Your disgusting feints

Thus far I have spent the majority of my waking hours researching the atrocities of Nazi SS gas chamber guard Ivan the Terrible and watching a two-hour documentary that detailed the Canadian government's negligent approach to mad cow disease.

Good evening, sir. Tonight our special is a delectable soup of broiled Jews followed up by a delicious steak contaminated with bovine spongiform encephalopathy, which once ingested, will develop into Creutzfeldt-Jakob disease. For desert you'll have a frosted cup of vomit followed by spasms of horror. Enjoy.

I think I'll drink hard liquor for the rest of my life and avoid anything that even remotely resembles food. Who's with me?

High Contrast

We readily submerge ourselves in adrenaline, spittle, course cries and fists. We embody the disconcertion of each other’s lives. Blood tainted saliva gives you a candy-pink grimace. A knuckle-shaped bruise soils my muscle with burst vessels. In this moment we take each other by the collar. We see everything we hate in our lives. It's marred beyond recognition.

The anger melts away. We sink into a contented trembling heap. Between the copper-metal taste of blood and the slightly gritty texture of chipped teeth, there is a hint of absolution: delicious and mutual. We share a moment quite similar to lovers after they've both climaxed. We don't love each other, however, we love that we embody what we hate in ourselves. We love the fact that we can take those errors into our own hands and physically render them inert.

I shake my hand and squeeze it into a fist. The knuckles sting from your stubble that stripped them bare. I laugh coarsely and run my tongue across my phlegm-rimmed teeth. We sit, back-to-back, simultaneously vibrating... expelling wavering breath upon breath. My nostrils rattle with mucous and coagulated blood as I take in the fresh smell of clover. I can feel the cartilage in my bridge throb angrily at my condescension. The sky is so blue. It's so fucking blue...

Sentimental Nostalgia

The walloping wind tore my upward posture into a bent-legged slouch. Gravel from the wind hissed along smooth stones and whisked up to tickle my nose. The sky was overcast. A blank fortress of distilled gray stretched across the horizon without blemish. A long field of flax slithered in the wind, vein-blue flowers shone in ripples like sun-dappled water. Sand ground between my teeth, it tasted like gasoline, grass, and astringent soil. I was torn. Should I trespass into dilapidated houses? Chase my faint shadow between crooked trees? Should I climb branches and count eggs or stare across the sloped shell of an eagle's egg while contemplating the embryo inside for a couple hours? Maybe I'll investigate the metal heap, assemble a line of well-rusted screws, and then watch the bull graze before racing with him across the bovine-cropped grass. I considered challenging the wind with a dirt bike, blood pulsating through my agitated body as I attempt self-destruction innumerous times. I wanted to wade through the sloughs, despite the irritation of the stagnant water -- I'd collect frogs before drying my legs off on the winnowed trampoline while the wind causes the weary springs to whine. I was torn. There was so much I wanted to do, but instead I took pleasure in standing by the empty road debating my possibilities. The grit between my teeth and persistent wind were my only companions for today, and in that moment I enjoyed their company more than any human being.

I'm going to be thinking about this all week. ASkdl;akwe. Thanks, Nathan.

Narrow Minds with Narrow Times.

Let the gin slip through your lips
Let it fall, fall, fall coarsely downward.
Bend your fingers into crooked snow
Bend your personality, let it slip, slip,
Slip through your fingers. Nobody
Cares who you are anymore so let
Go; set yourself apart, let go, let go.
They'll support your cause, at least
For tonight let the gin burn your lips
For tonight let us live, at least for
Six more hours, be benign for
Six more hours – we'll be alive for
Five hours and fifty-nine more minutes.

Spider Solitaire

Apply the crescent-shaped melted wax,
Which formed below your smoldering mug.
Apply the crescent-shaped melted wax
To the hot contours of an unattached heart.
Bind the elastic bands around elastic flesh.
Refrain from suspending thread from each vein
Refrain from the idea of dancing thread,
Beat buddah beat trembling, dancing thread.

Refrain from swiping the spider away,
She dances smoother than any colour thread
Refrain from swiping the spider away,
She drapes the arteries with her protection.

It lacks the qualities of a regular heart now.
Searing melted wax, elastics and a solitary spider.
It lacks the qualities of a regular heart now.
Unattached or not, it can be free to buddah thump
Without concern of forlorn lovers entreating its love
Unattached or not, it can be free to buddah thump
Without forlorn lovers approaching, simply because
They claim to be lonely.

Episodes of Insomnia

There's something charming about the weight under your eyes. I can tell you're suffering but I can't implore why. My thumb tries to remove the weight, but it only marks your complexion deeper. We're sinking. Deeper. I'm desperately alone now. Juxtaposed to an unfathomable urge to extract your weary weight, but without the capacity I linger in inept dissatisfaction. We're sinking, deeper, fuller, swifter, together.

Between our lackluster limbs we lock fingers. Past the lustrous depths of our eyes we imbue reservation in each other. You can tell I'm suffering but you daren't implore why. Our pain is beyond our reckoning. We're too complex to really reveal anything. We tell each other everything without knowing exactly what we're saying. I see the weight pulling your eyes lower, downward, skyward, starboard. I'm possessed by the urge to eradicate your discomfiture, but I refrain. There's something charming about the weight under your eyes...

Insecticide

She lived in a world separate from everyone else. She was an insect. There were aspects of her that she shelled away. It prevented the bitterness from intruding and scavenging on the rot of what was broken. At least this way the decomposition could be isolated and allowed to provide life for something else... someday. Introspectively, she understood that she was just one specimen among billions of insects.



We're not alone in our desolation. The metaphysical skin chafes with the development of our perspective. Someday everyone will understand each other a little better and we'll know that our lives aren't as hard as they make it out to be. Someday you'll come to know what it's like to be a truly intimate human being without experiencing sexual contact. When that occurs we'll be in concurrence that life is worth living. People are worth your time, just as much as you're worth theirs. It will become so clear, that no matter how difficult your life was prior to that day, you'll experience inscrutable euphoria. Every day has a purpose. Every breath is delicious. Every life is beautiful. Please take solace in understanding that no matter how difficult things get for you, you will always be incalculably worthy of my time.

I'm late for my painting class to say:

I'M FUCKING GOING TO SEE DALLAS GREEN ON MARCH 22.

I got the last ticket. I still don't know what time it starts or even what DAY the 22nd is. Fuckfuckfuck. Sorry, I'm literally shaking right now. I should go paint a shaky picture. I'm sorry I'm gloating, I just love this guy to death.

Update: Apparently the bartender lied. Heh. John bought tickets for his friend today after I procured mine. Either way, I'd recommend you go check if there're any remaining tickets so we can swoon to Mr. Green together.

Altered Preception

Alternate title: Ew Marriage.

So I just learned in sociology that unmarried women, in comparison to married women, live longer and have significantly lower stress levels. My desire to someday get married and have children has suddenly lessened. Maybe I should just strive for a good job and then live a life like one of those sexually adventurous women on sex in the city. That way I'd get my sexual needs satisfied without having the endure the vindictive life of a married women doing double time at work and at home. SDfklewk. See, I'd like to have a relationship with a guy where we can share the housework without conflict. But, considering the social lag surrounding that social situation, it seems unlikely. I'm not a raging feminist. It's simply that my outlook on married life has become distorted from the lecture I received in sociology just moments ago.

Maybe someday I'll meet someone who'll change that all for me. But for now, I think I won't view married life in such a wistful manner as I have prior to today. MMM PEANUTBUTTERSAMMICH.

Uncannily Burlesque

Corporate 'Relationship'

A flushed hand will win the advantage that may very well extend into the negotiation. I'm so glad to have met you and drunk the liquid of your opportunistic mind, so that you may participate in this company. I've invested a lot of prodigal time and effort into the firm, don't worry my dear friend, I promise I'm not too arduous to while away the designated hours with. We'll pick out the important stars on the charts, denote the wistful product of specific calculations, and deliver such a duel presentation as will fluster our joint businesses with combined delight and envy.

Our substantial report will touch on the appropriate bases. We will avoid over-generalizing because that could jeopardize our temporary assignment. We will also avoid over-analyzing otherwise our overall performance will greatly suffer. The people on our firm will become familiarized with our provisional intent, but how that unfolds will depend entirely on how successful we are at completing the assignment together. So you and I have to make sure we've both gone through the same books, read the same chapters and it is absolutely essential that we remain on the same page.

Obstacles will include rivalry firms, possibly even fellow associates, and we will most definitely come into conflict with each other on certain points. But we can maintain our status quo if we take each other’s perspectives into consideration. Risks are also a necessity of the task, so be prepared for a couple unexpected assignments out of town. If you're ready to tackle all of these challenging components of the job, I know we'll make a formidable campaign. If our association with one another proves compatible for the task at hand, be assured that it will benefit the company in a major way and we'll both be satisfied with the arrangement.

We've come a long way, little sparrow.

Delaying work on my essay, I decided to click through old entries. Holy crapsicles, I've written a ton and a half since September 2004! It started to slow down around September this year when my life ended because of university (heh) but otherwise... yikes. I've written a lot since Llama Drama began. And to think last night I almost decided to stop writing in here for good. Here is some older (but still decent) material:

Perpetuate Personality, Little Raisin Orange, Wistful Thinking, You're All I Require, January 18, 3:20am, Resurrecting the Dead, Hah, Encouraging Smell.

Romanticizing a Memory

A year ago, it feels like forever ago, she stood in a dimly lit room brimming with admirably dressed peers. A cold plastic cup was clasped in her thin hand, a hat shadowed her intimate smile, and a couple band-aids on her shin covered the nicks from her razor. A smattering of friends haphazardly encircled. Casual discussion silted from their fresh mouths. Everyone was beautiful. The room was warm from the many breathing, young-faced bodies. Someone passed by, beautiful and fresh like the rest. 'You owe me a dance'. His brazen voice stood out amongst the rest, despite its low-key tone. He had come with someone. But the girl he addressed was alone and dwelled in the subtle glow of her companions. Her face became warm like the room as he passed by and her intimate smile remained... but the hat concealed it all.

Excuse the Intrusion

The cologne of sun-hot leaves
I occupy an abhorred state of mind
But between the boys and the border
I enjoy the stilling quality of this find
The cologne of sun-hot leaves

Caution Joe Stapler.

Sometimes I want to drink myself stupid. When that happens I always end up with a pint of tea. Somehow or other, I always manage to achieve my initial aim.

I'm debating whether to pursue a management position in a staple factory or gain my bachelor's in illustration. I'm torn. Either way I'll gain admiration from my peers and prestige amongst my coworkers/clients. In both situations, someday I'll eventually be shot in the foot too but that’s the fun of participating in such precarious careers.

My ambition is infinite. Those staple bitches won't know what hit them.

Ode to the Dreamers (like me)

Impassioned bleary-eyed quintessence
Equilibrium of serendipitous chaos;
To the pelting clouds a pale hand is thrust
In an instant everything is decided.
(This savage gale pulls me overboard
The waves consume my meager form
[I am not afraid anymore]).
Ensuing calamity obscures everything
I'm not drowning I'm dancing!

'We are one to no one but ourselves'
Minute interception from the briny waters
Briny caps that clasp my chilly hand
They produce a roar, roaring, roaring
{Suddenly nothing}
A trench of wily water folds over my toes
A steadfast w[r]ench drags me undertow
Bittersweet burning–oh ecstatic longing!
I'm not drowning I'm dancing!

Puckered bubbles wobble before me
Equilibrium of (silent) serendipitous chaos
Clarity unfolds a yawning precipice --
A luminescent lover laments, poised grievously:
This blemished statue of sallow-purple coral.

I'm not afraid of the torrential waves,
Despite their malevolence
Those writhing sheets of sunlight,
Violently silent they shake their dissipating fists.
For all the disgraceful welts they cast upon me
I fear I dearly love them...

For nothing else could catch me by the hand,
Take my breath away send me
Into inconceivably supple pirouettes
'We are one to no one but ourselves'
The unspoken sentence chases my silence
Bleary-eyed quintessence salutes my failing sway
Between the corroded iron and a couple cuttlefish
The epic dance appropriately ends
Erupting with disturbed sand and cold flesh.

I embody art.

I did this pen-sketch tonight. I'm not happy with it. Except I kind of like the hands. The concept is beating a dead horse, but eh. The fact of the matter is... I live for art. This is also a remarkable event, m'dears. 'Know why? This is the first picture I've done to completion since September that isn't school related. That's right. This has nothing to do with my painting or drawing class. :)

Mehooooo.

Shameless cat propaganda. What can I say... I LOVE KITTIES.

Any day now people are going to stop checking my blog because it's filling up with inane crap. Hah! Don't worry. I'm not lost. 'Just disoriented in a place I'm not familiar with.