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[24 Aug 2006|10:00am] |
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up vs down. very tired, lackluster. sentence fragments, hurray.
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[04 Jun 2006|12:32am] |
one.
I once said that I'd hate to be someone's convenience.
that's an abbreviated version of why I'll never complain about being lonely again, and why I'll never tell anyone anything of substance again. I'm tired of synthetic emotional responses and the way you dramatize without considering anything but your own typographic industry of melodrama.
look somewhere else
besides the mirror
for your suffering
and please
stop.
two.
I've been in the midst of the most amazing people and conversations, experiences, etc, etc, and pinned under glass by some other things that aren't quite as lovely. I've been having vivid dreams that I really hope are just my mind freaking out and not significant to reality. fuck. I swear I could be a good person if I get myself through this (drama, school, tickets, etc)... if anyone has anything else to say, fucking step up
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[19 May 2006|10:29pm] |
walking tonight, I realized that I've always hated this town in some way. I like it sometimes, but then I remember that it doesn't matter. I look forward to something new happening.
also,
It just dawned on me that I'm carrying mase home, in my hand, on my one and half mile journey home from work, only to sleep on a flea infested couch. Also, I forgot how to punctuate. That's killing me. I pay a billion dollars a week to have short lived conversations on my phone, I'm growing apart from everyone that has a different fucking area code, and the people around me. I really am working towards nothing. I'm not even working. I'm hiding from my fucking education, car tickets, etc...
where did the time go?
it got skull fucked by space.
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[19 May 2006|03:09am] |
I think I need an internet boyfriend. Really. It's the only way to resolve my "I want a man-friend, but touching (etc...) is completely out of the question. What could go wrong? Decent conversations on life, philosophy, books, jokes, and no kissing, sex, whatever. I could swoon over somebody that I wouldn't end up regretting. Or maybe, I should date an invisble person. That would be weird to go over the boundaries of platonic.
Aside from me sucking at sensuality, I think I'm going to try and move to Georgia. I'm applying to Georgia State again. I know I will get it, it's just a matter of financial aid. Cross your fingers!
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[04 Apr 2006|11:31pm] |
Transistor Reflection of Jesus the Adulterer
Functionality is tender beams of zeros and ones, we find, we search, we grow, we learn Jesus through electrons and foul tasting fluid, like the information leaked through the bathroom ceiling into our apartment’s sink, and the upstairs tenant, a suicide, whispered down the walls for conversation one night while we bathed our binary sleep with our silver hands, pooled like a red pillar and we named it Jordan. We drank an eight-ounce cup of milky goodbyes before the salt spoke gently to our guts, from the mountain of an alcoholic’s liver, a reminder that our husband wasn’t the last man inside of us, and this is the closest we’ve been since the birdcage womb, but we swallow anyways, because we want God inside of us, too. Silent worms urge us to answer. Fly, fly, my dear ones, we can go where we want.
......
P.S. Sunday and Monday, you win.
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| mbd |
[22 Mar 2006|03:10pm] |
we were sitting in the back of the car watching the lights go by on the ceiling in a sleeping bag
we were hungry drunk and half naked and didn't notice the time change from the last place we'd been.
it still gets cold in the south at night when the winds are blowing slapping up against the windshield
these blankets won't do anything at all.
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[10 Mar 2006|04:55pm] |
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Chloe!?!? Is this a joke?!? I'm waiting for an edit, and a live apology from those judges.
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[05 Mar 2006|12:01pm] |
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last hour of a dying atheist:
1. a guy once swore he loved me, but then same cantor was repeated verbatim by many others before I learned the difference between love and love. his name was lost, and this was in eighth grade.
2. I fed off the body of Christ for almost half my life.
3. my favorite moments were always in the winter, smoking a cigarette under street lights, while soft snow filtered the light into a crisp screen where I watched the darkness touch my fingers.
4. swiss-army scratch work tattoos on my arms, but later I won't want these.
5. there was an apple tree that produced sour green fall seasons in our back yard, and I wonder if it is still there.
6. warm dreamscapes of our old neighborhood with the sugary taste of the hunt on our lips, waiting to be found in the woods.
7. you were my favorite.
8. origami birds hanging from bedroom ceilings, quivering little animals that fly when we exhale (no matter how silent).
9. it was always hard to sleep under the mechanical hum of the trains disappearing from the tracks on Augustine Street.
10. five dollars for twenty meals to feed the growth in my lungs.
11. the frontseat of my 1990 Chevy Lumina.
12. when jake died, I stopped eating flesh.
13. cityscape.
14. earthquake.
15. sangria waterfalls.
16. Kurt Cobain’s last words were “I love you.”
17. dreams about rising to the top of the sky and finding a window, where I found a letter addressed to me, explaining the tragic outcomes of their lives, as though I lived for all of them and I was being blackmailed.
18. Mozart’s requiem lasted like a drunken lay.
19. ruby, ruby shoes.
20. the last day of school.
21. the last day of work.
22. the last breath of fresh air.
23. the last breath of smoke curls slower.
24. the last kiss in summertime.
25. the last record played from start to finish.
26. the last train a car stopped for.
27. the last apology.
28. the last night of sleep.
29. the first time sleeping with someone.
30. the last rain.
31. the last sun.
32. the last fuck.
33. the last cup of coffee.
34. the last letter written to a friend.
35. the last awkward morning.
36. the last time we spoke.
37. the last man.
38. the last regret.
39. the last ruin.
40. the last book.
41. the last hour watching television.
42. the last spurt of blood.
43. the last shower.
44. the last daydream.
45. the last friend.
46. the last lover.
47. the last sunset.
48. the last field of grass.
49. the last treasure buried in the dirt by children.
50. the last phonecall.
51. the last conversation.
52. the last moment of solitude.
53. the last hand held.
54. the last sunrise.
55. the last eclipse.
56. the last meal.
57. the last iris.
58. the last sneeze.
59. the last photograph.
60. the last minute.
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[26 Feb 2006|01:46pm] |
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I have a job at The Brick! Fuck yea!
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| The REAL Deal. |
[13 Feb 2006|09:28pm] |
With Valentines Day coming up, me getting sick off of candy hearts two days ago, and everyone already broke from wasting their money on stuffed bears and chocolate, I would now like to bring to your attention the only holiday that really matters this month: Return Carts to the Supermarket Month.
www.suntimes.com
Forget to do something this February?
February 29, 2004
BY ZAY N. SMITH SUN-TIMES COLUMNIST
Anthony Dinolfo had the thought in 1969 while he was watching Neil Armstrong walk on the moon.
He is almost certainly the only person who had the thought.
"I said I wouldn't be surprised if he found a shopping cart in one of the craters," he said.
Then again, why not?
Dinolfo's shopping carts, from his grocery, Sparkle Food Center on the Southwest Side, had turned up
almost everywhere else.
That was the thought. And that was the start of it.
It was the start of National Return Carts to the Supermarket Month.
"It just sort of evolved," he said. "You'd be amazed why people steal these carts."
This is, in fact, the final day of the 35th National Return Carts to the Supermarket Month.
"Sometimes kids take joyrides in them," he said.
And there is still work to do.
***
Dinolfo, 77, has always known groceries. His mother and father ran a small grocery on the South Side.
His earliest memories are of groceries.
"They liked to say I was born behind the deli during a slow period," he said.
He enlisted in the Army Air Corps at the age of 17 and did his duty in the Philippines during World War II.
He and his wife, Mary, then raised three sons who have since given him seven grandchildren and one
great-granddaughter to dote on.
But here is where he has left his mark: National Return Carts to the Supermarket Month.
It is his crusade.
"People don't realize," he said. "It's a major theft."
People don't realize it at all.
***
Sylvan Goldman, an owner of the Piggly-Wiggly chain, invented the shopping cart in 1936 in Oklahoma
City, Okla., by adding two wire baskets and wheels to a folding chair.
People didn't like them at first. Goldman finally hired fake shoppers to wheel them around, showing how
useful a shopping cart could be.
People got to like them. People have been taking them ever since.
Sure. OK. But what are a few shopping carts?
Shopping carts cost more than $100 apiece.
The Food Marketing Institute estimates 1.8 million of them are taken each year in the United States.
"Who do you think pays for this?" Dinolfo said. "Your food costs more, is who pays for this."
***
And so the battle has been joined.
Some supermarkets send trucks out on patrol to look for abandoned carts. Others depend on "retrieval
contractors," who roam in search of carts and a bounty of $1 or so each.
"A lot of people don't exactly steal the carts," Dinolfo said. "They just use the carts to take their groceries
home a few blocks and leave them."
Other stores are going high-tech.
"Our devices are selling extremely well," said Don Chartrand of Carttronics, a San Diego, Calif., firm that
urges store owners to "take control of your fleet" with "comprehensive cart containment solutions."
The Carttronics solution is a device installed on each cart that, with the help of radio signals, causes a
front wheel to jam the moment the cart is taken beyond where the supermarket would like it to be.
It costs about $50 a cart. But Chartrand said it isn't as expensive as it seems.
"Some stores lose their entire fleet more than once a year," he said. "And if you think about the slim profit
margins in the business, about 1 or 2 percent, that means a store has to sell about $5,000 worth of
groceries to replace a cart."
Then again, people keep taking the things.
Dinolfo said he has seen the carts used for taking clothes to the laundromat, as newspaper delivery carts
for carriers and as backyard barbecue grills.
"I saw one where they hacksawed the basket off the cart at a car repair shop and used it to wheel motors
around," he said. "We saw one young man who hacksawed the back off. He was a weightlifter, and he
used it to haul his weights.
"These carts are very strong."
The homeless often use them to hold their possessions, too. In this case, let them be, Dinolfo said.
***
Dinolfo is retired now. But he still administers his month each year.
"It's an awareness campaign," he said. "We're just trying to get the word out to people so that maybe they
will give it some thought -- and return their shopping carts."
It has helped with awareness in the past. It inspired a campaign among Arizona grocers that included a
"Calling All Carts" ad campaign and a hotline for a time -- (800) THE CART -- and was credited with the
return of more than 230,000 shopping carts over several years.
And the month will help with awareness in the future.
"We keep getting calls," Dinolfo said. "It's a matter of communication. I remember when we put out the
word at the Sparkle Food Center. People would start bringing back carts. We would give anyone who
brought back a cart a gallon of ice cream."
So, anyway. Return your cart, will you?
That is all Dinolfo needs, and he will leave you alone.
"Except for all the milk crates," Dinolfo said. "And the ice cream baskets. . . ."
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[25 Jan 2006|01:41am] |
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Drinkin' 40's and bike riding at the beaches? I think so.
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[24 Jan 2006|04:32pm] |
Conversation Galante
T.S. Elliot
I OBSERVE: “Our sentimental friend the moon!
Or possibly (fantastic, I confess)
It may be Prester John’s balloon
Or an old battered lantern hung aloft
To light poor travellers to their distress.” 5
She then: “How you digress!”
And I then: “Someone frames upon the keys
That exquisite nocturne, with which we explain
The night and moonshine; music which we seize
To body forth our own vacuity.” 10
She then: “Does this refer to me?”
“Oh no, it is I who am inane.”
“You, madam, are the eternal humorist,
The eternal enemy of the absolute,
Giving our vagrant moods the slightest twist! 15
With your air indifferent and imperious
At a stroke our mad poetics to confute—”
And—“Are we then so serious?”
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[23 Jan 2006|03:10pm] |
Today, I was faced with the ultimate question. The question that renders you speechless for hours before you can actually come up with an intelligent answer. The question that changes your mind several times a year, throughout the course of your life. If you could have any super power, what would it be?
I'm at a tie up right now. Invisibility? Maybe. Teleportation? Maybe. The power to read the mind of others? Maybe. I'll get back to that one.
I have court on Thursday. This should be awfully fun. I plan on being the only person there with all of my teeth, even if they are a little fucked, so I am confident that I will be leaving in one piece.
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[20 Jan 2006|11:22pm] |
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Today I put in my two weeks notice, and my boss decided to make me cry. He told me I was letting him and the company down. After I realized what a cock he is, I told him to "fuck off... haha" and he gave me four shifts... busing shifts. I am going to clean tables for the next two weeks, and pick up back breaking bus pans. Man, I hate The Rite Spot.
Oh yea, I totally made seven dollars in tips tonight.
In the last five years, I haven't lived in one location for over a year. Jacksonville is very much over due. And I've decided since I have no ties anymore, I might as well just run away to New York. Not New York City, I want to move to Rochester, and camp in Highland Park. I don't think I want any friends either. And I'll eat garbage plates. You would think that "eating a garbage plate" is disgusting, but let me inform you that you are completely mistaken. Everyone needs to eat a garbage plate. They're completely delicious. Ask anyone from Rochester.
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| If YOU are SQUEAMISH STAY HOME! COLD, GREEN SKIN against SOFT, WARM FLESH! ... a croak ... a scream! |
[17 Jan 2006|02:18pm] |
Alex and I hit every Super Walmart in a ninety mile radius between 2 and 4am last night. Who knew that they all could be just as fun as the last when added with a bottle of my mothers table wine? Not me.
We bought a movie called "Frogs: Today The Pond... Tomorrow The World!". The back of it says "A shocker reminiscent of Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds". Let me tell you, it WAS reminiscent of The Birds!
Wait! I have to tell you what the back says:
This amphibious horror flick teeming with thousands of nasty-tempered creatures that are hopping mad- and murderous. Jumping with action, suspense, revenge and Southern Gothic charm, Frogs' stars Ray Milland, Sam Elliot and Joan Van Ark are constantly a lily pad away from croaking!
Jason Crockett (Milland) is an aging, physically disabled millionaire who invites his family to his island estate for his birthday party. The old man is more than crotchety... he's crazy! Hating nature, Crockett poisons anything that crawls on his property. But on the night of his shindig, it's nature's payback time, as thousands of frogs whip up every bug and slimy thing into a toxic frenzy until the entire environment goes environ-mental.
BRILLIANT! Especially the puns!
Apparently Andy Warhol was pretty stoked on this movie.
So, in the last several days I have found Motley Crue on Myspace, told my boss I was going to quit The Rite Spot, and fell in love with the Mexican dish pit boy, Felix aka Lix. Things sure are looking up.
I now no longer have to go through my CD case to listen to Girls, Girls, Girls, nor do I have to work six days a week and make one hundred dollars AND AND Lix wants to learn English AANNNDDD he's getting rid of his jerry curl for me. How sweet is that?
No, really though, I have decided to focus primarily on three things: Money, housing, and friends. Education next semester! I'm okay with that.
When I have money I am going to get a studio apt. somewhere that will allow me to keep a big, mean, dog. His name with be Task Force, in leiu of Alex's lizard, and he will kill anyone that is not me, and help me with my math homework. True story.
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[16 Jan 2006|01:51am] |
"Life is not a dream. Beware. And beware. And beware."
Ha. And ha. And ha ha.
I hate having to return to being co-dependent.
A minor setback in the story of my life.
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[06 Jan 2006|01:54pm] |
I believe that imagination is stronger than knowledge-
That myth is more potent than history.
I believe that dreams are more powerful than facts-
That hope always triumphs over experience-
That laughter is the only cure for grief.
And I believe that love is stronger than death.
Robert Fulghum
RIP Brian Q.
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| On Sucking Lifes Dick: A Memoir |
[03 Jan 2006|11:33am] |
I have had the worst luck in the past month. If I told you all, you'd laugh.
I'm over the copious amounts of tickets, the Florida school system beating me with thorny sticks, and my one hundred dollar a week pay check.
But anyways, today should be filled with fried chicken fun, putting my drivers seat window back into the whats-it-called, getting over my lovely sore throat, calling in on my ten day notice for the pack of tickets I obtained, and laughing over the fact I got pulled over yet again last night. This is what I get for not going to New York. Or something.
I cannot wait for my little black cloud to get bored and leave me alone.
Here's a little highfive to the start of 2006!
Anyways and probably:
To Be Continued...
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| memememmemememe |
[29 Dec 2005|11:27pm] |
Theodore Roethke
The Far Field
I dream of journeys repeatedly:
Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel
Of driving alone, without luggage, out a long peninsula,
The road lined with snow-laden second growth,
A fine dry snow ticking the windshield,
Alternate snow and sleet, no on-coming traffic,
And no lights behind, in the blurred side-mirror,
The road changing from glazed tarface to a rubble of stone,
Ending at last in a hopeless sand-rut,
Where the car stalls,
Churning in a snowdrift
Until the headlights darken.
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| Nefarious stagnation. Part deux. |
[27 Dec 2005|01:50pm] |
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Me:
"The Scream" by Edvard Munch
aka
"Sorry. Sorry. Sorry. Mental breakdown due to excessive talking and looking. Miss friends. Pretty stupid. Big asshole. Scared. Slow. Blahblahblahblahblah. Where did everything go?" by Edvard Munch
O life! I'm sorry!
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