because it would not recognize your face beyond no you been being big buck and women in and women in the workplace in lower it was pretty good fire retardant ruling regarding the world as soon as we continue using the N. C. chairman of 9:00 AM in the German government

FUCK.
i hate the rules here.

also

the most amazingly funny site ive seen in a while:
http://icanhascheezburger.com/

back in.

sorry that this post is a bit belated, but he and i are back together. i dont feel like explaining it here, or anywhere online. i'm not sure i'd explain it right now anyway. i'm not far enough away for the perspective or understanding that it would take to effectively communicate everything i went through for those three weeks or everything that was said in that late evening when he offered the bracelet back and i cried and pushed him away, and cried and finally took it and tied a shoestring back on his wrist. it's a bit of an open wound at the moment. quite tender, and not ready for the eyes, ears, and judgment of others. this part of me is raw, and held close to my chest; protected from an acidic world.

i love him more than i could begin to tell.
i miss that heavy, comforting feeling of his presence;
like standing beside the ocean with your eyes closed.
like feeling dwarfed by the ground you stand upon.

written sometime in june...

i'm out
it's over
i wish i could forget
after a few days, i was willing to try again.
i hate myself
he won't change
i need him to change.
needed.
i feel so alone now.
all i can remember is the night he held me.
he told me i'd be a wonderful mother.
he told me i was beautiful when i cried.
i cried for happiness.

it doesn't matter that his plans and my plans were once our plans...

the hem had moved from her knee to her hip, with little left to the imagination. she'd thrown up on the sidewalk outside the majestic. the lights were on and her keys locked in the car. we were standing outside the majestic, some smoking, attempting to find a distraction of some sort in the city in which we were strangers. they asked our help. we're not good people, mind you...we just have exceedingly loud consciences at times. she smoked a clove to get the acid taste out of her mouth. i took one and breathed the smoke in through my nose. we sat on the pavement by their car, waiting. they were strange people. perhaps because they were normal...the kind of normal jokes are made about. it was interesting to realize how different my friends and i are. not just different looking...but different. something elementally different from "the world" or "society" if you will. anyway, we stood there, then sat, leaned, and stood again; waiting for the arrival of AAA. We'd lied and said we had been riding with them. Better than them sleeping in the park i suppose.



it doesnt matter than his plans and my plans were once our plans...
i dont believe in being in love anymore.
i believe in pain
and an ache in that red fist
pounding away beneath my breastbone
and wanting to be with someone
when you cant stand them
just to be next to them
i believe in cynicism
sarcasm
and shitty cars,
betrayal
and wanting to believe so badly
that you sell yourself
to people who just want something
to shove their dick in,
or kids who would say yes
to a whatevernumber-some
to be accepted
to be loved.

love is a terrible lie
told by hollywood
there's something so much bigger
than being in love
or in lust.
i'm sick of it

i believe in two people
working hard
not giving up
or giving in
i believe in maturity
and strength
and the confidence i get
around the people
who used to intimidate me.
they are real
i havent seen real
in so long...

a meter strangely similar to mine

I do this thing where I think I'm real sick
but I won't go to the doctor to find out about it
Cause they make you stay real still in a real small space
As they chart up your insides and put them on display.
They'd see all of it, all of me, all of it.

All the good that won't come out of me
and all the stupid lies I hide behind.
It's such a big mistake
lying here in your warm embrace.

Oh, you're almost home.
I've been waiting for you to come in.
Dancing around in your old suits going crazy in your room again.
I think I'll go out an embarrass myself by getting drunk and falling down in
the street.
You say I choose sadness
that it never once has chosen me.
Maybe you're right...

(rilo kiley - the good that wont come out)

his hands were hot on my legs
the wine was dulled by the cigarette smoke
still hanging in my lungs
and throat
the smell of sulfur
and charcoal
lingered in my hair and clothing.
i was the one who looked
naked
in the light from the city below.
i was the one who was
naked
tonight.
and it burned with the sharp
searing
of fire from their fingertips
coaxing her from the machine