About Me
A mild-mannered vendetta;
Ironically, a civilized moment.
The one person who really knows me best,
says I'm like a cat.
Yeah, the kind of cat that you just can't pick up...
and throw into your lap.
No, the kind that doesn't mind being held.
Only when it's her idea.
Yeah, the kind that feels what she decides to feel.
When she is good and ready to feel it.
A note to all you myspacers:
Please, do not spam my comments with advertisements if they are not even for events in my state. Also. I don't respond to messages that say, "ur hOT letz chat waddup" or anything consisting of that matter. So please, don't bother. But... if you want to engage in a meaningful conversation and you know how to spell, I'm totally down.
Chronicles: Vol. 1, by Bob Dylan
In a few years’ time a shit storm would be unleashed. Things would begin to burn. Bras, draft cards, American flags, bridges, too – everybody would be dreaming of getting it on. The national psyche would change and in a lot of ways it would resemble the Night of the Living Dead. The road out would be treacherous, and I didn’t know where it would lead but I followed it anyway. It was a strange world ahead that would unfold, a thunderhead of a world with jagged lightning edges. Many got it wrong and never did get it right. I went straight into it. It was wide open. One thing for sure, not only was it not run by God, but it wasn’t run by the devil either.
---About the girl;
I don't know how to tell you this, but I'm kind of a big deal. Twenty-one. Korean. Five Four. A fucking rockstar. I can't blame it on the lying idiot rockstar mirror, I'm dancing like a moron, I guess its my own fault. I'm sleeping my way out of this one.
I'm quite a wise girl, or maybe I just love bullshit. People like bullshit, especially when it's adorned with fancy olives and lemon twists for show.
I like beating up bitches - at least in my mind, and giggling about it while shaving my legs and drinking a bottle of rum. I've learned not to care about many things and have forgotten how to let go of other things. I'm insane, or maybe I'm just tired. I'm afraid of getting hurt both physically and emotionally. I don't take chances in either areas. My friends find me hilarious and I don't know why. I don't like being girly. Lace is okay. I like headbands and animal prints. Makeup likes my face. I miss rocking out at concerts. You will never see me camping in the woods. I wind myself in my own confusion. I hate romantic shit. I dig old school tattoo art (and will soon be getting some of my own, mind you). Guitar is what gets me through the day.
I have a cozy little home full of ikea furniture and wicker, I might as well have a clever ying yang coffee table. I've got a glass set with tiny bubbles and imperfections so you know they were made by the indiginous people of... wherever.
I am a cliche. I am a hypocrite. I aspire to greater things, but hold myself back from achieving them. I'm not pissed off. I'm in fucking wonderment. I'm waiting to be kept happy by another fucking fairytale. I quote Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas and attempt to think philosophically when I'm drunk. I want a classic purity, where dung is dung and angels are angels. I'm fake. I'm real. I'm a punk rock love song playing on "repeat."
Self-loathing isn't sexy, but you still somehow get laid.
And with nothing new to offer. I'm probably as cynical as you think I am. But I do have some sunny sides. I like to laugh. Joke. Dance in my underwear. Party. Be with friends. Play Guitar Hero. Talk like a little girl. Hug people. Jump on people. Pinch. Drink. Bite. Sleep. Eat. Play poker. Play guitar. Sing. Write. Lick. Stay up all night. Eat. Play with my nephew. Make sock monkeys. Be crafty. Listen to blues. Buy shoes. Text message. Buy random books. Surround myself with amazing music. Write on post-it notes. Go to bars just to drink and listen to music. Eat, sleep, fuck and flee; in four words, that's me - I am full of indifference. On occasion I bruise myself. I like to Engage in meaningful conversations. And maybe some stupid ones, too.
A heart that's full up like a landfill. A job that slowly kills you. Bruises that won't heal. You look so tired and unhappy. Bring down the government. They don't, they don't speak for us. I'll take a quiet life. A handshake of carbon monoxide. No alarms and no surprises. Silence. This is my final fit, my final belly ache with no alarms and no surprises please. Such a pretty house and such a pretty garden. No alarms and no surprises......
And oh, some easy targets; some cigarettes, toys, cities, fur. Rows of dead people in sportswear. Nike nike nike.
Jerrybuilt export processing zones on fire.
Crisp packets, bottles, cigarette ends, disposable nappies, television sets, computers, chairs, lightbulbs, guns, CDs, gas fires, refrigerators, typewriters, musical instruments, car parts and inhalers.
I am living quietly, zombie public limited company move in over the road, the workers look at us with hungry eyes, we lock the doors but to no avail, they get in, they eat our brains, we are reborn as zombies, slaves to the company, but it turns out not so bad, being a zombie is ok, but really we want to be free or something.
i like your pitch. it's an interesting metaphor. we'll put a package together. create a buzz. we could be talking telephone numbers.
[HEADS EXPLODE. BLOOD SPLATTERS EVERYWHERE. CUT TO: MTV]
Lastly.
Life is a seedy, dirty, nasty thing, but it has to be covered. my life is pretty much covered with accidents, disasters, mistakes; all small, all inconsequential. nothing I've done would interest you. i buried my secrets.
I like meaningful conversations, and fun, silly ones too. So send me a message. Spark my interest.
---Analysis;
Fitter, happier, more productive, comfortable, not drinking too much.
Regular exercise at the gym, 3 days a week.
Getting on better with your associate employee contemporaries at ease.
Eating well, no more microwave dinners and saturated fats.
A patient better driver, a safer car, baby smiling in back seat.
Sleeping well, no bad dreams, no paranoia.
Careful to all animals, never washing spiders down the plughole.
Keep in contact with old friends, enjoy a drink now and then.
Will frequently check credit at moral bank, hole in wall.
Favors for favors, fond but not in love.
Charity standing orders on sundays ring road supermarket.
No killing moths or putting boiling water on the ants.
Car wash, also on sundays, no longer afraid of the dark or midday shadows.
Nothing so ridiculously teenage and desperate nothing so childish.
At a better pace, slower and more calculated, no chance of escape.
Now self-employed, concerned, but powerless.
An empowered and informed member of society, pragmatism not idealism.
Will not cry in public, less chance of illness, tires that grip in the wet.
Shot of baby strapped in back seat, a good memory still cries at a good film.
Still kisses with saliva, no longer empty and frantic like a cat tied to a stick
that’s driven into frozen winter shit, the ability to laugh at weakness.
Calm, fitter, healthier and more productive.
A pig in a cage on antibiotics.
I wanted the everyday reassurance of being mutilated. The way a crippled deformed birth-defected disfigured girl can drive her car with the windows open and not car how the wind makes her hair look, that’s the kind of freedom I was after.
paperbag advice.( to be stamped on the side of all paperbags)
side A. Blow into this paperbag go home and stop grinning at everyone.
side B. If the boss sits there and accuses you of stealing, of not having the right motivation, dont just sit there and take it, hit the fucker in the face.
Independence and love and Law & order don’t make sense to me. I expect the room to tip over with the overwhelming weight that is the vacillation of the croquet game in my head when I turn off the lights.
---I have words;
but they may not have meaning. My mind has been fucked, from bad experiences and drug use (I am clean now). Half the time, I dont even know if what I'm thinking is what I'm really thinking. I may say things, but most of the time you cannot take my word for anything, because my work may not be real, coherrent, or even plausible. I hate my mind, and yet I love it. I hate what I have done to it, and yet I love what it has become. My words are warped, my mind is warped. My words are true, my mind is true. I dont lie, but what I may percieve as lying may be truth, and truth may very well be false. Even now, I dont know what I mean by all of this, my mind is going insane. Am I insane? Am I just tired?
---Closing;
Measure me in metered lines, in one decisive stare, the time it takes to get from here to there. My ribs that show through t-shirts and these shoes I got for free; I'm unconsoled, I'm lonely. I am so much better than I used to be. Terrified of telephones and shopping mall, and knives, and drowning in the pools of other lives. Rely a bit to heavily on alcohol and irony. Get clobbered on by courtesy, in love with love, and lousy poetry. And I'm leaning on a broken fence between Past and Present tense.
WARREN RED CLOUD: Once upon a time, a woman was picking up firewood. She came upon a poisonous snake frozen in the snow. She took the snake home and nursed it back to health. One day the snake bit her on the cheek. As she lay dying, she asked the snake, "Why have you done this to me?" And the snake answered, "Look, bitch, you knew I was a snake."
Here are condoms lined with a topical anesthetic for prolonged action. What a paradox. You don't feel a thing, but you can fuck for hours.
This really seems to miss the point.
I want my whole life to be lined with a topical anesthetic.
Never understood what my body was for.
That's why I always leave it layin out on the floor.
No point in mentioning the Bats I thought...he'll see them soon enough.
The possibility of physical and mental collapse is now very real. No sympathy for the Devil, keep that in mind. Buy the ticket, take the ride.....
Don't try and fight it, or you'll get brain bubbles. Strokes, aneurysms. You'll just wither up and die.
We'd be fools not to ride this strange torpedo all the way to the end.
Any chimp; Can play human for
a day. Use his opposable thumbs to iron his
uniform. And run for office on election day.
Fancy himself a real decision maker ... And
deploy more troops than salt shakers. But
it's a Jungle when WAR is made - And you'll
panic and throw your own shit at the enemy. the camera pulls back to reveal your true identity.
Mickey: It's just murder. All God's creatures do it. You look in the forests and you see species killing other species, our species killing all species including the forests, and we just call it industry, not murder.
..
