Monday, March 31, 2014
mission
it was supposed to be simple.
i carry the brief case down to the intersection of Gloria and Roanoke. at the corner Green will take the case. or rather i never had a case, no cases exist and there are no missels ready to launch in Washington D.C.
Green is green in every sense of the word. new agent trips and fumbles on the cross walk. we carefully do not see each other, but he takes the case smoothly, i can feel his sweaty hand brush mine.
and it is done he walks to his future, and i walk to mine. maybe the next time we don't meet Green will be more poise. not all missions can be perfect, but i can tell this is as close as one can get.
The Brief Case that does not exist is not flying. and it is not shooting lasers at people on the street. the US does not have that kind of technology. nor are we developing that kind of technology the Brief Case must be compremised by some sort of super powered hacker, the Case was made, not that we made a Case, to be un hackable. some one on the project must have leaked. not hat there was a project.
a car is on fire. not caused by any kind of Case. and Green is there in the middle of the street holding some thing. what is he doing? Has he forgotten his training? why is his gun not out? is he the leak? Will i have to take him out ?
a lazer shatters bricks from a wall beside me, a lazer that does not exist, from a brief case that does not exist that is supposed to belong to a man i have never seen before. and a woman screams. and i call out because they are sure to be listening, "Johnson on the Tango mission we have a problem"
Friday, March 28, 2014
sky
blegh
bleghhh
so empty.
so perfect.
navy fade to gold, and outlines the world with black
softer cooler more magic
the twilight hour
shadows are long, people become high contrast charters
and it holds opportunity
go home or say out
we have all night
if i could paint my house any colors i wanted it would be this.
dark dark navy at the front door.
down the long hall way it gets warmer,
lovely soft blue where i lose my coat
pale blue white steals my shoes.
warm brassy golden yellow around my bedroom
where i can lie and wait
to be born in reverse.
sad
the moon has been eaten away to nothing
no stars to keep me company.
the sun leaves me for another
not a single cloud to keep me warm
making my world dark uneasy black
false stars and moons shine from peoples hearts and homes
linear and fake
keeping the world's trubbles at bay
bleghhh
so empty.
so perfect.
navy fade to gold, and outlines the world with black
softer cooler more magic
the twilight hour
shadows are long, people become high contrast charters
and it holds opportunity
go home or say out
we have all night
if i could paint my house any colors i wanted it would be this.
dark dark navy at the front door.
down the long hall way it gets warmer,
lovely soft blue where i lose my coat
pale blue white steals my shoes.
warm brassy golden yellow around my bedroom
where i can lie and wait
to be born in reverse.
sad
the moon has been eaten away to nothing
no stars to keep me company.
the sun leaves me for another
not a single cloud to keep me warm
making my world dark uneasy black
false stars and moons shine from peoples hearts and homes
linear and fake
keeping the world's trubbles at bay
Wednesday, March 26, 2014
foodie 2.go
lovely deep maroon, with pops and punches of high contrast color: orange, yellow,green,and white.
sangria. tastes like it sounds thick and spicy, with tart citrus Finish. a summer drink, but we make it in the winter. hot tea steaming up the kitchen, boiling with cinnamon sticks and piles of sugar, steeped to blackness. in the largest pitcher you own pour in orange juice and the bitterest pomegranate juice you can stand. use the kind grandpa drank, so dark red it is purple, thick enough to stick to the faceted sides of the glass bottle. the tea should be cool, pour it in. watch the blackness mix with the maroon, bitter and sweet mixing together, stir as necessary.
now the fruit.
Christmas oranges from grandmas snowbird flight to California, supposedly from uncle bill's tree. you wouldn't know you never met him, but his oranges are are sweet and thin skinned, and are larger than you can wrap my hands round, and smell like child hood Christmas.
or you could buy some from the store.
three will do nicely. while you are there pick up some lemons, apples, and limes: a perfect blend of simulated summer.
wash the fruit, because your uncle told you when you where 9 that apples are kept shiny with floor polish and you have been paranoid ever sense. take out a bread knife and start cutting the fruit. the knife will work great on the citrus, gripping and cutting through the spongy skin, keeping your fingers safe from cuts filled with acid. the apple will need a paring knife, and cutting it in to cubes rather than rounds so you can fit more in your glass because that is your favorite part.
dump the fruit into the pitcher, and leave it for like two days. it will be so good. don't eat the pieces of fruit don't don't don't don't ok maybe some pieces you are going to throw them out any way. may as well eat them.
for the part pour in a whole liter of sparkling water. all of it because your aunt thinks it is too strong and mix hers with half a cup of water any way. have nice fruit out in a bowl or a plate over ice. take out the old fruit it is gross looking and stained red, but it is delicious. hide some to eat alone in the garage when the fire is too hot and the house is too crowded and everyone is asking what classes you are taking? do you have a boyfriend yet? are you still drawing?
take your finished glass of nectar and try to mingle, bathe yourself in the sweet smell and crunchy fruit and warmth of the house and in that glass there is the holidays
sangria. tastes like it sounds thick and spicy, with tart citrus Finish. a summer drink, but we make it in the winter. hot tea steaming up the kitchen, boiling with cinnamon sticks and piles of sugar, steeped to blackness. in the largest pitcher you own pour in orange juice and the bitterest pomegranate juice you can stand. use the kind grandpa drank, so dark red it is purple, thick enough to stick to the faceted sides of the glass bottle. the tea should be cool, pour it in. watch the blackness mix with the maroon, bitter and sweet mixing together, stir as necessary.
now the fruit.
Christmas oranges from grandmas snowbird flight to California, supposedly from uncle bill's tree. you wouldn't know you never met him, but his oranges are are sweet and thin skinned, and are larger than you can wrap my hands round, and smell like child hood Christmas.
or you could buy some from the store.
three will do nicely. while you are there pick up some lemons, apples, and limes: a perfect blend of simulated summer.
wash the fruit, because your uncle told you when you where 9 that apples are kept shiny with floor polish and you have been paranoid ever sense. take out a bread knife and start cutting the fruit. the knife will work great on the citrus, gripping and cutting through the spongy skin, keeping your fingers safe from cuts filled with acid. the apple will need a paring knife, and cutting it in to cubes rather than rounds so you can fit more in your glass because that is your favorite part.
dump the fruit into the pitcher, and leave it for like two days. it will be so good. don't eat the pieces of fruit don't don't don't don't ok maybe some pieces you are going to throw them out any way. may as well eat them.
for the part pour in a whole liter of sparkling water. all of it because your aunt thinks it is too strong and mix hers with half a cup of water any way. have nice fruit out in a bowl or a plate over ice. take out the old fruit it is gross looking and stained red, but it is delicious. hide some to eat alone in the garage when the fire is too hot and the house is too crowded and everyone is asking what classes you are taking? do you have a boyfriend yet? are you still drawing?
take your finished glass of nectar and try to mingle, bathe yourself in the sweet smell and crunchy fruit and warmth of the house and in that glass there is the holidays
foodie
virgin sangria
sangria
tea bags, and my largest pot.
rough cracking cinnamon
all set to boil
my largest pincher.
Orange juice, grandpa's bitter pomegranate juice
of sugar.
round cuts of oranges, cut with a bread knife to keep my finger
lemons limes apple
sweet
finished with the bitter tea
served to snack and talk and drink
on a hot summer night i just want a drink
lovely deep maroon, with pops and punches of high contrast color: orange, yellow,green,and white.
sangria. tastes like it sounds thick and spicy, with tart citrus Finish. a summer drink, but we make it in the winter. hot tea steaming up the kitchen, boiling with cinnamon sticks and piles of sugar, steeped to blackness. in the largest pitcher you own pour in orange juice and the bitterest pomegranate juice you can stand. I use the kind my grandpa drank, so dark red it is purple, thick enough to stick to the faceted sides of the glass bottle. the tea should be cool, pour it in. watch the blackness mix with the maroon, bitter and sweet mixing together, stir as necessary.
now the fruit.
Christmas oranges from grandmas snowbird flight to California, supposedly from uncle bill's tree. i wouldn't know i never met him, but his oranges are are sweet and thin skinned, and are larger than i can wrap my hands round, and smell like child hood Christmas. or you could buy some from the store. three will do nicely. while you are there pick up some lemons, apples, and limes too a perfect blend of simulated summer.
wash the fruit, because your uncle told you when you where 9 that apples are kept shiny with floor polish. take out a bread knife and start cutting the fruit. the knife will work great on the citrus, gripping and cutting through the spongy skin, keeping your fingers safe from cuts filled with acid. the apple will need a paring knife, and cutting it in to cubes rather than rounds so you can fit more in your glass because that is your favorite part.
dump the fruit into the pitcher, and leave it for like two days. it will be so good. don't eat the pieces of fruit don't don't don't don't ok maybe some pieces you are going to throw them out any way. may as well eat them.
for the part pour in a whole liter of sparkling water. all of it because your aunt thinks it is too strong and mix hers with half a cup of water any way. have nice fruit out in a bowl or a plate over ice. take out the old fruit it is gross looking and stained red, but it is delicious. hide some to eat alone in the garrage when the fire is too hot and the house is too crowded and everyone is asking what classes you are taking? do you have a boyfriend yet? are you still drawing?
take your finished glass of nectar and try to mingle, bathe yourself in the sweet smell and crunchy fruit and warmth of the house and in that glass there is the holidays
sangria
tea bags, and my largest pot.
rough cracking cinnamon
all set to boil
my largest pincher.
Orange juice, grandpa's bitter pomegranate juice
of sugar.
round cuts of oranges, cut with a bread knife to keep my finger
lemons limes apple
sweet
finished with the bitter tea
served to snack and talk and drink
on a hot summer night i just want a drink
lovely deep maroon, with pops and punches of high contrast color: orange, yellow,green,and white.
sangria. tastes like it sounds thick and spicy, with tart citrus Finish. a summer drink, but we make it in the winter. hot tea steaming up the kitchen, boiling with cinnamon sticks and piles of sugar, steeped to blackness. in the largest pitcher you own pour in orange juice and the bitterest pomegranate juice you can stand. I use the kind my grandpa drank, so dark red it is purple, thick enough to stick to the faceted sides of the glass bottle. the tea should be cool, pour it in. watch the blackness mix with the maroon, bitter and sweet mixing together, stir as necessary.
now the fruit.
Christmas oranges from grandmas snowbird flight to California, supposedly from uncle bill's tree. i wouldn't know i never met him, but his oranges are are sweet and thin skinned, and are larger than i can wrap my hands round, and smell like child hood Christmas. or you could buy some from the store. three will do nicely. while you are there pick up some lemons, apples, and limes too a perfect blend of simulated summer.
wash the fruit, because your uncle told you when you where 9 that apples are kept shiny with floor polish. take out a bread knife and start cutting the fruit. the knife will work great on the citrus, gripping and cutting through the spongy skin, keeping your fingers safe from cuts filled with acid. the apple will need a paring knife, and cutting it in to cubes rather than rounds so you can fit more in your glass because that is your favorite part.
dump the fruit into the pitcher, and leave it for like two days. it will be so good. don't eat the pieces of fruit don't don't don't don't ok maybe some pieces you are going to throw them out any way. may as well eat them.
for the part pour in a whole liter of sparkling water. all of it because your aunt thinks it is too strong and mix hers with half a cup of water any way. have nice fruit out in a bowl or a plate over ice. take out the old fruit it is gross looking and stained red, but it is delicious. hide some to eat alone in the garrage when the fire is too hot and the house is too crowded and everyone is asking what classes you are taking? do you have a boyfriend yet? are you still drawing?
take your finished glass of nectar and try to mingle, bathe yourself in the sweet smell and crunchy fruit and warmth of the house and in that glass there is the holidays
Tuesday, March 25, 2014
very seriousssss screen play
Bannibal
the message of the play is the effects of genetic engineered fruit based on the real tragedy of the “banana genocide” of breeding a banana with smaller, making contemporary bananas sterile with no seeds. The effects and build up of genetic modified potassium start to mutate the people making them zombies.
consant background music of a choir singing
“ bananana do do doodo do
banananana do do do do...”’
exterior: whorganic market open air, cuban market Bright colors butiful seniorita
dirty farmer selling “new seedless bananas” sick and yellow around the eyes locals avoid wery of pladipi. tourists flock around the ramshakel stand
FARMER: banananas for sale, come get your banananans ! (with force)
TURist 1: are these organic?
TURISDHJS: are they really seedless?
TURist 1: have they been genetically engineered?
the message of the play is the effects of genetic engineered fruit based on the real tragedy of the “banana genocide” of breeding a banana with smaller, making contemporary bananas sterile with no seeds. The effects and build up of genetic modified potassium start to mutate the people making them zombies.
consant background music of a choir singing
“ bananana do do doodo do
banananana do do do do...”’
exterior: whorganic market open air, cuban market Bright colors butiful seniorita
dirty farmer selling “new seedless bananas” sick and yellow around the eyes locals avoid wery of pladipi. tourists flock around the ramshakel stand
FARMER: banananas for sale, come get your banananans ! (with force)
TURist 1: are these organic?
TURISDHJS: are they really seedless?
TURist 1: have they been genetically engineered?
Monday, March 24, 2014
the toddler was angry
warped red face hiccoping and crying
oh no. a gasp for air and a sniffle. the quiet before the storm. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
wailing and dramatically throwing them selves to the floor. a Oscar wining performance . drool is getting in the carpet, and feet are punishing the rug, sticky hands and face getting redder and covered with lint. try not to pay attention. a peak between fingers, and then she stands, runs so i can see her through the door way, and throws her self at the ground,"I WANT THE PINK CUP"
THIS IS A TRAP
she is blond.
she is as blond as the sun is dull
she is blond to find a man like the tv promised her
blond because princesses dont have brown hair.
she is blond, brassy bright, honey almond 035.
she is blond to fit in.
blond to hide her fear.
blond so she can be brave
blond so she can hide pctures of the chubby buenette stranger
blond like marilyn
blond one small step in hiding who she was
sangria
tea bags, and my largest pot.
rough cracking cinnamon
all set to boil
my largest picher.
orage juice, grandpa's bitter pomagrate juice
a moutan of sugar.
round cuts of oranges, cut with a bread knife to keep my finger
lemons limes apple
sweet
finnished with the bitter tea
served to snack and talk and drink
on a hot summer night i just want a drink
oh no. a gasp for air and a sniffle. the quiet before the storm. aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
wailing and dramatically throwing them selves to the floor. a Oscar wining performance . drool is getting in the carpet, and feet are punishing the rug, sticky hands and face getting redder and covered with lint. try not to pay attention. a peak between fingers, and then she stands, runs so i can see her through the door way, and throws her self at the ground,"I WANT THE PINK CUP"
THIS IS A TRAP
she is blond.
she is as blond as the sun is dull
she is blond to find a man like the tv promised her
blond because princesses dont have brown hair.
she is blond, brassy bright, honey almond 035.
she is blond to fit in.
blond to hide her fear.
blond so she can be brave
blond so she can hide pctures of the chubby buenette stranger
blond like marilyn
blond one small step in hiding who she was
sangria
tea bags, and my largest pot.
rough cracking cinnamon
all set to boil
my largest picher.
orage juice, grandpa's bitter pomagrate juice
a moutan of sugar.
round cuts of oranges, cut with a bread knife to keep my finger
lemons limes apple
sweet
finnished with the bitter tea
served to snack and talk and drink
on a hot summer night i just want a drink
i will never do that agian
i will never do that agian
design shoes
take a forien lauage class
ask out a boy
get my nose swabed
chug vodka
jump down stairs
eat carrot cake
sit on a cactus
wear kneepads while roller bladeing
roller blade
ride a razor scooter
write a play about bananas
dye eggs
eat pork chops
eat at mc donalds
go to a corn maze at the middle of the night
go in the arch
hope fully never put my self down
hurt my self
yell at my mom
be late to school
work at michales
work frait trucks
make a backpack out of paper
use a lave
fall and roll my ankle
juge someone on their hobbies
hold a grudge
think i cant
eat corn beef and cabbage
cook potato soup
cry when i get locked out of the house
sleep outside
drive with my dad in the car
get lost in the woods
step on a bee hive
be 17
talk to dainel croxton
see my aunt
meet my grandpa
design shoes
take a forien lauage class
ask out a boy
get my nose swabed
chug vodka
jump down stairs
eat carrot cake
sit on a cactus
wear kneepads while roller bladeing
roller blade
ride a razor scooter
write a play about bananas
dye eggs
eat pork chops
eat at mc donalds
go to a corn maze at the middle of the night
go in the arch
hope fully never put my self down
hurt my self
yell at my mom
be late to school
work at michales
work frait trucks
make a backpack out of paper
use a lave
fall and roll my ankle
juge someone on their hobbies
hold a grudge
think i cant
eat corn beef and cabbage
cook potato soup
cry when i get locked out of the house
sleep outside
drive with my dad in the car
get lost in the woods
step on a bee hive
be 17
talk to dainel croxton
see my aunt
meet my grandpa
humanties
Bannibal
the message of the play is the effects of genetic engineered fruit based on the real tragedy of the “banana genocide” of breeding a banana with smaller, making contemporary bananas sterile with no seeds. The effects and build up of genetic modified potassium start to mutate the people making them zombies.
the message of the play is the effects of genetic engineered fruit based on the real tragedy of the “banana genocide” of breeding a banana with smaller, making contemporary bananas sterile with no seeds. The effects and build up of genetic modified potassium start to mutate the people making them zombies.
Wednesday, March 19, 2014
dream home story
i want to be in a place where the shady trees play in the silver breeze. wind curing around the house. wind chime clapping a song.
where the summer heat drys and cracks the soil to dust catching on your feet when you stomp trough it.but in the shade, dampness.moss fluffy earthy on top of wet cold clay,lily of the valley here in the shade, so sweet it makes you sick.a garden off accomplishment.
every morning i wake up to blue skies. pull myself from my warm bed, plush soft so soft giving but firm. smells like me, and smells like her. he bed is pallets rough holding the mattress, smooth for the headboard porous cinder blocks holding it up, denim quilt thrown across the bed worn and warm.
i drag my self out of bed across uneven bumpy floor toes drag across the smooth but uneven ground...cold.
my hands drag along the wall on the walk down the stairs. cold wall, warm glass windows smooth, but my finger catches on it all the way down. creaking steps bolted to the wall defying gravity. at the bottom cool cement.
the shower runs to warm the water, sharp sound of a faucet on in the other wise silent house. water scorching on one side frigid on the other,steam a blessing to skin striped of warm pajamas, filling the stall with the smell of lavender soap,lemon perfume, and hair dye.
through the floor walls and halls, she gets up and the bed creeks. short flight down the stairs and hard blows of bass in the radio fill the house.
hey you with the pretty face welcome to the human race
when i pick the brush and the paste from their pegs on the bright orange board i can hear the cry of a running machine getting beaten with full foot falls. a wonderful morning. all mine.
where the summer heat drys and cracks the soil to dust catching on your feet when you stomp trough it.but in the shade, dampness.moss fluffy earthy on top of wet cold clay,lily of the valley here in the shade, so sweet it makes you sick.a garden off accomplishment.
every morning i wake up to blue skies. pull myself from my warm bed, plush soft so soft giving but firm. smells like me, and smells like her. he bed is pallets rough holding the mattress, smooth for the headboard porous cinder blocks holding it up, denim quilt thrown across the bed worn and warm.
i drag my self out of bed across uneven bumpy floor toes drag across the smooth but uneven ground...cold.
my hands drag along the wall on the walk down the stairs. cold wall, warm glass windows smooth, but my finger catches on it all the way down. creaking steps bolted to the wall defying gravity. at the bottom cool cement.
the shower runs to warm the water, sharp sound of a faucet on in the other wise silent house. water scorching on one side frigid on the other,steam a blessing to skin striped of warm pajamas, filling the stall with the smell of lavender soap,lemon perfume, and hair dye.
through the floor walls and halls, she gets up and the bed creeks. short flight down the stairs and hard blows of bass in the radio fill the house.
hey you with the pretty face welcome to the human race
when i pick the brush and the paste from their pegs on the bright orange board i can hear the cry of a running machine getting beaten with full foot falls. a wonderful morning. all mine.
Monday, March 17, 2014
dream home
neon lizards over maroon stripped with pink orange and blue
2 are real one looks stiff
the still one is green with pink and red spots it barely curves around the circle
a striped lizard faces him it has 6 stripes covering it's body, running from nose to tail
it curves around with tilted head and curved til
the last lizard is mostly yellow with blue stripes up it's spine and legs scalloped like lace
he faces the tail of the fake lizard and sits tail to tail with the striped lizard
it's til loops around in a perfect o
in the center of the circle of lizards a feather sits that looks like clouds
i want to be in a place where the shady trees play in the silver breeze
cool in the summer heat
where the summer heat drys and cracks the soil to dust catiching on your feet when you stom trough it
but in the shade, dampness
moss fluffy earthy on top of wet cold clay
taking the heat from my body
sweet flowers fill the air
lily of the vally here in the shade
so sweet it makes you sick
sage and lavender more rough spicy secrect.
i want to walk through that door
and feel the cool concret
and climb the rough stairs
and taste the eletricity and feel the thrum
and fall into my soft bed
smells like me
smells like her
and have it be mine
sight
denim quilt thrown across the bed worn and warm
the bed is pallets rough holding the mattress, smooth for the headboard porous cinder blocks holding it up
plywood floor finished smooth
low walls leading to sloping round celling small skylights letting in hot sun with prism catching and making rainbows
smell
lemon perfume dry dust sodder
wood furnish dirt
rubber cork oil bread
lavender soap cooked carrots
balsamic vinegar concrete
cedar wood musty damp shower
warm skin paint chalk
steel
hot plastic silicone lumber
old furniture
hair dye
taste
dry bitter shocking
musty and biller like old moldy bread with Windex Finnish
dry salty
chemical with nutty taste
sweet carrot cooked in red wine-earthy sweet and bitter
the disappointment and failure taste of soap
feel
plush soft so soft giving but firm
rough splintering why did i not sand this
uneven bumpiny toes drag across the smooth but uneven ground...cold
warm glass windows smooth, but my finger catches on it all the way down
round rubber coated cables nice to roll between fingers, but will give rubber burn if yanked out
sound
wind curing around the house
dull buzz of electricity in the walls
wind chime throbbing outside
hard bows of bass in the radio
sharp sound of a faucet on
gowns from the floor the flex of furniture
cry of a running machine getting beaten with full foot falls
emotional
mine
finaly free to be me
hopes and dreams
who i want to be
what i want
saftey
the feeling of being wanted
of wanting my self the freedom to make myself
to not be a burden
easy
so easy doing what i love
bulding what i like
a garden off acomplisment
all mine
made by me
to be me
story
every morning i wake up to blue skies. pull myself from my warm bed and walk all the way down the creeking steps bulted to the wall defying gravity. the shower runns to warm the water, warm pajamas giving away to cold air. water scorching on one side frigid on the other, blance never quite found.
hey you with the pretty face welcome to the human race
brush your teeth. pick the bruch and the paste from their peggs on the bright orange board
minty.
2 are real one looks stiff
the still one is green with pink and red spots it barely curves around the circle
a striped lizard faces him it has 6 stripes covering it's body, running from nose to tail
it curves around with tilted head and curved til
the last lizard is mostly yellow with blue stripes up it's spine and legs scalloped like lace
he faces the tail of the fake lizard and sits tail to tail with the striped lizard
it's til loops around in a perfect o
in the center of the circle of lizards a feather sits that looks like clouds
i want to be in a place where the shady trees play in the silver breeze
cool in the summer heat
where the summer heat drys and cracks the soil to dust catiching on your feet when you stom trough it
but in the shade, dampness
moss fluffy earthy on top of wet cold clay
taking the heat from my body
sweet flowers fill the air
lily of the vally here in the shade
so sweet it makes you sick
sage and lavender more rough spicy secrect.
i want to walk through that door
and feel the cool concret
and climb the rough stairs
and taste the eletricity and feel the thrum
and fall into my soft bed
smells like me
smells like her
and have it be mine
sight
denim quilt thrown across the bed worn and warm
the bed is pallets rough holding the mattress, smooth for the headboard porous cinder blocks holding it up
plywood floor finished smooth
low walls leading to sloping round celling small skylights letting in hot sun with prism catching and making rainbows
smell
lemon perfume dry dust sodder
wood furnish dirt
rubber cork oil bread
lavender soap cooked carrots
balsamic vinegar concrete
cedar wood musty damp shower
warm skin paint chalk
steel
hot plastic silicone lumber
old furniture
hair dye
taste
dry bitter shocking
musty and biller like old moldy bread with Windex Finnish
dry salty
chemical with nutty taste
sweet carrot cooked in red wine-earthy sweet and bitter
the disappointment and failure taste of soap
feel
plush soft so soft giving but firm
rough splintering why did i not sand this
uneven bumpiny toes drag across the smooth but uneven ground...cold
warm glass windows smooth, but my finger catches on it all the way down
round rubber coated cables nice to roll between fingers, but will give rubber burn if yanked out
sound
wind curing around the house
dull buzz of electricity in the walls
wind chime throbbing outside
hard bows of bass in the radio
sharp sound of a faucet on
gowns from the floor the flex of furniture
cry of a running machine getting beaten with full foot falls
emotional
mine
finaly free to be me
hopes and dreams
who i want to be
what i want
saftey
the feeling of being wanted
of wanting my self the freedom to make myself
to not be a burden
easy
so easy doing what i love
bulding what i like
a garden off acomplisment
all mine
made by me
to be me
story
every morning i wake up to blue skies. pull myself from my warm bed and walk all the way down the creeking steps bulted to the wall defying gravity. the shower runns to warm the water, warm pajamas giving away to cold air. water scorching on one side frigid on the other, blance never quite found.
hey you with the pretty face welcome to the human race
brush your teeth. pick the bruch and the paste from their peggs on the bright orange board
minty.
Friday, March 7, 2014
thing i did for humanities
thing i did for humanities "soundtrack of my life" maybe handy for comp class?
now with ~* links*~
a Mr blue Sky- ELO ( my phone alarm every morning)
b ON N’ ON- Justice ( memories of my senior year)
c Saturday-Elton Jhon ( first song i could not stop listening to )
d Betty Davis Eyes- Kim Carnes ( memories of cooking with my mom)
e DAYLIGHT- Matt and Kim ( memories of listening with my best friend)
f Digital Love- Daft Punk(going ice skating)
g Just to See You Smile- Tim McGraw( my 13th birthday)
some of my music is a little old, but good music is timeless. also my dad have a big influence on what kind of music i like, i stole all his old albums. Electric Light Orchestra, Elton Jhon and Tim McGraw are from him, Kim Carnes is from my mom. but i think a lot of people are like that, some music you get from people around you and some music you find for your self. and i think that is what every generations music is about finding songs that have little bitts of you in them. bits of heartbreak, bits of a night out, bits of who you want to be, and bits of who you were.
the paragraph part is 100% bullshit but that is what happens when the prompt is bullshit
my hells and heavens free
jfjfjfjfjfjfjfjfjf
10min
uhh
my heaven this week is the bath. and my dootles. i have not wanted to draw in so long but i took time to do that and i am so proud. i painted this week, during the snow. i had a 4 day weekend and i paninted
my hell is i am not as good as i was. i spent to long doing nothing.
i forgot assignments over the break, now my grades will suffer.
friday is my heaven. next week is free. i can paint and do nothing. or do more
my garden is starting to sprout, but i want to clear out another box for the plants
and i want to work on my boots
and music.
my hell is procrastination so much time to put things off.
i only have to do 2 things for school and i bet ill be doing them sunday.
my heven is food i cooked what i like on monday. and bought apple juice just for me. and tea that i like.
10min
uhh
my heaven this week is the bath. and my dootles. i have not wanted to draw in so long but i took time to do that and i am so proud. i painted this week, during the snow. i had a 4 day weekend and i paninted
my hell is i am not as good as i was. i spent to long doing nothing.
i forgot assignments over the break, now my grades will suffer.
friday is my heaven. next week is free. i can paint and do nothing. or do more
my garden is starting to sprout, but i want to clear out another box for the plants
and i want to work on my boots
and music.
my hell is procrastination so much time to put things off.
i only have to do 2 things for school and i bet ill be doing them sunday.
my heven is food i cooked what i like on monday. and bought apple juice just for me. and tea that i like.
clean copy of words
Abulia
wisky
bitter, defined, cultured
liquid, but it is not moist
a fantastic high velocity burn all the way down
he loves it,
I hate it.
"it is delicious!"
"dont you want any?"
facetious question
he knows my answer
him drinking, smoking, laid back
embodying the epic image of a man
i facetiously live through him
if there were no cost i would be like him
accepted,honored, savvy, free
the image is spontaneously shattered
begging for fudge and tacos once he is drunk
embodying the epic image of a child
rigging up toys from gadgets and empty glases
such a waste,
such a fucking waste.
in my constant confusion of who i am
he can effortlessly become
but he is not the type of man i want to be
if i could be a man at all.
wisky
bitter, defined, cultured
liquid, but it is not moist
a fantastic high velocity burn all the way down
he loves it,
I hate it.
"it is delicious!"
"dont you want any?"
facetious question
he knows my answer
him drinking, smoking, laid back
embodying the epic image of a man
i facetiously live through him
if there were no cost i would be like him
accepted,honored, savvy, free
the image is spontaneously shattered
begging for fudge and tacos once he is drunk
embodying the epic image of a child
rigging up toys from gadgets and empty glases
such a waste,
such a fucking waste.
in my constant confusion of who i am
he can effortlessly become
but he is not the type of man i want to be
if i could be a man at all.
Wednesday, March 5, 2014
favorite words
wisky, acceptable, cultured. honor. gadget.
moist/ fudge/ fun/ poop/free/
tacos/ fuck daphqu fantasti/c epic/
velocity/ spontaneous/ facetious/ vicarious/ delicious/
abulia/ savvy. embody. rig, cardiac
Abulia
wisky
bitter, defined, cultured
liquid, but it is not moist.
a fantastic high velocity burn all the way down
he loves it,
I hate it.
"it is delicious!"
"dont you want any?"
a facetious question
he knows my answer
him drinking, smoking, laid back
embodying the epic image of a man
i facetiously live through him
if there were no cost i would be like him
accepted,honored, savvy, free
the image is spontaneously shattered
begging for fudge and tacos once he is drunk
embodying the epic image of a child
rigging up toys from gadgets and empty glases
such a waste,
such a fucking waste.
in my constant confusion of who i am
he can effortlessly become
but he is not the type of man i want to be
if i could be a man at all.
moist/ fudge/ fun/ poop/free/
tacos/ fuck daphqu fantasti/c epic/
velocity/ spontaneous/ facetious/ vicarious/ delicious/
abulia/ savvy. embody. rig, cardiac
Abulia
wisky
bitter, defined, cultured
liquid, but it is not moist.
a fantastic high velocity burn all the way down
he loves it,
I hate it.
"it is delicious!"
"dont you want any?"
a facetious question
he knows my answer
him drinking, smoking, laid back
embodying the epic image of a man
i facetiously live through him
if there were no cost i would be like him
accepted,honored, savvy, free
the image is spontaneously shattered
begging for fudge and tacos once he is drunk
embodying the epic image of a child
rigging up toys from gadgets and empty glases
such a waste,
such a fucking waste.
in my constant confusion of who i am
he can effortlessly become
but he is not the type of man i want to be
if i could be a man at all.
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