Tuesday, December 30, 2008

argument One: i don't write poetry

First draft, last draft, the scribbled-over and re-crumpled story of my life.
Two times thirty five equals one hundred and seventy thousand glimmering nights. Two full moons, two dusty roads, a garbage can fire and that rusted observation tower; we watched planes land at the airport. Flowers grew out of your mouth, or were they words? We were too busy picking diamonds out of the road to notice.
Hope, that scrawny rat with wings, a city dweller's plague, clogging drains with the twisted scraps of dreams deferred. Your strong arms, pulling me through the night, those cobblestoned streets and sleek suburban Levittowns - a more burnished token of hope there never was. Hope, worn on a chain around my neck, a brass luck charm carried through the countries and epochs of my time.
Sometimes your skin grows cold, and the fire in you dies, leaving only the ashes behind. You're a tower of ashes that my breath scatters, leaving piles of cigarette filters in your shoes.
Sometimes a fire inside builds me a home.

Saturday, December 27, 2008


fail owned pwned pictures

That is all.

Monday, December 15, 2008

Madonna/Whore Complex

I got shoved, unwittingly, into the above today during a shit-talking session with two guys who shall remain nameless. This was your routine trash talking until one made an incredibly inappropriate comment to me regarding my sex life. Why is it that everyone else deigns themselves fit to judge my actions, even though they know absolutely nothing? Estos son preguntas que no puedo respuestar, porque si los se, no estuviera aqui. Lo siento que no tengo acentos.

Today Was the Worst Monday of the Year Thus Far

can't someone just shoot me and get it over with already?
so tired. so bored. no motivation.

on the flip side, my shit mood means i get to watch videos to make myself feel better... including my all time favorite.

planes, trains, and squatta-mobiles...

Thursday, December 11, 2008

what a self absorbed loser


please, please, please, please, please listen to this.

So beautiful, especially the first song.

emily's interpretation of our neighborhood.

hilarious words in red.

emilyk said...
Unlike the "quasi-medieval shire" feeling you get from our hood, K-dubs, I get more of a sense of bizarre detached Italian voodoo. This may be because I live on Forest avenue, a lower tier than Crane street in the caldwell heirarchy. My driveway is basically this ghetto alley. My dad calls it a parking lot, and whenever i drive people who have never been to my house into my driveway, they always start like buggin out and they say "oh, is this a shortcut?" Or "Do you really live in that decrepit aqua-colored barn?" Actually, that barn has just been converted into a musical instrument shop. At any rate, the intersection of Hatfield and Forest is chill in the summer because you can just lie in the middle. Don't ask. It's kind of a sick vehicular-manslaughter-russian-roulette. Only thing that blows is that there are always pigs. I once bent over on a seemingly still night to dump a 2-Liter bottle of diet pepsi into the storm drain. Then a pig just creeped up from behind and was all like "WOOP WOOP" and the officer told me not to pour motor oil in the storm drain. Jesus. The shistiest thing that happened though is when I decided to mail about thirty letters in the forest ave mailbox at around half past one in the morning. This old woman in a trench coat and a ferocious dog strolled past me three times in a row. And as if that bitch weren't suss enough, this white ferrari (i know, right?), i'm pretty sure it was a freakin F430 spider, pulls up and the guy gets out and gives the lady a flat white package and drives away. Just thought I would give you another side of this uhhh "urban ghetto" we live in.
December 10, 2008 1:43 PM

Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Also: Nick

You are hilarious

"who has the time?"

or the energy.

Monday, December 8, 2008

word patterns

Been thinking about the ways in which patterns exist in society. For example, the integration of complicated words into the vocabulary of non-complex thinkers. I'm not trying to be a snob, it's just interesting. For example, I heard one girl walking down the hallway, and she said "Yeah, I have to get the interior refurbished." I doubt this girl has ever used the word refurbished in her life - but it has been so integrated into car talk that she just used it without thinking. Can't think of any other examples right now

Sunday, December 7, 2008

mah hood

My neighborhood is pretty funky, which confuses me sometimes but is, for the most part, perfectly fine. Mostly I enjoy it because there are huge houses all over the place, and they're all really old. I don't know most of my neighbors, and usually identify them with monikers having to do with their houses; there is "the pink and blue house with ron paul fanatics;" "the house where the school bus driver lives who parks her bus in front of our house EVERY DAY; "the creepy blue house where I have never seen anyone;" etc. I used to sit on my balcony sometimes, when it was warm, and just write down everything that happened. For example, seeing a woman come out of the creepy house would result in something like " sighting! pink capri pants!!"
The trees are huge, and there are all kinds of weird things like a broken down carriage and the remains of a stone building in my neighbor's backyard; the path through the woods to Saint Aloyisious church; the woods behind Lincoln School; the empty lot where a house burned down; etc. I also live walking distance from the jail and old asylum, resulting in cRaZy tYmEs such as when a prisoner escaped. lol.
The police station is a block away from my house, with its requisite shooting range; so from the time I moved here, two of the most frequent sounds I hear every day are A) gunfire and B) sirens. This, combined with the multitude of bus stops to Newark near my house, the jail, my house's proximity to Bloomfield avenue, and its location on the border of Verona and Caldwell, sometimes lulls me into feeling like I live in some kind of urban ghetto, until I look out the window and see all these trees. Also, Saint Al's and the Presbyterian church are within two blocks of my house, and therefore I always hear church bells - Saint Al's' play songs, whereas the Presbyterian church rings on the hour - which is actually pretty incredible. With the addition of Calandra's (as well as Dunkin Donuts) I now smell bread baking all the time, so with the bells and the bread I also sometimes feel like I live in some quasi -medieval shire.
I also have many crazy neighbors; they're more notable for their behavior than their houses. My neighbor behind our house has a rotating cast of people who live there. It's kind of impossible to describe their antix without living here, but a short list;
- once we came home from vacation to find a deerskin being stretched in the trees that seperate our property. Their son had returned from "wilderness camp."
- once we noticed huge plumes of smoke coming from their back porch, only to later find that they were cooking a "beer can chicken". This is when you put an empty can of beer inside the chicken while you cook it... for flavor? I don't even know.
- they lift weights in the driveway, which I personally could care less about; my dad thinks it makes it look like a prison yard.
also on my street is a boarding house for men and the occasional woman. I rarely see anyone leaving or entering. One summer night, I was walking home with some friends and a resident was feeding three or four skunks on the front steps. Which was not necessarily bad; it was just bizarre.
anyway. thas ware i live.

Saturday, December 6, 2008

"should books be burned? only if you're freezing to death."

crust punks. how do i love thee? let me count the ways:
1. living life for yourself and nobody else
2. not worrying about hygiene too much
3. good basement shows
4. punk rock country types w/ washboards
5. spurs on yo boots
6. drinking Colt 45 sans irony
7. etcetera
8. tompkins in the summer on a bench on crusty row = good tyme

and for good measure, two entirely disconnected lines of shakesphaere (many thanks to mr. brown for making me memorize poetry)

I love thee with a love i seemed to lose,
I shall but love thee better after death

el colegio


esto es todo.

Paranoia bursts out of my subconscious

My friends Emily, John, and I were driving around some anonymous north- western NJ town. We were just driving, talking about things we normally talk about. Then we went to Emily's house, except it wasn't her normal house. She had interesting things stockpiled in boxes - moleskine notebooks, prada bags, fucking random shit. I was sifting through it all. Then we left, we went to our parents' friends' house; they were artists/craftspeople, and they were trying to get us to buy their african masks, etc. Their house was flooding though, so we left.
When we got back to Emily's house, someone had broken in. They started shooting at us from outside, we kept trying to hide in the backyard but remained pitifully obvious. John was gone at this point. I was shooting back with a toy gun, but obviously it was really fake.
We got out okay, but I then went on a quest to buy a gun. No matter where I went, nobody had any guns; I was driving up and down this route-46-ish road at two in the morning, stopping at random shops, but no one had any guns. Eventually I went to this candy shop/arcade/gokarting place. My brother was there with all these random people. I asked a woman where I could buy a gun - a Glock or a nice handgun, but all she had where these prototype "mind" guns, where you fired them via telekinesis. They seemed ineffective and unwieldy, so I walked away.
Suddenly I was running, and being shot at again. I saw John, and he started yelling at me that it was the government who were after us. It all made sense, and I noticed that as we ran, an unending series of cameras were tracking us. I saw people falling out of the sky. We were the victims of some pseudo anti-terrorist control scheme, and I saw visions of our executions.