Monday, November 12, 2007

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Dear Ks4SmjGw,

I hate you.

Saturday, October 20, 2007

The Stink

It was overwhelming, I told him on my cigarette break sans cigarette. It was fermented juice and food, leaking through a trash bag, microwaved and sautéed in rotten body odor. I fled to the bathroom, where I thought I could dwell freely without such an odious stench, yet the bright lights drew out a pulsing migraine.

Friday, October 12, 2007

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

decaf or regular?

Last night, a man ordered lemon tea and multi grain waffles. I later slit his throat, chopped him up into pieces, threw a lime in the bag, and dropped him in Lake Michigan.

I returned, washed my hands, and selected the Clarke's song list. I thought it would be neat to end the night with the National Anthem, like when the olde tyme tele shows would go off air.

This concept was lost on the Mexicans I work with.

Monday, October 1, 2007

new times

Saturday, September 29, 2007

Go away?

Today I picked a moist dandelion, and drew a gusty wind into my lungs. I stopped outside of work, and exhaled, pulling out its tiny hairs and thin gray fibers, leaving my jacket splattered with petal carnage.

Two hours later, I'm fingering my Día de los Muertos ring and nervously gnawing at my chipped red nail polish. I'm wondering and pondering and pacing inside of my organs. My heart is clanking against my chest like the floorboards of The Tell Tale Heart and the wrinkles in my palms flood with hemp-scented sweat.

I'm anxious. Anxious about life, for fucking once.

Wednesday, September 26, 2007

Redeemable: 1 Secret

There was a high squeal as I stared at the yellow corduroy coat. The hum of the projector minimalized the squeal, but it was still a presence. A Frenchman with a long nose teetered to a map of the solar system. He explained why Pluto wasn't a planet any more in a tone that made it sound like he was to blame for its banishment. All I could think about was how, perhaps, there are billions of solar systems in his yellow jacket, hanging blissfully beside me.

It smelled like clean honeydews.

"Whell, eet seems we are out uv time," said the professor, in his syrupy accent. I walked out, almost unaware of my legs moving semi-swiftly beneath me.

Onward, ho.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

a poem I found in the in case of fire box!

It was a stout bee-- the one hovering over the flower's lavender tongues.
The wings worked so fast he looked like a mere black and yellow cotton ball.
It was 1993.
The second-hand stroller scrapes the jutted cracks.
A pink baby with twiggy arms and marble eyes caresses the patterned roof.
Like it was large-printed Braille.
Lace dances on the backs of my calves as I kneel to the plant.
Fat fingers snatch at the violet, and I squeal to my mother with the gift.
It was once the most indomitable of all the worker bees.
And it died with a mere splinter
His magic sword
In the palm of my hand.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Hey Josh please do me a favor and copy/paste this post and print it for me... I need it to move in.

Certification of Completion

Thank you for completing the Wildcat Safety course. Print this form, complete the information below, and submit this form to the hall staff when you check-in to your residence hall.

Your personal password is FW101_F2007.

Name ___________________________________________________________

Student ID # ______________________________________________________

Building _________________________ Room ___________________________

This certificate verifies that the resident listed above has successfully completed the Wildcat Safety course and may be admitted into his/her residence hall on move-in day.

The resident acknowledges that he/she is responsible for knowing and abiding by the University policies described in the course and may face disciplinary action is found responsible for any violations of University policy.

Friday, September 14, 2007

Wednesday, September 12, 2007


The past four hours of my life belong to two-minute-long advertisements for 1970s compilations emblazoned with top-and-bottom heavy font and entitled (aptly!) FLOWER POWER between the channel changes of Iron Chef (who won) and reruns of comedy troupes sporting Flock of Seagulls hair do's and even the rare, yet beloved anime. I wondered/pondered if my spine would contort to mold the paisley three pillow pillar beneath & behind me. I picked far too much at my rubber salt lips and listened to the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius, and thought in a trifle glee that it, in fact, was the midst of Virgo and just twelve days away from nineteenth birthday.
I am sitting and reminiscing in this citrus lather (I am in the shower!), waiting the unwritten 10 seconds for the soap to sink in. The shower's been running for an hour now and I've accomplished the following: smoked 3 bowls, assembled the shampoos to surround me according to my intrinsic feng shui, and reflected on the past four television shows I saw. A girl I don't know with Humphrey Bogart movie eyes ritualizes her day in an obsession that some existential power keeps her mother alive. Maybe I do this unconsciously.

(written a night ago)

Letters from Grandma's House

And I end up here, in a Mediterranean coral pink kitchen with two plaster roosters and an "I love you MOM" plaque embedded in tacky, dated plastic hovering over various Dollar General frames filled with baby pictures of grandchildren with husbands and wives. And I get this pen the color of coffee creamer and write on this egg-shaped table topped with mesh flower cloth and day-old chicken. It always seems that I "cannot not be cryptic," Abe the Salesman tells says into my laced eyes. He's always got advice for me; I wonder if everything's cryptic because he doesn't know me.
There are two tiny, rubbery white chairs for tiny mud children watching flourescent puppet shows underneath the desk. The same dishes I ate upon as an aspiring everything and a self-proclaimed prodigy of nothing sit in a double-shelved bamboo drying rack like time hasn't passed and I'm less of a no one.
Familiar T.V. trays depicting obese clowns balancing their curled shoes on beach balls the size of a small mess jut out from five unfinished bags on stale chips and a box of Generic-o's. I grab a saucer and a new pen and consume enough in caloric energy to propel thousands of thoughts, yet it seems that I have just plain eaten, and nothing comes to mind, and I'm back in the days where I planted squash and knew I'd be a scientist.
An assortment of trinkets are on my old armoir--a metal shoe tongue, my grandfather's antiquated razor, a meritime head scarf the perfect width to fit behind my ears but before my front tresses that I sometimes imagine resemble anime or Tank Girl.
I'm at the age where my head reaches the tops of the poorly painted knobby chairs and I don't know if the euphoria of leaning back is from spinal fluid leaking into my lower back or if it's because I'm sufficiently stoned (italics, to quote Emma). About ten hours ago, I was in a room in a bark-colored corduroy chair. The scene pans out to Aunt Clara, 57 and pulling up her lime green tube top, yanking at a 4-foot long telephone cord and ordering Aunt Vickey to return Grandma's Xanax. Uncle Sonny's beer belly reminds me of a malnourished pregnant cat. He raises his thick, coal miner's fist, and, trembling, "it's no 'un's business" flees from his lower jaw like a hiccup or when you cough too much after a big hit. Mom's soaked eyes shrink into her weathered face and I blur my eyes on the floral wallpaper and conveniently matching curtains.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Sagittarius (probably not as great as you hoped, Emma)


Observe the carbon copy.

(Garfield Comic Strips, October 23rd 1989-October 28, 1989)

One dull Hallow's Eve, comic Jim Davis overstepped his three-panel's worth of creative liberty by mocking the transcendent beauty of existentialist mini film Allegro Non Troppo: Valse Triste. Davis claimed that the basis of this was to expose the greatest fear of all: dying alone.

He continued to say he never had seen Valse Triste.

(side note: With this insert, it can be assumed that Garfield is dead, and all comics following October 1989 are Garfield's hallucinations.)

You, Sagittarius, are the famished, lemon-eyed cat. Your unsurpassed creativity attracts carbon copies. Garfields, if you will. These rotund, lurking striped cats leisurely absorb your thoughts and inventions, and then whimsically apply said creations to themselves. Today, and from this blink forward, Saggitarius, you must stop this insanity. Don't remove yourself, just distance the thieves. It is your mind to share! Not someone else's to take.

Wednesday, August 29, 2007


A look at the hours.

Leo (July 23-August 22)

Eviscerated baby dolls freckle the butcher coats of the Beatles' original jacket for the "Yesterday and Today" album. After one day on the shelves, Columbia Records recalled the morbid sleeves, and replaced them with a more pleasant "trunk" cover.

Evolutionary theory relies completely on inherent death. Without death, adaptation could not occur. You, Leo, are Columbia Records. The Unfamiliar frightens you, yet it seems that you are intrinsically capable of adaptation. Do not take back what you've committed; flourish in it.

Virgo (August 23-September 22)

Hands above your head
Que le via bien
Step out of line and we'll fill you with lead
How are we to know that you are not a liar
Don't you see we have a job to do
And our job is the law, job is the law
You fit the description of a criminal crosser
We believe that he is you and that is your flaw
That is your flaw
That is your flaw
That is your flaw
That is your flaw
That is your flaw
That is your flaw

(Dispatch, Open Up.)

It's about as hard to swallow a flaw as it is a compliment, Virgo. A pseudo-Vietnam has been brewing in you as of late--now it's up to you to be the wrongful victim or the man at the other side of the gun.

Or, you could just stop taking those orders! And I'm not talking about men in striped Prada, silk-lined jackets or curled wigs and javels, no! I'm talking about that voice of neurosis spinning webs around your actions and thoughts. Think and be! It's harder than you'd think.

Libra (September 23-October 23)

On the French Revolution, François Mignet remarks that

"The French revolution was to change the political state of Europe, to terminate the strife of kings among themselves, and to commence that between kings and people. This would have taken place much later had not the kings themselves provoked it. They sought to suppress the revolution, and they extended it; for by attacking it they were to render it victorious."

This revolution spawned a "humane" method of execution, the guillotine. The first fatality was a man of broad shoulders and a thick neck, one whose head did not sever on the first drop of the blade. Dr. Guillotine, the creator of his torturous namesake, then proclaimed that he did not want his name to be associated with this monster, yet it lives to this day.

You have been associated to something for so long. Your name is on it. Yet, you've finally found the courage to purge this long-lived torture. I am also proud of you, Libra, for you are the queen who did not attack.

Scorpio(October 24-November 22)

The Thai and Burmese women of the Karen Tribe place several heavy, gold rings around their necks and collar bones, in order to elongate said features. However, the origin of this antiquated practice is unknown. Their necks become so malleable and brittle from the rings that, in time, the rings support their necks. You, Scorpio, have practiced something so long, you are clueless as to why, and now, you are stuck with it. See fit to step out of this grudge or routine. Don't obliterate it, just evolve it! It's time.

Friday, August 24, 2007

So, I spilled some ice cream milk at work today

And my boss cried.

(Horoscopes soon! I promise.)

Thursday, August 9, 2007

In Case of Fire box- 1/3

A look at the hours.

Aries (March 21-April 19)

The tempestuous brainchild of Elin O'Hara Slavick and Beth Grabowski, Familial Letdown comprises of three main figures: a baby suckling at a mother dripping red ink, a lurking father hunched in the dank space, and the skinny blue tree emerging from the soil. This represents you, an untamed yet kempt weed, reaching for the consuming bond of the mother and child.
Grabowski began the painting with simple ink and pencil--abused media. Slavick then adopted the painting, utilizing only domestic media, ketchup, jam, syrup, and soil. This two-parent birth of Familial Letdown reinforces your need for a paternal guide. Seek. Find, accept. Do not bleed today.

Taurus (April 20- May 20)

"According to act-utilitarianism, it is the value of the consequences of the particular act that counts when determining whether the act is right." Bentham's theory is act-utilitarian, and so is that of J.J.C. Smart.
Josh- we discussed this, in a sense, when we discussed the equation of a lie. The outcomes defined the severity of the lie, and that, we deduced, since pain could possibly be quantitative, there might be an equation to determine whether or not to lie.
So, in turn, is there an equation for everything? Can one apply an art to a science or a science to an art? Is lying an art or science?
Once I lied to you, and refrained from doing so for a while. Do you think this is included in the equation?

Gemini (May 21-June 20)

In old days I used to be miserable at seeming ridiculous. Not seeming, but being. I have always been ridiculous, and I have known it, perhaps, from the hour I was born. Perhaps from the time I was seven years old I knew I was ridiculous. Afterwards I went to school, studied at the university, and, do you know, the more I learned, the more thoroughly I understood that I was ridiculous. So that it seemed in the end as though all the sciences I studied at the university existed only to prove and make evident to me as I went more deeply into them that I was ridiculous. It was the same with life as it was with science. With every year the same consciousness of the ridiculous figure I cut in every relation grew and strengthened.
-Dostoyevsky, from "The Dream of a Ridiculous Man"
A friend of mine was born on the final day of the Gemini, yet consistently portrays the Twin sign to a tee. She knows this by heart, studies Russian, and eats spontaneously. Gemini, like Susan, you are not a machine. My advice is to let your last inhibition free, don't set sites, set milestones, and eat breakfast at night, like Emma Ruth Wilson at the Round Table. In fact, converse with a Sagittarius today. They have decrepid, yet wise souls, much the opposite of you.

Cancer (June 21-July 22)

When the first atomic bomb hit the earth (on the first day of Cancer, no less), two atomic eras materialized: a bleak, destructive culture, and a kitschy, nuclear farse. Your explosive personality will subside for the time being, as you tap into your comedic side, feverishly laughing, exploring, and pursuing. You are Miss Atomic Bomb, 1957.

this is the museum!

China Davis productivity is pretty idle these days. I have managed to


Emma and I rummaged through Ryan's book crate with an insatiable hunger. We were muddy piglets, eyes digesting every maze and poem.

Emma: Maybe someone'll throw Lenny some change, right?

Yes'm, we all need a little change.

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Fuck Esperanto, Ask Me Why.

Julia Child was widely known as a drunk chef, but she invented the first shark repellent. When she was a secret agent. Like Chuck Barris.

I learned this on Shark Week, one of many wonderful programs brought to you by the Discovery Channel.

FAke cake>

Stringy hair plastered. The year is 1998. There is black construction paper in the windows.

Stringy hair plastered. The year might be 1998. There is a treasure chest filled with my vomit; I remain pathetic.

And you're empathetic?

Well, the glasses get thicker and the frames get thinner, and suddenly, 9 years are gon e. Good Ole MacDougall thought souls weighed 21 g, but I'm sure his weighed more.

Why can't I be done with this?

Tuesday, July 31, 2007


"Birth mother, heyy birth mother," she says through leathered lips.
She wraps a Toothless Frown around a hand-rolled cigarette.

"The mail's all for you, kiddo." I make an unwarranted snide comment. I continue life as Bad Daughter.

from the cave urn

So right, I'm gonna die, well! When I die. When I die, I'm gonna fall asleep in a field of poppies. Get that opium bark tongue taste and wither like my father. MOther father, pliers, feathers. Pretenders.

And I'll die with a bunch of clean sheets. wrapped up and rescued by a surprise date!

My cave windows have shower curtains and waxy shawls on the window sills. They do an excellent job of bow tying the ambulance flickers.
I live across the street from a hospital and LOVE IT

As morbid as it mayy seem, it's really just in case someone dies, and how I can just take myself and my combat boots to their IVs and HIVS. speaking of HIV fuck project red.

TThe napalm hippies of the nowayears, they're just plastering ole Che Guevara on their organ backpacks.

here is why:

la censura

All you idolators--
we will begin
the pious riots and thick picket ticks!
rickety fences picked clean.

And to the idols and idled:;
to porcelain embryos
and porous memories
I leave the PAPER SHACKS]
our treeless soil.

the surgeons!
injecting, fermenting, cementing
our mirrors. why
skinny teeth and chapped lips why
perky tits and tundra smiles.?