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August 15th, 2007

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June 2nd, 2007

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June 1st, 2007

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March 18th, 2007

10:06 am - From Last Week Bob's "Ladies" After we ate dinner at the sale barn last night, Grandpa and I heaved and hawed in the yard moving a pile of bricks. It was nice, sweating in the dusky purple air, side by side under the pines. Today we headed to Cape Giradeau to see the river and eat Cajun food at Broussard's. On the way, we stopped by Grandpa's friend's house to pet the soft little burros. They brayed and perked their velvety ears when we clucked at them. Their muzzles wrinkled up pleasurably when you scratched them just so. The Mississippi was immersed in fog and damp and twisted and turned like a forsaken woman on the run from a lover. This moring after Grandma and I made the beds, I washed my hair in the sink and looked up to see a trio of wild turkeys outside the window. They were strutting around like a group of kings. I was so excited I squealed, and they set off harassed, for the deeper woods. My cousin, Daniel, is set to come stay next week. Grandpa and Grandma may be quite sick of grandchildren on vacations by the time the month is over. Though they do seem to be enjoying themselves quite alright for now. Foggy & Damp Mississippi Down by the Levee Current Music: Mohammed Rafi/"Jaan Pehechaan Ho"

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10:02 am - The Melody of a Fallen Tree My cousin, Daniel Grandma in the Dining Room I must say that I quite enjoyed the "retired life" with Grandma & Grandpa Sample after my arrival on Friday evening. Our days were spent piddling. We occupied ourselves with little chores such as reorganizing the tupperware cabinent, napping, reading, napping, watching the birds, napping, eating, and of course napping. Grandpa smoked ciggarettes, and Grandma dusted about the house. I carved up quiet slices of the afternoons for thinking. On Sunday, Grandma, my Aunt Toni, my aunt's friend Mary, and I headed up to Columbia, Missouri for a tea party at my cousin's college. It was in the historic Senior Hall at Stephen's college. Their was a harpist and young fashion models, future designers, and marketers floating through the rooms like pretty summer breezes. Afterwards we went to a fashion show and oohed and ahhed over designs from second row, end of runway. Later Grandma and I picked around a jeweler's shop, but she couldn't find anything that she terribly adored. The ride home was great fun, and we cackled, as the men say, like "a group of hens." My aunt gave me her recipe for the best pumpkin muffins, and I can't wait to try to make a batch for Papa and Mama. They're gorgeously simple! The Historic James O'Fallon House Current Music: The Cure/"Plainsong"

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March 9th, 2007

12:32 pm - Tagged by squidpod The rules are: Once you have been tagged, you have to write a blog with 10 weird random things, facts, or habits about yourself. At the end, you choose people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says "you are tagged" on their profile and tell them to read your latest blog. 1. I really wish I could go back in time and be a boy in the 1970s for sneakers, scuffy pool halls and black eyes, the desperation and fire of Alice Cooper's "I'm Eighteen" and other songs like "Free Ride", "Sweet Emotion", and "War Pigs". 2. I tell time and measure horribly, if at all, because I always cheated in middle school math. I still have to count 5, 10, 15 to tell time, and I regularly still add/subtract on my fingers. 3. When I was little, I nearly choked to death on a gummy bear sitting on the back porch. 4. When you meet me, I will seem meeker, quieter, shyer, then I am…by far. Most people, who really get to know me, cannot believe I am the same person who they met in the beginning. I am actually very fucking lionhearted and brassy. 5. I am constantly compared to Madame Bovary; since I haven't read the book, I have no idea of that is a good thing or a bad thing. 6. My favorite Siouxsie and the Banshees' song is "Cities in Dust". 7. When I'm walking, sometimes I'll think how am I doing this, and I swear to God, I'll almost fall right then. 8. I am obsessive about learning/studying Chernobyl's history. Radiation fallout is all very romantic and tragic to me, I suppose. 9. During a game of wiffleball, when a snake threatened to end the game and was near my ankle, I severed its head with a garden hoe. 10. I secretly love when men call me babe, hon, etc. I flutter my lashes & purr a bit. I tag: whoever is bored & has interesting weird things to confess.

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March 6th, 2007

08:54 pm - "My man wants to buy you something." I'm writing this letter to you while my toilet is soaking with the pine-sol. I opened the windows for the "proper ventilation" nonsense, especially since I never measure it out and usually pour heavy. Someone with a hoarse, ragged voice is screaming outside into the sunlight. When you are happy, and someone else is on the verge, on a pretty day, don't you secretly think them to be the most selfish beasts? What audacity, ruining such a gorgeous day because of some histrionic breakdown. Obviously when it's you, there's a narcissistic difference. Everything seems that much more important and broken. I watched a documentary on Noah's ark last night, and I fell in love with the actors playing the Sumerian children with their kohled eyebrows and sand toned skin. The show encouraged the presupposition that the story of the ark was based on a less embellished story of a merchant really out for monetary gains, and a flood that lasted only 7 days. I always like watching those educational sorts of things, what with all the Bible historians, but I personally am far more likely to believe in poetic 40 days and 40 nights, and the miracle of beasts marching two by two and olive branches. It doesn't seem at all farfetched or unbelievable in the least to my heart seeped in years of tightrope living and dreaming. The miracles that I see everyday, the fact that we are all merely bone and blood, yet aware and feeling and exploring; the inspired detail of everything in nature, down to the intricacies of a pinecone leave me little doubt. Strangely, it is science that helped me find my faith. Speaking of the naturalistic, you should've seen Mama's gasp and impending promise of bird flu when I took a bag out of her car and informed her that I was picking up the creature in the above picture to bring home this eve. I didn't have my camera with me, and I love how dead birds are pulled in and secretive like little hearts, but the cleaning people around the office will always run off with them quickly (imagine that). I thought the markings on this one were so beautiful, and so I put it in the bag and took it up to the office to hide in my desk. Then I took it home. Imagine the shock if anyone would have looked in my desk drawer, and came across my poor deceased bird friend. I will do a lot of strange things in the name of mediocre art (though my good camera wasn't even charged so it all proved fruitless as you will see above). You know how my heart is; you know how I am. Memo to Myself- List of things to take to Grandma & Grandpa's House (besides the obvious): -Sir Roundy, the pillow -books -polaroid -film -digital camera -moleskin journal -driver's education book -floss -cell phone charger -vitamins&paxil&melatonin -gingerbread shampoo -DS & charger/Animal Crossing -Ipod (charge up before leaving) Current Music: Death from Above 1979/"Sexy Results"

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March 5th, 2007

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March 1st, 2007

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February 20th, 2007

01:28 pm - Degradation Memphis trips were made last weekend, and we ended up driving around the factories that are such wonders of modern industry that, with their glowing green lights at night and their husky puffing stacks, they’re almost beautiful. Then we ventured through the chancy part of the city where I felt my apocalyptic inherent desire to run front first and impale myself on certain destruction. When I was little, I once asked my father if when he got to the edge of something with a great height, he felt the urge to jump. The difference between the me of now is that I have neither the ego nor the promise of the immortality of youth backing my addiction for disaster and chaos. It’s reassuring in its own way. On the way back, I slept slouched against the window with the lights flickering behind my lids like the beginning of dreams. The weather is so warm today. Warm enough for open windows and a little more casual thoroughfare in my way of dress. Really I’m just being a bit more rebellious in small ways, pushing my boundaries in the softest pair of old blue jeans rescued from a friend that hold my hips and sensitively curve around my chubby thighs, gold hoops dangling from my ears. I haven’t pulled out my favorite brown chucks, but I stare longingly at them at the back of the closet. L. insists that I wear them and restore them to their proper glory, although you have to have a special appreciation for them that neither my Mama nor my boss seems to have acquired. Soon enough, I will traipse through the fleamarkets wearing them with my old old tshirts that are as true to me as every memory I’ve had in them, smelling of Coco Mademoiselle with a lipsticked mouthed, pursed in serious concentration, a requirement for the scouring for the best finds. I looked at a house yesterday afternoon. It had old windows with buttery panes of glass and wooden floors. The attic was tremendously huge, and the porch was nice too, but I can’t force my all roaming wild Daisy May into that space. It isn’t fair to her, and besides that it was out of my price range which is so pathetic it shouldn’t even be called a range. I broke off the friendship a few days ago when confronted with brutal sinuous lies. When he wasn’t even apologetic while holding the tendons of it all, I felt betrayed in a way I haven’t felt in years. I’ve actually felt better about confronting the cheapness of it, and I feel fully justified in being upset. It’s just a shame when you’re let down by someone. I haven’t been bad over it at all though, knowing I had been putting my all into it and was deceived. I’ve laughed more and been happier in the last few days anyhow, and I don’t wish him ill for a second, merely that he will find whatever answers it is that he seems to be searching. Current Music: the Supremes/"Baby Love"

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February 15th, 2007

09:03 pm - For Thank You Cards Later: Aren't these adorable? My boss bought us some yesterday from the bake sale. Then I went home to have dinner made, a sugar free apple pie made, a clean apartment, my laundry done and a bag of presents from Mama & Papa. Now I don't know what I've done to deserve all of that alone, but the presents were even more intent on spoiling me bloody rotten. They got me a pink talking hippo stuffed animal, sugar free chocolates, new heart & pink underwears, new jammies, and a diamond ring that I have been eyeing since Christmas (normally, I can't stand jewelry or could give a care, but the design of this ring is spectacular). I couldn't have been more surprised and overwhelmed. Also, the sweetest indirect valentine that read, "Your photographs and words make me endlessly jealous. You have a knack for writing about your life in ways that make it seem as if you're living in a novel, and I love that." PS. I just had a bouqet of flowers delivered from my grandparents in a teacup with a saucer and soft pink roses & heather.

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February 12th, 2007

03:40 pm - Overcast We stood in the thin dusk and biting air, and fittingly she recited Frost's Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening. "Do you know that is the only poem that I know by heart," she said. I squinted a bit and laughed, sardonically replied, "I'd hate for you to hear the poems that I know by heart." No, Ginsberg's rosy assholes winking and fuzzy balls bouncing probably wouldn't win me any accolades with her, merely a look of disgust and wonder at why I have chosen those particularly to commit to memory. Never underestimate the winning round of applause you can get with a little dose of perversion and over the top miming at a party, I thought to myself. In the distance, a large dog barked, and how I love the sound of a dog bark. A bark, not those yipping dog yaps. The solid barks that sound like ocean waves and underwater tea party voices warbling and bubbling through blurry blue water. She refers to him as "that boy" and teases me relentlessly about my recent habit of talking with him in the evenings. Every conversation becomes more revealing, more honest, and I am flattered when he asks me, "What do you think," even though by comparison my ideas are juvenilely idealistic at times. His have more range and gleaning, where I am inclined to feel things out. He reveals his ugly truths, and I find it most unfair that no one took any time with him. I can remember him in youth, and even if we didn't agree, it seems so ugly that he wasn't supported, encouraged. When telling his story, he emphasizes, "No one," and I don't answer because there isn't an excuse. I hear him ask her, "Do you love me," and a silence that breaks my heart and makes me fiercely defensive. I don't say anything, although I'd like to shake her when she chides him for bothering her. Whatever they think, I have never believed in anyone more. Wherever we go; wherever this goes or doesn't, I am so lucky to have found someone to talk with and share with in ways that I've never been able to before. I am deliciously fond of him, and the comfort of our mutual respect is something that I've rarely known. Current Music: Heart/"Crazy on You"

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February 3rd, 2007

11:23 pm - Under that plastic palm tree in the sky. We mourn the loss of our dearly beloved friend and a damn good crab, Hilarie. I hope you're eating dried mangoes and brine shrimpees in crabby heaven. Current Music: Sonic Youth/"Hits of Sunshine"

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January 31st, 2007

10:30 am - Brief Look @ the Weekend I was taking photos at the creek behind my parent’s house this weekend when two messy headed little boys rode up on bikes. They insisted that Daisy May was their old dog. Stubbornly calling, “Dakota! Dakota!,” and she just looked on like skeptically and raised a questioning eyebrow in my direction. We both ignored them for the most part until the older one snorted in that bullyish way that older siblings do (I should know as I’m the eldest sibling too) and asked if I’d take his picture and give it to him. His younger brother chirped up, “Me too; me too!” No stranger to bargaining, I agreed for the price of an additional photo of the both of them. I was very pleased with the subjects as they were precocious and as comfortable in front of the camera as possible, not primping and overacting, merely being them. Then someone told me yesterday that I take “beautiful portraits,” and he is a photographer. I whined a bit, and we commiserated on how I would love to take more portraits, but how I’m a loner and that doesn’t allow for many opportunities. Also, for the second time in my life an author contacted me to ask for an opinion/feelings on their novels. I am always flattered a bit by it, like a spoiled child. The first one to contact me wrote American Skin, and the second wrote The Danish Girl. I consider myself such a little shut in, that I can’t help but be a bit excited. Otherwise I have been preoccupied with reading a ton lately while tucked warmly in bed, wearing a scarf tied revolutionary style around my neck and lipsticked lips. PS. I’ve decided to go ahead and post all the photos that I took last weekend because really who can ever tell when I’ll scribble something down here. Enjoy. ( Read more... ) Current Music: the smiths/"there is a light that never goes out"

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January 29th, 2007

06:15 pm - Solitaire's the only game in town The Manchurian candidate was on Friday night and Sunday too, but I was too busy finishing up Watership Down. I loved it as much as the first time I read it, if not more so…sometimes you reread a book and found you've different thoughts and experiences now, and you can appreciate it for different reasons. Such was the case, and it is definitely in my well beloved list of top ten novels. Then Sunday night I stayed up late, painting my fingernails the color of pink found inside a seashell and beginning Nausea by Sartre. I think of my friend, Jonathan, most often when reading it, and if he hasn't already read it, I think he would enjoy it very much. I take it in small doses, studying carefully, mulling it over to appreciate and stew my thoughts. I took decades of photos this weekend, and I'll begin posting them throughout the next few days/weeks. I have an interesting story to go along with some that I took of two little boys that I met, playing in the creek, but I'll save it for when I show you those pictures. I am quite proud of some of them, and the others, aren't so bad either. I'm learning through exploration and for me, it's the best way to learn. I finally saw a ton of movies today with Amelia. I had wanted to see most of them for quite some time, and I found Little Miss Sunshine to live up to everything that has been said about it, and Clerks II was great too, although not nearly as good as the first (a tad too emotional and overacted at times, but Rosario Dawson makes up for it). We also watched Thumbsucker which was pretty good, though slow in parts. Oh, I didn't tell you guys either that I had a truffle pasta the other night that my friend L. brought home for me. It was my first time trying truffles, and it's a taste that I very much enjoyed and can't afford. Well my dears, be on the lookout for photos and more musings coming up quite a bit in the next days. Current Music: Sleater-Kinney/"The Ballad of a Ladyman"

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January 24th, 2007

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January 23rd, 2007

08:12 pm - Cross-Posted Question: What do you think about most? Answer: Morality, boys, and death, but not necessarily in that order. Current Music: Scissor Sisters/"Lovers in the Backseat"

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January 18th, 2007

07:16 pm - "Wander with me, yo. It's all for free." My Hamtaro towel vitamin water...of course My writing has grown with me since I was in 6th grade. That was when it was born, and I remember the exact minute where before it had been only the bud of an idea, an egg patiently waiting. We have grown parallel at times, and we have waged angry wars with each other at others. Neither perfect, nor do we ascribe to be, but always impartially observant as the eye of a microscope in the face of my moments, stories, histories, memories, and dreams. I wrote a whole page out today, and we had a fantastic row where I confronted the laziness and mediocrity. Are we on the mend now? We don't know; we are still speaking about objects, and even this memory, around each other with affected yes or no answers. Can't you feel it coming off the page, the screen? Can't you feel the brutality of that proud arrogant 'I' that he has taken the place of the side by side love making of the exotic 'W' and the complacent 'E'?! We are angry, and as a result I fight low. I make a list of words that I like: aesthetic, wheel, and prayer, but I don't finish it. I leave it crumpled at the bottom of my purse, teasing out a bitter jealousy. I met a lady once, and she studied my face, said, "Oh, you're an artist?" I shook my head, but later she found out about my notebooks. "You are an artist! You just work with a different medium. I knew it; you look like an artist," she said with a resolute nod. So yes we are fighting a bit about the laziness that it has taken to in the last 2 years, but it will be rewarding as hell when we get over it. Relating to art, I was supposed to go to an opening for mama's friend at a local art gallery tonight, but I was a bit fussy and tired so decided instead to go home and curl up under the covers. I'd like to get a moleskin at Barnes & Noble and start keeping a notebook again. I miss the tangibility of my letters, looping and curling, across the page. Finally I love when walking through the brisk air, my cheeks rosy and in a generally pleasant mood with a smile and hearing my dear boy, C. call out, "Hey, beautiful! When are we going to get married already?" I wisecracked back, "Call the judge, and I'll go to the thrift store for my bouquet!" We are generally jolly at the end of Thursday because the weekend looms so close. Current Music: RHCP/"I Could Die for You"

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January 7th, 2007

02:06 pm - Interiority. Flores & Cindy, my ivys that overtake everything! They have to have haircuts (pruning) regularly Today has been quite domestic, if I do say so. I’ve watched bubbling pots of lentils until they get muddy, adding little smokies. Finally, a splash of apple cider vinegar to my bowl like my German stepgrandmother always has made for us. When I woke up this morning, I was pleasantly sore from exercising yesterday, but I went about it again, and I feel really good, if not a bit ashamed of my thinning arms. More healthy, yes, but how will they hold so tenderly those I love dear, if they become any longer…I still have my hands, which mother says are the softest she has ever felt, and begs everyone to feel them. I act a bit embarrassed, but I’m such a pigeon, and I only wish they could be put to some good use, like soothing little heads of hair and wiping tired brows in the evening. I have taken to laying on the love seat instead of the couch for reading (Bonjour Tristesse, if you’re curious). The shortness of it, allows me to dangle my legs over the ends, sometimes fold them up like a letter in an envelope, and my arms, pompous hanging over the top of my head, nesting around my hair. I already need a haircut again. I love my hair cut short like a little boy, but wearing mocha pink sweet lipstick and mascara dashed eyes. Easy and feminine enough to make eyes, but not enough to hide all flaws behind pounds of caked foundation. I don’t understand women who wear any of that sort of thing, as it feels like a mask on your face and leaves its imprint on everything their face touches. I took some photos of my home, but my batteries died after a few minutes, and the damn lighting is so horrible and not really true at all. I will show you anyway, but the lights are never that glaring and institutional, I promise. I can’t paint, per the landlord, or I promise I would. Things are good. Things are better then good. I’m listening to the Smiths’ “There is a Light That Never Goes Out”, and it is always perfect. God love Morrissey… “and if a double decker bus crashes into us, to die by your side is such a heavenly way to die, and if a ten ton truck crashes into us, to die by your side, well the pleasure-the privilege is mine.” Yesterday I had horrible pms, and so today is well-deserved. My neighbor was driving me crazy. I like him alright as a human being, but he is such a hoosier. He screams for his son from our front porch area all the time, and yesterday I was at my wit’s end. Then my brother woke me up quite obnoxiously from a nap, and I was a bear. Today is so much better. I understand the irrationalness of hormones, but it doesn’t change the way I can feel like a raging bitch and then dissolve into tears over being unable to find the match to my sock. Men don’t even know. Oh, I have to go, “Cactus” by the Pixies is playing now! ( Read more... ) Current Music: M83/"Car Chase Terror"

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January 5th, 2007

06:36 pm - "Tell me, little girl, is your daddy home? Did he go and leave you all alone?" a photo I was drawn too in an antique store. I carry it in my purse know, and I have a weird sort of attraction to it. Father Jose told us when we were younger about women from his homeland of Papua New Guinea who suckle pigs. After the pregnant sow conceives, she is slaughtered, and the women nurse the piglets. I asked him, "Is it true?" "Yes," he told me, "it is true." When the moon is round and thin as a communion wafer, I talk to N, but only under the cover of dark. It's true then. I don't trust him in the light because I know he is in love with all women, and he has a deceptive laugh and he dances about questions like a fox. He is cunning with his bated breath, and his, "You saved me," and a pregnant pause, "...from cleaning." He says he needs a motherly woman, and he doesn't believe me when I say I won't sacrifice myself again. The father, son, and holy spirit all left me wrent once. I offered my breast and naked in bed with their heavy heads they laid in my lap and asked me to stroke their hair, begging milk for their parched lips, a switch cut from the tree when I was displeased. They held me at night hard and with china doll faces, they slept, relieved and quiet. I walked home alone in the mornings, carrying my shoes, watching for bits of glass on the wet pavement. They grumbled in their sleep when I straddled their waists, leaned into their ear, "I'm going home," so quietly. The greedy reply of them rolling their bodies into the sheets on the other side of the bed where I had left warm seconds. It's true at night though, with N. saying my name like the rosary. I am afraid when I take my socks off at night to see how he sleeps. PS. If you haven't downloaded "I'm on Fire" yet covered by Electrelane, you're fucking seriously missing out. Current Music: Electrelane/"I'm on Fire" on repeat for days and days

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