Sunday, June 27, 2010
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Creative Writing Class (CULMINATING OUUU) :I'm much too concerned with other problems in the world to think of a clever title.
The world is a bridge built in the dark,
The people are Muffy Crosswire,
The people's minds are a same shade, never going any brighter nor any deeper,
And here I am, constantly questioning how the world works,
And why it feels like its been pieced together with staples and dried out glue,
And why can't I figure out a way to fix this?
It's June fifteenth and what am I doing?
The same thing I do everyday, the same thing that all of us are doing,
Complaining as much as Joe Matt in "Fairweather"
And spreading rumours like a deck of cards,
I'd prefer a place where we'd be different but we're all the same,
We're all just fictions, copying each other's actions.
Both the skinny girl and the big girl are scared,
Since there's over a thousand calories in a large tripe thick shake at Mc Donald's,
And a daily dose of a vitamin water will result in thirteen pounds on their bodies this year,
The nerd and the jock are so angry with the commercials put out there,
Thinking no girls will do them because of the acne on their faces.
I hate trying to live up to the media's standards,
Saddening, hearing about this guy super soaking,
If a woman is really willing to have sex with THIS guy, I wouldn't be calling her a ho..
Maybe if you were really trying to find the words to describe your girl without being disrespectful you wouldn't call her a sexy BITCH,
Listen up artists. Shut the fuck up,
Promoting violence over a girl that doesn't want you, or some person you just really hate?
Teens Kill Man Over iPod, Really?
Your ears will make love when you put George Harrison in them,
In a country where dropping bombs is like a casual hello,
Why are fingers pointed at Marilyn, South Park and video games,
When kids start shooting up at school?
We're taught not to have sex unless a band is on our finger,
Sure, they want us to follow our religion,
But they're forgetting that kids don't listen,
So teach us how to put a rubber on,
Because kids having kids isn't how it should be.
My body shakes like it's in a tin can,
As I see people try harder to get into someone's jeans rather than their heart,
Their minds are drenched in dirt, like a dog left out in the rain,
Everything sounding so perverse, boy I've got a boner to pick with this,
Seeing the way you react after reading "A Perfect day for Bananafish,"
I'll be the first to admit that it's a struggle trying to be serious through,
Not mentioning my menstrual cycles has been hard enough,
What's more disgusting though?
A love for tampons or a donkey being raped by a man?
I'm straight, but my mind's not narrow,
I don't need a religion telling me what love is,
I don't need a bunch of old white men telling me what beautiful means,
They'll be laughing up in stitches as they demolish your beauty glitches,
Deleting your dollars due to distortion,
Placing your payment into their palms,
And they're still laughing.
Feel that pain across your chest as the bullet sneaks away into your skin,
Tilting your head back as the lights go dim,
Shadows replacing the people your eyes saw a minute ago
Smelling the smoke, smells so harsh and dry,
You cough, sticky liquid oozes from your throat out to tickle your tongue,
Runs down your lips,
"Yeah motherfucker, that's what you get for takin' our dough,"
Take our cash, kill our world, we're slowly dying,
Completely transforming, with acts we're performing leading to global warming,
He said "drill baby drill" now they're killin and spillin' on these krill,
Continuing to destroy.
Put the gun down, I know what can do a better job,
It can hit deeper into your skull, into your brain
Destroy and reproduce,
Stretch and spread across the room,
Leak into the cracks of the floor boards,
hit into the shadowy parts of the room where the dust dances,
Where the sun can't see,
Your words are stronger.
Changing is constant,
It is unavoidable,
Undeniable,
Sometimes unacceptable,
I don't like the me the world has to see,
I don't like the world I have to stand on,
I'm tired of being a carpet, cut into the place I should be in,
This world wasn't meant to make cleanliness and peace feel nostalgic,
Get out of this helter-skelter and know where we're going,
We are the water,
And to fill up a cup you need every single drop,
So when it gets half way don't question if it's half empty of half full,
Because we're getting every single drop into this thing.
Not to make us have the same dream, but to open us up,
Look past what they're teaching you,
Free your mind.
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Me and my bitch (L).... you have to click on it... stupid blogspot.
Seventy year old men always compliment me on this lovely sweater.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Creative Writing Class: Meowmeowmeow - Fiction Unit
Day 7
To be honest, I'm getting fed up of playing with this piece of string. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the sound of his voice, my purr even –because only his touch would make me do that. I hate to see my owner sad. Really, I hate when he feels bad; he could just meow a lot like I do, it’s always cheered me up. Please, just shake this string over my face. I don’t understand how it can just dangle off this thing…
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Day 1
Is today going to be the day, big boy? Yes. Today is the day the house turns from having two residents to having three. He has been staring at that little black box for a couple months now, slowly gaining the courage to go up and ask her. A homemade dinner lay out upon his table, with expensive wine glasses and a bottle of Champagne. He finally put that black dress shirt on, the one his mother picked out for this special date. The girl must be mad if she can’t tell from one look at him what he’s going to do. She’s always been a cool girl; never nagged about him wearing sweats everyday, even when she brought him to church with her mother. It’s wonderful to see him out of them. He shook as he poured milk into my saucer. While nudging his pant leg with my head, I heard him dial the phone with a nervous voice saying she should come over.
Once he heard a knock at the door, he shoved the box into his pocket and rushed to the door. He tried welcoming her in; moving his lips close to her’s, but she moved her head and became out of his reach.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She nodded with a frozen scared expression. “… It’s my grandmother.”
“Is she—”
“No.”
“Coming close?”
“Afraid so.”
“How bad is it?”
“She could pass away any moment.”
He hugged her tightly, and said without letting go, “Are you going to Winnipeg then?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“Flight leaves at midnight.”
He let go of her body and grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry dear, we can do this when you get back.”
“I won’t be coming back.”
“I can go with y—” I rubbed body against him, knowing this would end terribly.
“Baby listen, it’s just that I—I really can’t focus on you right now, she really needs me.”
“But won’t you come back when she’s …”
A dirty look appeared on her face.
“Right… I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“Baby, you do mean a lot to me but she really needs me. I plan to get her better, and if not, I’ll have to live there with my granddad. It’s not like he’ll be very well if that happens. And I can’t just expect you to pack up and leave everything. Think about it; are we even that serious about each other? We never talked about marriage, it’s not like we were planning to be together forever, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ll miss you,” she said, moving his arm from her’s and hugging him.
“Right.”
My purring was the only sound through their five-minute stare. After a long heartless kiss, she walked down the hall quickly, knowing his eyes were on her. Once she left his sight, he slammed the door and walked in a slouch to the couch where he would sleep for fourteen hours.
Day 2
Why hasn’t he said a word? He didn’t even greet me this afternoon when he woke up. I’m probably better for him than she was, anyways. If he is this sad shouldn’t he go out and find another woman, the way the bunnies do? I really wish he’d stop moping around.
He keeps listening to the bitterest songs. They’re not helping him get over this at all. He should chase mice with me instead. He hasn’t even cleaned up the food, and when I try to eat it for him, he shoos me away. This isn’t the way to keep a memory of her.
Day 3
Why does he keep sleeping? He hasn’t fed me in two days and he hasn’t eaten anything either. Perhaps if he left the window open I could escape to catch the two of us a delicious bird dinner. That would definitely cheer him up. But how can he open it when he won’t get off the couch. He sleeps more than I do. If I licked him with my scratchy tongue, maybe that’s what it’d take for him to notice me… nope. Perhaps it’s time to bite him and taste his sour blood….
Day 4
Who is he talking to? I woke up in a curled up ball at the edge of his bed to find him kneeling against it, whispering with his hands folded.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…” is how he started off. “If she comes back I swear I’ll do anything. I’ll go to church. I’ll visit my mom. I won’t wank it to pictures over the Internet. Please, just please… I’ll do anything.”
He sobbed for hours after this. I searched the house looking for who he’s talking to. It’s impossible inspecting for invisible individuals.
Day 5
Why can’t he invite his sister over anymore? He should tell her to bring her Siamese cat, but leave the schnauzer at her place. He hasn’t called her up in months, because all of his focus was on his girlfriend. I miss the times he’d share new recipes with her, then he’d make them and give me a small bowl full of it. The lemon salmon and tuna casserole will always remain my favourites.
Thinking about those days makes me feel like I haven’t eaten in months. I miss the days when he came home from work with a big bag full of Meow mix and a box of beer. He would always let me lick the condensation off his bottles once he finished them. It was so cold and clean.
I wish he’d brush me soon. My fur is becoming very long and matted at a quick pace. It’s like a squirrel’s tail. It’s been building up and I’ve been trying to get the loose ones out but it’s quite hard when he won’t pet it off and let me shed all over him. He gets mad when I do it on the chesterfield so I guess I’ll just have to roll on the hardwood flooring, which I really hate doing.
Maybe he could call his buddy up. A simple gab about the weather would be just fine for my ears. I’ve beginning to forget how he speaks. Does he raise his voice at the end? What was that weird slang word he tried to make catch on but failed? I can’t even remember my own name.
Day 6
Is this possible? He speaks, he speaks! It’s unfortunate that he only shouted angry words filled with regrets of him not calling his girlfriend sooner and not going to Winnipeg with her.
He picked up his cell a dozen times within an hour to call her. He put speakerphone on; I loved the sound of the rings. Before each hello, he’d hang up immediately. He read his text to her aloud after rewriting it several times, even though it was simple and not cute at all: “What’s up?”
He spent five minutes constantly checking his phone as he lay on his bed next to me. The vibration finally buzzed and he read what she wrote to him to me, “My grandma died last night. Thanks for calling to ask, asshole.”
People never understand each other, but I get them. I can hear his self-hatred through the sound of his voice. He yelled louder than I’ve ever heard before, with words I’ve never heard before. One word sounded like duck, which reminded me, once again, of my everlasting hunger.
I rolled onto the floor, starved, and in my mind, I returned to my old home with my previous owner. He was a drunken single sixty year old that smelt like old milk and yelled like this on a daily basis. I was constantly in fear when he came home. I looked forward to the days where he’d forget to close the window, so I could escape. There was no way in hell that I was made for the outdoors, but when I had the choice of sitting in rain until dawn or have beer bottles being thrown inches away from my face, the wet and cold is what I’d choose. I hissed in pain when he kicked me. I surely had days where the thing I wanted most was to bleed. I constantly wished to be hurt and for it to show so someone could take me away and know what I’d been through. I didn’t hate that man at all for kicking me or blaming every problem on me. In fact, I wish I could stick it out and listen to him because I was the closest thing he had to a friend. But I can’t stand living in fear for my life. It was a beautiful day when he died; his son picked me up, fed me and brought me into his life.
I came out of my trance and found him doing the same thing now. The drunk’s son/my owner, walked over to me, picked me up and pet my fur. This is what I wanted. Because the drunk’s physical actions didn’t feel half as bad as his son’s emotional pain. Finally, he realizes what’s important in his life. He cooled down more and more with each stroke of my fur. After this, we destroyed his refrigerator. We practically ate everything in it. I’m pretty sure he fed me more than himself. I love him.
Day 7
…What’s wrong with him today? I thought yesterday would be the day he remembered me and how amazing I am. He has finally opened the door and stepped outside. I thought it would be super good for him but he’s been very boring this past hour.
He stepped onto the grass, which looked greener than it’s ever been and looked into the sky with an unreadable expression on his face. I looked into the sky but it was blinding since I’ve been trapped in the darkness for a week.
I leaned against him, he pet my head and my tail raised up to his kneecap, but he I could feel strong frustration in his touch.
There was a rather large beetle resting upon my paw, which distracted me from him for a good twenty minutes. Beetles are always hard to claw. I pranced around trying to eat it for that time. It was sweeter than the average beetle but I can’t help but wish I saw what my owner was doing.
Once I returned to the front yard, I was unable to find him at first. He’s a pretty tall man so this baffled me. But luckily, I found him an hour ago in a pretty odd place. I’m sitting on the lowest branch as he’s slightly lifted from the ground, hanging lifelessly. This is strange. He isn’t talking, as usual, but it looks like he’s not even breathing. I meowed him an “I love you”, just so he knows. But to be honest, I’m getting fed up playing with this piece of string.
To be honest, I'm getting fed up of playing with this piece of string. I’m afraid I’ve forgotten the sound of his voice, my purr even –because only his touch would make me do that. I hate to see my owner sad. Really, I hate when he feels bad; he could just meow a lot like I do, it’s always cheered me up. Please, just shake this string over my face. I don’t understand how it can just dangle off this thing…
. . . . . . . . . . . .
Day 1
Is today going to be the day, big boy? Yes. Today is the day the house turns from having two residents to having three. He has been staring at that little black box for a couple months now, slowly gaining the courage to go up and ask her. A homemade dinner lay out upon his table, with expensive wine glasses and a bottle of Champagne. He finally put that black dress shirt on, the one his mother picked out for this special date. The girl must be mad if she can’t tell from one look at him what he’s going to do. She’s always been a cool girl; never nagged about him wearing sweats everyday, even when she brought him to church with her mother. It’s wonderful to see him out of them. He shook as he poured milk into my saucer. While nudging his pant leg with my head, I heard him dial the phone with a nervous voice saying she should come over.
Once he heard a knock at the door, he shoved the box into his pocket and rushed to the door. He tried welcoming her in; moving his lips close to her’s, but she moved her head and became out of his reach.
“Is something wrong?” he asked.
She nodded with a frozen scared expression. “… It’s my grandmother.”
“Is she—”
“No.”
“Coming close?”
“Afraid so.”
“How bad is it?”
“She could pass away any moment.”
He hugged her tightly, and said without letting go, “Are you going to Winnipeg then?”
“Yes.”
“Tonight?”
“Flight leaves at midnight.”
He let go of her body and grabbed her hand. “Don’t worry dear, we can do this when you get back.”
“I won’t be coming back.”
“I can go with y—” I rubbed body against him, knowing this would end terribly.
“Baby listen, it’s just that I—I really can’t focus on you right now, she really needs me.”
“But won’t you come back when she’s …”
A dirty look appeared on her face.
“Right… I’m sorry. It’s just…”
“Baby, you do mean a lot to me but she really needs me. I plan to get her better, and if not, I’ll have to live there with my granddad. It’s not like he’ll be very well if that happens. And I can’t just expect you to pack up and leave everything. Think about it; are we even that serious about each other? We never talked about marriage, it’s not like we were planning to be together forever, right?”
“Right.”
“I’ll miss you,” she said, moving his arm from her’s and hugging him.
“Right.”
My purring was the only sound through their five-minute stare. After a long heartless kiss, she walked down the hall quickly, knowing his eyes were on her. Once she left his sight, he slammed the door and walked in a slouch to the couch where he would sleep for fourteen hours.
Day 2
Why hasn’t he said a word? He didn’t even greet me this afternoon when he woke up. I’m probably better for him than she was, anyways. If he is this sad shouldn’t he go out and find another woman, the way the bunnies do? I really wish he’d stop moping around.
He keeps listening to the bitterest songs. They’re not helping him get over this at all. He should chase mice with me instead. He hasn’t even cleaned up the food, and when I try to eat it for him, he shoos me away. This isn’t the way to keep a memory of her.
Day 3
Why does he keep sleeping? He hasn’t fed me in two days and he hasn’t eaten anything either. Perhaps if he left the window open I could escape to catch the two of us a delicious bird dinner. That would definitely cheer him up. But how can he open it when he won’t get off the couch. He sleeps more than I do. If I licked him with my scratchy tongue, maybe that’s what it’d take for him to notice me… nope. Perhaps it’s time to bite him and taste his sour blood….
Day 4
Who is he talking to? I woke up in a curled up ball at the edge of his bed to find him kneeling against it, whispering with his hands folded.
“In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…” is how he started off. “If she comes back I swear I’ll do anything. I’ll go to church. I’ll visit my mom. I won’t wank it to pictures over the Internet. Please, just please… I’ll do anything.”
He sobbed for hours after this. I searched the house looking for who he’s talking to. It’s impossible inspecting for invisible individuals.
Day 5
Why can’t he invite his sister over anymore? He should tell her to bring her Siamese cat, but leave the schnauzer at her place. He hasn’t called her up in months, because all of his focus was on his girlfriend. I miss the times he’d share new recipes with her, then he’d make them and give me a small bowl full of it. The lemon salmon and tuna casserole will always remain my favourites.
Thinking about those days makes me feel like I haven’t eaten in months. I miss the days when he came home from work with a big bag full of Meow mix and a box of beer. He would always let me lick the condensation off his bottles once he finished them. It was so cold and clean.
I wish he’d brush me soon. My fur is becoming very long and matted at a quick pace. It’s like a squirrel’s tail. It’s been building up and I’ve been trying to get the loose ones out but it’s quite hard when he won’t pet it off and let me shed all over him. He gets mad when I do it on the chesterfield so I guess I’ll just have to roll on the hardwood flooring, which I really hate doing.
Maybe he could call his buddy up. A simple gab about the weather would be just fine for my ears. I’ve beginning to forget how he speaks. Does he raise his voice at the end? What was that weird slang word he tried to make catch on but failed? I can’t even remember my own name.
Day 6
Is this possible? He speaks, he speaks! It’s unfortunate that he only shouted angry words filled with regrets of him not calling his girlfriend sooner and not going to Winnipeg with her.
He picked up his cell a dozen times within an hour to call her. He put speakerphone on; I loved the sound of the rings. Before each hello, he’d hang up immediately. He read his text to her aloud after rewriting it several times, even though it was simple and not cute at all: “What’s up?”
He spent five minutes constantly checking his phone as he lay on his bed next to me. The vibration finally buzzed and he read what she wrote to him to me, “My grandma died last night. Thanks for calling to ask, asshole.”
People never understand each other, but I get them. I can hear his self-hatred through the sound of his voice. He yelled louder than I’ve ever heard before, with words I’ve never heard before. One word sounded like duck, which reminded me, once again, of my everlasting hunger.
I rolled onto the floor, starved, and in my mind, I returned to my old home with my previous owner. He was a drunken single sixty year old that smelt like old milk and yelled like this on a daily basis. I was constantly in fear when he came home. I looked forward to the days where he’d forget to close the window, so I could escape. There was no way in hell that I was made for the outdoors, but when I had the choice of sitting in rain until dawn or have beer bottles being thrown inches away from my face, the wet and cold is what I’d choose. I hissed in pain when he kicked me. I surely had days where the thing I wanted most was to bleed. I constantly wished to be hurt and for it to show so someone could take me away and know what I’d been through. I didn’t hate that man at all for kicking me or blaming every problem on me. In fact, I wish I could stick it out and listen to him because I was the closest thing he had to a friend. But I can’t stand living in fear for my life. It was a beautiful day when he died; his son picked me up, fed me and brought me into his life.
I came out of my trance and found him doing the same thing now. The drunk’s son/my owner, walked over to me, picked me up and pet my fur. This is what I wanted. Because the drunk’s physical actions didn’t feel half as bad as his son’s emotional pain. Finally, he realizes what’s important in his life. He cooled down more and more with each stroke of my fur. After this, we destroyed his refrigerator. We practically ate everything in it. I’m pretty sure he fed me more than himself. I love him.
Day 7
…What’s wrong with him today? I thought yesterday would be the day he remembered me and how amazing I am. He has finally opened the door and stepped outside. I thought it would be super good for him but he’s been very boring this past hour.
He stepped onto the grass, which looked greener than it’s ever been and looked into the sky with an unreadable expression on his face. I looked into the sky but it was blinding since I’ve been trapped in the darkness for a week.
I leaned against him, he pet my head and my tail raised up to his kneecap, but he I could feel strong frustration in his touch.
There was a rather large beetle resting upon my paw, which distracted me from him for a good twenty minutes. Beetles are always hard to claw. I pranced around trying to eat it for that time. It was sweeter than the average beetle but I can’t help but wish I saw what my owner was doing.
Once I returned to the front yard, I was unable to find him at first. He’s a pretty tall man so this baffled me. But luckily, I found him an hour ago in a pretty odd place. I’m sitting on the lowest branch as he’s slightly lifted from the ground, hanging lifelessly. This is strange. He isn’t talking, as usual, but it looks like he’s not even breathing. I meowed him an “I love you”, just so he knows. But to be honest, I’m getting fed up playing with this piece of string.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
I miss writing notes to you. Rest In Peace.
Nevermind Jimi Hendrix
Nevermind Eric Clapton
Nevermind Jimmy Page
Nevermind Johnny Greenwood
Nevermind Lou Reed
Nevermind Ed O'Brien
Nevermind Kevin Shields
Nevermind Greg Ginn
Nevermind Mick Jones
Nevermind Johnny Ramone
Nevermind Brad Nowell
Nevermind Johnny Cash
Nevermind Slash
Nevermind Buddy Holly
Nevermind George Harrison
Nevermind John Lennon
Nevermind Sting
Nevermind Tom Delonge
Nevermind Brody Armstrong
Nevermind Dave Grohl
Nevermind Bahamas
Nevermind John K. Samson
Nevermind Chris Hannah
Nevermind Steve Jones
.
.
.
I'd rather hear you play guitar.
Nevermind Eric Clapton
Nevermind Jimmy Page
Nevermind Johnny Greenwood
Nevermind Lou Reed
Nevermind Ed O'Brien
Nevermind Kevin Shields
Nevermind Greg Ginn
Nevermind Mick Jones
Nevermind Johnny Ramone
Nevermind Brad Nowell
Nevermind Johnny Cash
Nevermind Slash
Nevermind Buddy Holly
Nevermind George Harrison
Nevermind John Lennon
Nevermind Sting
Nevermind Tom Delonge
Nevermind Brody Armstrong
Nevermind Dave Grohl
Nevermind Bahamas
Nevermind John K. Samson
Nevermind Chris Hannah
Nevermind Steve Jones
.
.
.
I'd rather hear you play guitar.
"I have never understood the concept of infatuation. It has always been my understanding that being 'infatuated' with someone means that you think you are in love but you're actually not; infatuation is (supposedly) just a foolish, fleeting feeling. But if being "in love" is an abstract notion, it's not tangible, and there is no way to physically prove it to anyone else.... Well, how is being in love any different than having an infatuation? They're both human constructions. If you think you're in love with someone and you feel like you're in love with someone, then you obviously are; thinking and feeling is the sum total of what love is. Why do we feel an obligation to certify emotions with some kind of retrospective, self-imposed authenticity?"
-Chuck Klosterman.
You're an absolute babe.
-Chuck Klosterman.
You're an absolute babe.
Don't read this.
I don't get why people are so afraid of dying.
I can't wait.
What's stopping me from killing myself now?
I want a surprise.
Death is the most interesting thing. I could be dead in five seconds. Who knows? What is it that is stopping you from taking a gun and shooting me this very moment?
Nothing.
My life is not important to you. My life isn't even important to me. In fact, no one's is. It will all be ended, so why should I give a shit about it?
I'm pretty sure every human being has fantasized more about death than sex.
Personally, I've pictured almost everyone I know dead.
Death's different than so many things.
You get only one chance to be dead.
I want mine to be memorable.
I can't wait.
What's stopping me from killing myself now?
I want a surprise.
Death is the most interesting thing. I could be dead in five seconds. Who knows? What is it that is stopping you from taking a gun and shooting me this very moment?
Nothing.
My life is not important to you. My life isn't even important to me. In fact, no one's is. It will all be ended, so why should I give a shit about it?
I'm pretty sure every human being has fantasized more about death than sex.
Personally, I've pictured almost everyone I know dead.
Death's different than so many things.
You get only one chance to be dead.
I want mine to be memorable.
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