Wednesday, March 17, 2010

The Mean Reds

As Holly Golightly would put it:

England is alright, but darling,
something you must understand
is that a girl just can't possibly
survive on countryside alone.

Sure, give me London,
Manchester even. But Norwich!
Oh its just all too gruesome!
To be perfectly honest,
I'll never get used to anything.
Anybody that does,
might as well be dead.

But Norwich is different. It's not
so much about getting use to as
it is about standing.
It brings out the mean reds
in an instant but even worst,
theres no Tiffany's
to run to.

Monday, March 15, 2010


If it hadn't been for
the english kid
behind the portuguese
scrabble box

I would have settled for
the friend of the russian

Monday, March 8, 2010

Glauber Rocha

Your films make me hate

but at least you have cute poses

Saturday, November 15, 2008

pity platter

usually when i'm in self loathing mode, i try to name three things i like about myself but today is one of those days where everything i think is ugly and all i want to do is stay up late and watch cartoons. 

i want someone to watch cow and chicken with. i want chapstick, and i want to feel like i can change the world. 

Thursday, September 4, 2008

Laundry: When A Roommate Came Along

Park Merceds laundry rooms are the most scariest and memorable things on the planet.  It looks like a scene out of saw but the machines looks like dorm room replicas, like the strange nostalgic days of back when i was a serial killer. 
My body feels so achy and confused and I like thinking about my roommates because they remind me of cake, bad movies and dancing. They are all so sweet and so real. I had a lot of fun last year but i got to admit i was sort of disappointed that i was gipped out of the real "buddy buddy" roommate experience that I always envied about pals. But I finally can say "hold on let me call my roommates and see if they want to hang out too" or "let me call my roommates and see if I'm doing dinner together".  Best of all, I have someone to go to Park Merced laundry room with. 

Monday, September 1, 2008

pains and gains

How could a phone conversation ever make me feel this...certain? I sit with cold toes wrapped in sock and boot, not sure what I'm so happy about but I think it has something to do with the end of my watery kate nash days. Its hard to translate mixed love signals with painful cuts and jags  but at the end of the day, its nice knowing where I stand at the end of the fight. How am I suppose to know where anything will go? I don't even know when my next meal will be. I don't know what I want, but I know I like you. 

I have to admit however,  it does bother me,  when you tell me that I have small hands, it bothers me when you say the word cockroach, I hate you telling me I need to wear my retainer more often, and that what I eat isn't adequate. 

yes, thank-you, I know that I may seem small and meek, and would probably lose in a fight, and I'm not nearly as tough as I'd hope. I know I will never be a stand-up comic. I know getting scared of growing up seems silly and I don't read the newspaper as often as I should. I know I have nothing certain and my future seems bleek. 

Even after your constant reminders about how my life will blow, I still sit here in my Good-Will $5 robe, knowing that I like you, and I'm happy. 

Saturday, August 9, 2008

My decision to live fast and die young

Next door Debbie popped in for a sec to talk about her garden and how now that she's in her 5o's she's watching all her friends die and visits her sister at a nursing home. 

I know I'm 19, but I still feel like my parents should ask me politely to go play on the computer or go watch T.V. in my room whenever something this depressing occurs. My mom would look at my dad and silently spell out "d-e-a-t-h" while my dad would make a face that says this ridiculous but his mouth says "lets go get ice cream in the kitchen". 

Then I wake up and realize I understand the effects of chemo, how a tumor builds inside, like a ball of hate waiting to explode while your lungs and liver cry until the brain signals that its ok, they can give it a rest, and they slowly fall asleep until you all shut off and your thoughts and soul and effects on others and things begin to fade away. 

So I sit here, eating my pasta and meatballs, listening to Debbie talk about her ripe age and all the death that surrounds it as if its as common as cherry pie and all I can think about is how I should go to Europe and live among artist and vagrants, when what I should be doing is stop hating myself for getting old and forgive myself for growing up. 

All I know is that I should live fast and die young before death equals cherry pie.