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Saturday, 07 November 2009

  • Currently
    Crime and Punishment (Bantam Classics)
    By Fyodor Dostoevsky, Constance Garnett
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    However much you've used me, baby c'mon use me more.

    "He vividly recalled those old doubts and perplexities, and it seemed to him that it was no mere chance that he recalled them now. It struck him as strange and grotesque that he should have stopped at this same spot before, as though he actually imagined he could think the same thoughts, be interested in the same theories and pictures that had interested him... so short a time ago. He felt it almost amusing, and yet it wrung his heart. Deep down, hidden far away out of sight all that seemed to him now--all his old past, his old thoughts, his old problems and all, all... He felt as though he were flying upwards, and everything was vanishing from his sight."


    I walked the streets. My bag weighed me down. And I walked and I walked and I walked and I walked. But I did not purchase, no I would not purchase anything. I would read. Yes, I must finish this part before moving from the icy chair to the warmth of the bookstore only to remember gift ideas and walk immediately out. Yes, there will be children. There will always be children. The cheapest toilet paper I could find was $1.29. Granola was on sale for $1.99. And I really thought that pink dress looked nice. Yes, it did, didn't it? It would go well with a nicely tailored jacket. Yes, it will look good on our date. The one with the fancy dinner and something bubbling close to love. Sheer luck, my darling! Sheer luck. I've exhausted my mind, melting into an old movie house with an army of older ladies who wave and generously sip on small cups of water. Bless their souls, bless them! Of course, I was sad. And of course I thought of you. And you. And you. And you. Ah, but that isn't it. No? I will walk alone until you take my hand.

Tuesday, 03 November 2009

  • A dollar for my boardwalk red balloon to float away.

    Oh, potatoes. What is it about catching a cold or a flu that makes me act like a child? I really throw away all responsibility, only desiring to lay in bed and watch Disney cartoons. I just want a mountain of grilled cheese sandwiches and some milk and old movie marathons. You say I have a seven page term paper on American individualism due tomorrow morning? Ha! How am I expected to concentrate on that with nasal drip? It's impossible.



    In a cocoon, the world living outside it. I can't help but laugh. No one will ever know our secret.
    Will you help put up the Christmas tree? I want you to help put up the Christmas tree. I want you to be the man at the dinner table. I want to feel the room abuzz with awe. I'm not sure if you're real or if you've grown into a figment of my starved imagination.
    Please remember me as in the dream
    where we slept under oak trees.
    I've not seen you lately
    and I miss you so.

Sunday, 01 November 2009

  • Currently
    In the Reins
    By Calexico, Iron & Wine
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    No fucking way.

    Alright, I caved. I bought an annual pass to Disneyland. It's about time too, huh? I practically live there. My head feels like a bowling ball. The timing for catching a virus could not be less fortunate. I must remember not to leave things to do for the last day of any weekend. Bah, no matter. I dressed as a cat for Halloween. I made ears out of a cardboard box. Take that, economy! I also slapped a tattoo of a fierce dragon between my boobs. It will bite if one attempts to capture my heart. Oh, flu-influenced entries are bound to crop up this week.
    "there's a bluebird in my heart that
    wants to get out
    but I'm too clever, I only let him out
    at night sometimes
    when everybody's asleep.
    I say, I know that you're there,
    so don't be
    sad."

Tuesday, 27 October 2009

  • My tolerance for these dreams is waning.

    Are you not sitting on my bed, submerged in your studies while I struggle to concentrate on analyses of romantic poets? Hearsay, hearsay, she said. Oh, but it speaks of truth. Your quiet humming drowns out the soothing rhythm of your breaths. How I long to pull you away from your studies if only to hone you in on mine. What say you of the murder Poe so grotesquely describes? Must I sit hunched over reading poetry? Surely such work was meant to be read aloud! Perched on the highest chair, the tabletop, the desk! I shall shout it! Shout it out at once! We shall throw opinions and critiques around the room--pockets of air that float freely within our grasp. What does it mean? Spill your thoughts--this was how the night was meant. Yes, this is how it will be.

    Her breast is fit for pearls,
    But I was not a "Diver"--
    Her brow is fit for thrones
    But I have not a crest.
    Her heart is fit for home--
    I--a Sparrow--build there
    Sweet of twigs and twine
    My perennial nest.

Saturday, 24 October 2009

  • Currently
    Begin the Beguine
    By Artie Shaw
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    are you hoping for something?

    Baby, turn around and face me. Look me in the eye when you unbutton your shirt. Let your fingers caress each one from top to bottom. Streetcars zip by--too many for such an early afternoon. Don't let them stop you. Lift the other over your head, your bright eyes unwavering. Don't be shy; place your hands on the roof. My fingers will follow lines and form words. We are but tangled branches. Weak and fractured, fallen from our Mother. Our Father. Your jeans are nice. I like your hips.





    Oh, let's end this.

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    • Name: Brittany Michele
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  • "I'm narcissistic, I'm pessimistic, I'm obsessive, I'm insecure and I am so afraid of intimacy that every one of my relationships is a journey of self-sabotage that inevitably ends in a black vacuum of shattered expectations and despair."