egg salad stains

bathroom_irony @ 2006-05-09T17:13:00

2006-05-10T01:18:42Z

i think that if you spoke out loud
and told me all of the things on your mind
you'd realize that honesty is what makes you not okay,
and that
that is so okay.

bathroom_irony @ 2006-04-27T04:08:00

2006-04-27T08:27:35Z

love is largely differences when you think about.
there is so much beauty in that
that people overlook. and life is difficult
no matter how you try to perceive it, how you try
to swallow it. we are all longing for this never-ending
happiness. i do not mean that in the philosophical sense.
i mean it realistically.
we put these notions in our head that all we can be
and all we should be is 'happy' and that's not real.
when you are able to admit that life is hard
and it always has been, you just never let yourself believe it,
you will find all that's good in the world.
that's when things are beautiful.
or maybe that's just me.

there's an honesty about being real and admitting your flaws
and your flaws with a person, their flaws. there is something intriguing
about disagreement -when two people come together to voice their opinions
and share their distaste, and yell and cry- because in the end, you are
sharing yourself with another. the words and ideas that you feel
and why you think they're wrong. that is not bad.
it is vibrant and moving. why do we run from disagreement? from pain?
from the truth? by living in it, perhaps life is harder than it has to be,
but i'd rather be real, than run from it? and you could say
we'd all be happier if we lived like small children
and abandoned the afternoons too heavy for our shoulders to carry,
but do you want to breath that air? do you want to live knowing you are giving up?
giving in? because you could not face what is.

in confronting it, you gain so much that the fearful never experience.
no wonder life seems so linear
when some cannot open their eyes to see.
your eyes may be open, but that is not sight.

sharing in difference as opposed to indifferences.
and that is where people differ in life.
giving yourself, in any form, even if it is painful...
that is really so wonderful. it is something
we never say thank you for, and i wish we did.

we are so fortunate we can even have difficult lives with disagreements.
we're not numb. we are real feeling people. how could you overlook that?
that the way people release is not because they see life as being too hard
and that they cannot handle it, but their emotions, the ones they wear on their face
or the ones that stream from their eyes, are real. how can you say
that's making it too hard? harder than it is? do you really believe that?

why do we hide in corners and lock our fates into pasts? just because
they were easy and because they were real once.
life has shown itself to all of us
if we can accept it and see it, and hold onto it.
we have to accept that it's hard and that does not mean you can just escape it.
i like to believe there is no such thing as a coward. there are givers
and there are takers.

why would you take it only when you need it? and only when you needed it?
only when it was easy, and why would you overlook there is so much,
so much beauty and goodness and wonder in worth in letting yourself live through the hard?
there is no such thing as normal.
there is all that is.

once you accept who you are, instead of trying to mold yourself to a time,
to a concept you cannot hold, and you will never hold for that matter
because it is time and it will never be your own,
you will live. how can you live this way?

i do see life as being hard, but i think that's because i am realistic. i
was always
so idealistic
and i still am, but i admit i am not good when it's true. and my mouth and my
ears and my eyes reveal it to those who are in my life, stranger or lover,
for i am real to them. is it not better to be real? and who you are?
even if that's a bit much, just because you wanted to be treated
with such reality
and honesty by those you give yourself to?

what are we missing? and how can we tell others to live their lives
when we're missing the beauty that is so clear right in ours?

bathroom_irony @ 2006-04-12T02:16:00

2006-04-12T07:23:37Z

i want everyone in my life to know how much i love them and why i do, and that i do. i want them all to know that just because i do not call, often, does not mean i am overwhelmingly inspired by who they are as people. i want you to know that there are times i am crying, but just because it happens does not mean i do not see the beautiful things about each day and about my life, and about who i am as a person. i have so much love that sometimes it does make me cry. maybe love is something not worth crying over. my parents were here two weekends ago and i was smiling and when they left, it made me so sad to see them go. someone i know asked me "why not be happy you had the time with them that you did?" and i was happy, but i still cried because it was my release. these months have just been release. it's hell. my brother told my mother "i wish i had not enlisted in the marines so i could have been there for anne more. it's my fault we're not as close." and it's not his fault, but i cried when he said that. knowing that another person, my older brother, has enough love for me, that much love for me, to blame himself and cry about the fact that he could not provide for me enough. who has that? and yes, i am fortunate to have that love, to have an individual who would do anything for me simply because there is so much love there. it does make me want to cry because that is a fucking wonderful thing that so many people never get to understand. there is so much love that so many people are missing and i cry because everyday, the world, in part and parts, is not able to experience the love that i feel. maybe it's bad. to cry because of love? but wow. when you see me crying, don't be so quick to think you know why. please don't just sit there and say how could she think about the sad things when there is so much good. as sick as it is, i've gotten the point where to deal with it, to accept all the good of the world, it's reflected upon my face. when i am crying. i think life is so beautiful and instead of going out and just doing it, i dwell on how poorly some people choose to live, and it saddens me that they waste it. i've wasted so much time by being sad. i know. i want to hug everyone i've ever met and thank them for being a part, whether large or minor. the woman who cleans the bathroom on my floor, my gay seminar teacher who held my hand yesterday and smiled at me saying "there are more of us out there," the nurse at the infirmary who made sure i was feeling better by calling me, my english professor who is so kind and laughs at me and makes fun of me and gives me shit for not participating enough and tells me she needs me to show other students more.a boy named albert in my creative writing workshop commented how much he valued my poetry and since then, we've formed a nice relationship where we exchange praise and thought. i am losing my mind right now. i just want everyone to see life for what it's worth and to know that crying is okay and that you should not numb yourselves by taking pills you think can make you happy because in the end, you are not living any sort of life. maybe you are. i just don't want to mask my emotions by being on medication, even if the world thinks i need it. i just want the world to be everything it can be and i'm troubled by how meaningless life is to so many. how can people just wake up and go through motions and grades and alcohol not realizing we have so much to learn from everything and everyone and every fucking breath?

bathroom_irony @ 2006-03-13T11:56:00

2006-03-13T16:58:59Z

Beattyville

Blundered boulder rock I am sitting on somewhere deep
in the cracks of Kentucky
being silent with others twisting their tongues, tattering truths,
scribbling my thoughts down on this natural bridge
above the impoverished land capital
of the universe.

bathroom_irony @ 2006-03-02T21:14:00

2006-03-03T02:19:41Z

i am not incredibly depressed.
but it does really sadden me that nobody really knows who i am.

when reading that, i guess i could say i do not know myself, but that would be a lie, because i do.

i have a lot of questions and i know there are only few who read this, but if any of you can answer, do you feel as if you need to be comfortable in where you are to be happy? or do you need to be comfortable in who you are to then be comfortable where you are?

you see. is it the fact that when i am who i know, or who i used to be, that people laugh and say such things like "oh, how unusual you are today," instead of attempting to understand that being that is exactly where i left myself, where i loved myself.

i remember reading something that someone i know wrote. they were proving to others that they were incredibly happy by writing out the apparent facts that people could already read and see. does that mean they actually are happy? i want to ask this person if they are real.

i remember being real. i came here and thought i would just be myself here and grow in the fashion that i had been growing in, i guess, but i realized a lot more of my life is my surroundings. now i can figure these things out on my own if i sit with them long enough, maybe, but i am curious (please) if anyone else reading this has anything to say or any thoughts.

Christ, was I being too harsh?

2006-02-07T19:21:58Z

Before 1949

HISTORY LESSENS ITSELF IN EACH TALE
MIXED WITH NICOTINE AND SALTY, CAFFEINATED AIR.
I KNOW A STORY SO TRUE
IT MAKES THE DREAMS OF CHILDREN WEEP.
MY VEINS ARE THE CITY STREETS,
THE BRUISES FROM THE BOAT THAT TOOK THEM HERE,
THE LINES LEADING TO A PROMISED LAND.
MY STOMACH BARE AND MOTIONLESS,
SHOULDERS HANDS AND FEET,
THESE LIMBS THAT LEAD ME ASTRAY
IN IDLE DAYS SPENT WONDERING
ABOUT A PAST WHICH FED ME LIFE
EACH ARTERY, AN ANCESTOR OF TIME,
A PUZZLE IN THE PIECE,
EACH BONE A LEGION’S LINK TO VICTORY

HIS LEFT ARM USELESS AND BURNING OUT THE WINDOW,
WORN HANDS HAILING MY GRANDFATHER’S CAB BROUGHT MY MOTHER BREAD,
A TROUBLED ROOM, A CONFUSED YOUTH.
IDENTITY MUTED AND MALLEABLE,
HER EYES COULD CHOKE A NECK’S LAST BREATH AND YIELD IT DEAD,
SHORT BOY CHOPPED HAIR BEARING HER SWEET FOREHEAD’S WELCOME,
HER BODY JUST PIECES OF REALITY SEWN TOGETHER FOR AN IDEAL MOMENT.

FATHER’S WORDS ARE SWEEPING YOUNG DANCERS OFF THEIR TIRED FEET
WORN LETTERS, WRITING NOTEBOOK, WORDS OF LOVE,
SHE AND HIM,
THEY FELL INTO SOMETHING SOMEWHERE IN A CATHOLIC CHURCH.

ONE OF FOUR, HIS SISTERS, OLDER, THEY OPPOSED HIS SEX,
A CONVENT DRUG USE ISSUE TO BE KEPT UNDER PEWS,
THE TYPE OF CRUCIFIX-BEARING TATTERED POST-CARD GIRLS,
THEY DRESSED HIM UP IN WOMAN’S CLOTHES.
THE MAN IN HIM, NOT ENOUGH.

HIS FATHER BEAT HIS POLITICS INTO HIS HEAD, WITH HIS BRUTAL HANDS.

MY FATHER’S FATHER BEAT THE LATINO,
THE BLACKS, THE WHITES IN A LAWRENCE PRISON CELL,
THE WIFE IN A LAWRENCE BEDROOM,
WITH HIS BRUTAL HANDS.
A FEAR OF GOD ATE HIS SKIN,
AND SUNDAY AFTERNOONS

THE MAN THAT GAVE ME NOW,
HIS NINTH BEER SCREAMS NOT TO BE FINISHED
EXHALES LOUDLY, REACHING FOR A MOMENT TO BE LOST,
THE COUCH IS DRUNKEN WITH MY FATHER’S BODY,
TOO OLD FOR GOOD USE, TOO YOUNG TO DIE.
MY MOTHER’S TURNING IN THEIR PATCHWORK BED,
WONDERING WHERE HIS LIFE WENT, AND IF HOPE IS DEAD.

THEY WERE FREE,

FROM STORYBOOK BACKGROUNDS, FELL IN LOVE WITH TEAR STRUCK EYES,
THEY WERE THE REVOLUTION
WHICH IS NOW JUST LIFE TO DIE.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-10-09T20:49:00

2005-10-10T00:51:34Z

so college and i are fist-fighting and dying and rolling around and it's not sexual, it's just brutal. the academia is actually the easiest part. i have lovely grades and they are basically my best companions, because i can read them easily and they respond to me in a solid manner, as opposed to some i've been meeting. you know, like people and alcohols and gatherings that aren't parties even though y're incredibly stoned or intoxicated. it seems the good times i have may be because i can't remember or may be they are good, but i am just too confused/so far outside my element to tell right now.
i've enjoyed visiting BU basically more than anything and smoking cigarettes in the lonely, tall, rainy city and feeling like i know myself there because i am inadvertently forced to be on my own and smile at homeless men and wealthy men and children and T stops and receptionists and the time they carry in their feet, but here, there's carbon-filled-copies roaming and in between there's certain kindness that is still so hard to read blurred with kids who mean nothing they say; i don't know where i stand.

i'm learning to be okay on my own and my music is still with me and by me and i just hope this all works out.

for now, here are some photographs.

i hope this works. if not, i will figure it out and try again later.

house of the burning tongue: eternal

2005-09-20T04:09:41Z

hey.

so my first week of college, i saw sufjan stevens play.
in one time span of 7 consecutive days, i saw 4 shows:
-sufjan stevens (read two lines above)
-of montreal
-sigur ros
...cake, but that doesn't count so much. 4 just rolls off yr tongue more easily than 3.

sufjan played somerville theatre over in davis square and played most of illinois with a touch of greetings from MICHIGAN and it was good stuff.
in college, i say good stuff a lot. i am also very tempted to say wicked. finally, i say mad and crazy before other adjectives to mollify my wicked temptation.

of montreal was the sweatiest sex i've ever had. everyone was touching and singing and dancing and it was energy embodied and bottled in human beings in a basement in cambridge. it was the same feeling you get when making out with a 12 yr old in a closet. sure? they played most sunlandic twins and more and wore paint and leaders lacking shirts and just so much dancing and metropolis.

college is frozen yogurt and late night dining halls. and for "the color of the leather handbag is navy, not blue!" conversations.

sigur ros
by far the most beautiful show i have ever been to. auditory sense. visual sense. i was absolutely moved. i mean that in the least pretentious sounding way when using absolutely like that. ah! holy shit. i can't even talk about it. i had the chills and cried because i've never felt anything that moving before within me. individual songs have made me cry before, but i've never cried when seeing a live performance. not even for radiohead two years ago. the boston opera house is so elegant. grandeur. and i sat there feeling so drowned and drunk in the wealth and riches i gained that night.

and cake was playing a free show so i got drunk. ... and went to the show.

there will be some post about college and friends and all that sometime soon. and it will slightly refer to how i don't sleep much, but it's cool and how my mated room girl is awkward and how i have aboot one friend, but she's good stuff and we have this network in which we only let eachother know how glad we are that we found the other one when we're drunk... and i am planning on doing some radiostation and literary/art magazine goods. it will be good times.

coffee, yogurt, cereal, and sleep to you.
tell me who and how you are and about yr times high or low.
i don't miss home, but somet things are missing here.

gently,
anne

bathroom_irony @ 2005-08-17T15:31:00

2005-08-17T19:27:36Z

this is to sweet summers, religion, family, friends, strangers, and everything we normally attach.

Patty, I mean, the office smells like fast food. I decided that I would come into work three hours late today, which worked out very nicely by the way. Thank you for asking and I hope you would be equally as grateful for my response to yr nonexistent question. I go through these odd stages in the day oddly enough. For the first time this summer, I went to sleep at 4:30. I’m a huge liar. I’ve gone to sleep later than 4:30 at least a handful of times, but see, I was completely inebriated in those instances. Last night, for the first time, I was sober and decided to fall asleep, rather miserably attempt to fall asleep with a book. Earlier in the night, my dear Yasmin and I stopped by Carmen’s to dabble in gelatis, coffee, Jon Gerst (accidentally enough) and to harass Tony on the job - something that’s always highly entertaining. It was a really good, but that digression was simply to let you know that I had drank 3 large cups of coffee and inhaled a bit of nicotine to buzz me through the roof. Anyhoo, as I was reading and thinking of why my night had turned out to be such a lovely one, I recognized that my alarm clock is 4 hrs fast, but my cell phone did and does not lie when it comes to time in the 4 am. A bright soul would figure out that the caffeine kept me up, but but but, I awoke at 9 (normally I struggle to get out of bed by 9:30 to make it to Bethesda by 10 to hang myself with the keyboard) and hopped out of bed as if it had been the best sleep of my life. Then I got breakfast with Yasmin, Tony, and Jenny and we just spent about three hours in Bageltowne talking about nothing and enjoying it like it was our not-so-high-paying jobs, but we don’t need to work for the money, man. More important than all this mumbo jumbo nonsense is the fact that I love the people in my life. I mean that. One night Jenny and I sat on her bed just talking and I pulled the crying-card for a bit, and just ignored our ringing phones, and everything was fine. We did not go to the kid’s house whose parents weren’t home. We had a snack and tea. We were fine. We hug each other, all of us, in the streets - our separate streets - and say we’ll see the others, but we’re fine with us and I am so happy that I have that right now.

I feel like this whole "we’re going to college and need to see everyone and say goodbye and make sure we’re on the best of terms" deal is just a load. Some of my closest friends are the ones I have not seen, but they no one understands why. I’m not sure I understand why either. The thing is, I should call and apologize for not calling, but what would be the point of that. "Hey, it’s Anne. Listen, I am calling because I wanted to say sorry for not calling." Yes, the tables would be turned because then I would have very-well called and thus the whole dilemma may be squished temporarily. Calling because of not-calling is basically like not-calling at all because the over-compensation in one direction to correct the lack in the other just cancels out the issue completely. Said phone call would just be calling to mollify the other end’s anger, which may happen, thus if the end result is a happy camper for a corrective call - it’s basically the same as not calling at all. Come on though, I just want to enjoy my summer. No more guilt. No more apologies. No more profusely apologizing for things I don’t even have to be sorry for. No more Catholicism. Aye, okay maybe not the last one, but I’m a sinner anyhow seeing how I haven’t gone to church all summer, let alone all school year and my parents sort of kind of would like to disown me for laughing at the idea of going to confession.

When I was younger, say fifteen or so, I used to lie in confession. My parents would make me go unwillingly and I didn’t want to admit to the priest that I had tried pot or drank with my friends so I told him I had talked about my brother behind his back. At that point in time, my brother and I were becoming close because he was growing up and he realized he didn’t have to put me down and that it wasn’t so bad giving me rides - I was a grade A shot-gun sitter, really. I just wanted a reason to feel guilty, so I lied that I had said cruel things about Michael ((it’s so weird calling him Michael when the world knows him as Mike, but that’s who he is to me...)) It seemed to me that confession was such a cleanser to my parents and I felt like I was missing out for feeling guilt-free. I wanted the priest to give me penance so I could feel refreshed for absolving my sins - like a "better" Catholic afterwards. The funny thing (and the point to this tangent) is that I started off with one point and chose another. The original point is this: when I told the priest I had talked about my brother behind his back, the priest scolded me and asked "Would GOD talk about you behind yr back? NO!" and didn’t give me any penance; all he said was GOD would never walk out on you the way you walked out on yr brother." That’s why I never went back. The second point to the story was: I have spent far too long feeling guilty about what I’ve done that really doesn’t even deserve to have any guilt thrown along with it. Somewhat ironic when I used to want to feel guilt... to make others happy... to feel successful in my religion and like I was adhering to my "faith." Guilt’s carried itself over and had a seat in far too many of my affairs and I just remembered I thought I needed that back then. That’s absurd.

If I was my mother right now, I’d make some remark like "Well Anne, something must have been in that pot you were smoking in 9^th grade."

I won’t be at this desk anymore on Friday at 3. Goodbye Weichert. Goodbye Patty. Goodbye Jack Lyons whose name is really John and no one understands why you have two first names and used them interchangably, and oh wait, I am yr daughter. Damn it. Goodbye Antonio and Derek - Patty’s children out of wedlock that run around the office. Derek is 10. Derek listens to awful rap music. Antonio is 2, I think. He prints out simple drawings on white paper, outlined in black, and colors them in. He doesn’t even try to color inside the lines. (I always did when I was a kid). It looks like Crayola puke on a page, but perhaps I missed the newest fashion in modern art, or maybe I just didn’t receive the fax yet. Guess I should go check that one out. My mother bought me a pair of scissors for college. I may have to fold a trail of paper together and make those connected children figures and hang them across my walls. I should just make a lot of them before my roommate moves in and place them all on her bed. Then she’ll definitely feel welcome! Ha... sure thing.

About the scissors. My mom told me I was a mess and needed to organize my stuff for college soon. Yesterday I caved and just started loading things into boxes. By the way, (this is great) my mom got me over 1000 stickies - some with lines, some without; some multi-colored vibrant packs while others were more of a pastel blend. Okay, but I packed all of my schoolie stuffies into one box and she came in and was so surprised. That’s whassup. And then I left my house to go on a run and when I am all the way down the street, I hear my name being yelled. It’s my mom saying "Anne! I don’t give you enough credit! You’re wonderful!" I smiled and then I flicked her off. She laughed. I laughed. She knows "fuck (you)" is an endearing term when it comes from me.

Yesterday was a really cool day. It was a perfect day to go running - light rain, cool air, and no other runners on the road. My sophomore year, I was a 6-8 mile a day kid. Now, I am so far from that, but for the first time in months, I did my run to Muddy Branch Square and back. That’s 6orso miles total. Anne’s coming back. Uh, third person, but you know. I’m getting back into that healthy lifestyle thing. I was listening to "Chicago"(off of Illinois) by Sufjan Stevens when I was coasting that semi-upward slope on Muddy Branch just past the intersection at Great Seneca, and it was one of the best feelings. The song was pumping through me and I blurred my vision towards the street so all that laid before me were shiny bulbs of light moving towards me, and past me, and all around me. It was just foggy enough. I knew where I was, what I was doing, and that I love the music I was listening to. It was so peaceful.

As I got back to Dufief Mill, I saw Yasmin, Gabby, and Anna driving by. Yas and I embraced once they turned the car around and happened to sit on her street (accidentally) just like old times. At around 9 when she was done with the Fish fellows, she let me pick her up and we just were able to enjoy one another’s company like old times at Carmen’s. As said before, I had one too many cups of coffee and danced around the shop in my skirt with the purple walls and strewn newspapers and we talked about the many good times.

I never do this whole recap my night thing, but understand, it was goodness and want to remember it somehow.

Tony, Jon, and I smoked cloves on the front porch of the Dragga house and talked about everything with Yasmin. Hannah left for school today, but was able to come and say goodbye. Jeff came and I know I am truly going to miss him. He sat back in a wicker chair and felt comfortable just being with us. We all laughed so hard at everything he had to say, even though he wasn’t trying to be funny. He’s opened up to me briefly and drunkenly at times even though we’ve been in close contact for a year now. The thing is, now I know that I am a good friend to him too, the way he is to me. Since he came to the beach and the three of us sat on the bed letting everyone have their time to speak their minds without being offensive, and to tell their story. That reminds me that summer has been so nice. I took Yas back to her brother’s apartment, and we spent another half-hour talking in the car. It was the perfect way to say goodbye, just like we did everyday after school, but I’d see her the next day. Things will be different, but I am sure that they will be good too.

I like a lot of people. I truly love about three to be honest. I am close to loving about three more.

Summer’s better, to me, when the weather’s cool. It reminds me that I still have some youth within me.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-08-11T14:49:00

2005-08-11T18:41:08Z

and i ate him for lunch.

I've been sitting in this desk, weekday in and weekday out, for two months now. I could be another one on yr friends list to write such words as "oh, gee! Summer's gone by so fast!" but i am not sure how i feel. I am really surprised that it's August and that i will be leaving oh so wow so soon for school, but i am pretty certain that i need to get away. To surprise everyone and even myself, i am really glad it's August. That means that for the first time in my life, i won't have to wake up with my mom reminding me it's the morning (as if i didn't realize) or telling me that my lay flat to dry winter sweaters are going to have nothing to lay flat on unless i buy that drying rack (!!!) and saying that drinking's bad for my brain cells and liver or perching on the edge of my bed at 9 am wanting to discuss teenage anorexia and my love life. Yes. Every day the woman has to remind me that i am doing something wrong. Whether or not it's really "wrong" makes no difference, basically everything i do is incorrect in her eyes.

Sometimes I'll get into a song, book, film, photograph and start writing because that's what i do. Something small and subtle will lure my mind so I'll capitalize on it in my notebook. A lot of times, i leave my notebook out and in the morning, I'll have red ink with grammatical corrections and (and get this!) questions as to what i am trying to get at with that one phrase? "Anne, is this real-life or play-life? Yr alliteration isn't necessary in the 3rd line," etc... "Anne! You haven't been writing as much. Are you no longer inspired? Were you more inspired when you had love in yr life? Do you have love in yr life, Anne?" correct me if i am wrong, but i feel like other people tell their parents some positive things happening in their lives say their parents ask them or if they really want to tell them of the good in their lives; she wants to know everything - good, bad, ugly, beautiful, sexual, drug-related, conversational, everything man!

I just can't wait to feel right, if that makes sense. The reason why i don't rush out to see people anymore is because i can't deal with the repercussions from her end. If i go out she gets incredibly angry at me for wasting my time with people she considers to be less than her, but oddly enough, she'd let me go out all night all day all whenever if it was in her presence. It makes me so sad to see her being so lonely because i know she has nothing to talk about with my father. The only way they bond is if they're drinking together, and even when they're bonding, once they finish a bottle of wine, she'll stay upstairs and watch poorly-written sitcoms when my father goes downstairs to watch The History Channel. I guess it's nice to know now how i don't want to end up, but it just sucks sometimes.

I'll tell you the truth, i truly love my mother, she's a great fucking lady when she's not insane. My dad. My dad. I can't deal with this. I'm typing my brain off because i never get the chance to say this to anyone outside of the quick jab in response or not even in response to my comments, but in response to my parents' behavior towards him/her, but the man is "whack.." this post has become ANNEBASHYRFAMILYTIME. fuck, I'm done with this. Sorry guys.

I really need honest reflections on the following topic:
-do you listen to or purposefully put on music before/while you/you're have/having sex?
I'm not going to talk about my discarded virginity or anything, but as soon as a cluster of my friends started having sex, they would talk about playing You Forgot it in People and climaxing during Cause = Time and how amazing it was and all i could think of was how awkward it would be listening to those words (or certain songs in general from certain albums) when i am experiencing my sexualisms. It's a fucking great song, i mean it, but please bare with me on this... "you come in check my time. You've got fornication crimes. I've seen yr death on televison............and they all want to love the cause, cause they all need to be the cause, they all want to FUCK the cause." wouldn't you be like "hmm, so ha! I am the cause being fucked!" that's just weird! And they got into how Blur's Out of Time was really great to have sex to as well. Is this normal? Did i and am i missing something by having sex in silence?

I have so many title orders to still enter and i am meeting someone to see a movie in twenty minutes so I'll have to finish or just expunge these thoughts later.

I am a curious kid I'll tell you that much.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-08-01T13:02:00

2005-08-01T16:57:34Z

dear july,

you're done.

sadly,

i don't like it when post-50 men say they're day has been "mahvelous" like it really sounds good. right? right, cause it really doesn't sound that cool, but i understand why people try.
so the bathroom at work isn't really my place of solace anymore, but fortunately enough, there's a conference room to the right of my cubicle, at least from the chair i am sitting in, and left from the office entrace, with three chairs, a round table, and lots of golf magazines. the comfort in this room lies in the fact that no one ever uses it. every now and then, when no one's watching really, i sit in there and read. i don't mind that the lights aren't on because i still get the office light creeping in through the open door - something that's fine by me. i like reading. apparently, i also really like commas. i like a lot of things. i like the dismemberment plan. i like the fact that my mom is insane and in and out of 5 minutes she vascillates between love and hate over and over again, but then she's nice, kind of. i like how i don't know why i just started writing about my mom, but that's cool. everything's cool or pretty cool. pretty cool works. i am cool with pretty cool.

so it's definitely august. where the hell did july go? seriously, on july 1st i was sitting at the computer and was like hey! there's no more june!
august 1st: there's no more july!

oh, but more about what i like if you don't mind (see, i spent a lot of this week regretting the choices i made with "love," and that relationship, and relationships, and friends and time, etc. this weekend i didn't really go home so much. so the past three days have been my contemplatiion in motion, and i've got a better hold on things; hear me) :

i like mike lyons's willingness to explore intellectualism because he ignored it all of high school. i like the fact that mike lyons now reads the dictionary some nights at his base over in Norfolk because he wants to learn. i like Nabokov. i like diet coke, a lot. i like that the bag i now carry my belongings always receives such remarks like "where is yr gun? and/or cantine?" i like freaks and geeks, oh fuck, i love that show. i love nick andopolous and how if i lived in '81 and in the nbc studios in 2000 or just in the tv screen that good ol' nick and i would fornicate and make beautiful tv children that play the drums and listen to way too much Rush. i like the lebanese taverna cafe. pita = 25 cents! that does make sense! mmm, anyhow. last week, najva and i met a boy who calls himself the "messiah." that's cool and all, i guess. continuing on, i like fiona. i like leah. i like neema. i like chris. i like chris's mohawk. i miss diddy, but we'll see about that. i miss boston even though i was just there. i love the idea of college and BC and college. i like Starbuck's flavor of ice cream (caramel capuccino swirl) go out and buy it try it and love the shit out of it, now. i like how sometimes i say like and sometimes i say love even though, sometimes, they are similar feelings. i like misusing words (more when other people do it because normally, when it comes to definitions, i'm pretty much correct, but love and like are so small and simple and they just baffle my mind). ps. i don't really like the word baffle. but! about like and love. i love love because before i just didn't comprehend and wouldn't say it and was so utterly and ultimately scared of it and by it. for months i wouldn't say love and wouldn't admit to being in love. it's almost hurtful now that i realized i did love him, but i'm also glad i realized that i truly did even now, and even if it's too late. i just don't know what to do about it any more. i love tony's shower and how much cleaner i feel after showering at his house than my own. yes, that does mean taking a shower by myself in tony's home. i love the pixies. i just bought their dvd. i love the holiday song. mike lyons and i talked about it for a while. then we talked about incest (because of the song, silly!). .... awkward.... . oh, and i like the fact that i'm making purchases musically and more comfortable with spending my money for joy and not being a complete stinge. i bought some more my bloody valentine and pavement goods. goods. i bought everything is illuminated and plan to read it next, but fuck, i want to read pale fire, and choke, and middlesex too, hmmm. which one? i smell so clean! i love showers. i think i may go home and watch 8 1/2 tonight. or i may just read myself into oblivion after my mother talks and talks and talks to me about her life and encounters with the two pathological liars she knows who are basically her best friends. i love wine. jenny loves white zinfandel too. sometimes, like one time really, we'll sit in Tony's kitchen and drink glasses of wine and Tony will be really tired and David will have holes in his shirt. David is great. Go David. i like how i can't make up my mind as to whether or not i want to capitalize letters when beginning sentences. why is ian curtis dead?? don't be smart and give me suicide as an answer. and elliott smith and nick drake and jeff buckley and meh, too many good musicians dead. all the jeff buckley drowning suspicions. i love it how he always wrote songs about his dreams. charles thompson, man, black francis. can i go into his head for two minutes? and i still love daydream nation. that night that jeff chris and i drove around listening to teenage riot and i was like ah, sonic youth, remember last august when i was stoned out of my mind and saw you play live and wish now that i could take back the marijuana intake and just see you live again, sober? that would be so nice.

neema and i are seeing sigur ros september 15th in boston! it's going to be awesome!
okay, bye.

ps. events
-exit clov played free show at strathmore.
-becca askin! got high in my presence.
-james taylor with bottles of wine and good.
-orientation happened
-the beach happened
-boston happened. i love that city.
-christine came home and was awesome. and her last day she had a big gulp of diet coke. and she was awesome awesome.
-we all watched pulp fiction and tony was the only boy, so it was funny. oh, and sure.
-summer happened, oh man, way too fast.

alright well, really. oh, amanda bernal, i want to buy a shirt.

pps. bye. way to go, that is, if you read this whole thing.
i like you.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-07-22T20:36:00

2005-07-23T00:46:01Z

so i went swimming in this sea of maroon and gold, not yellow, gold and it was no mellow gold so to speak. it was the kind of smack you in the face! gold this is yr future gold!
there was screaming and chanting and clapping with boys and girls i know so much nothing about.
i think it's best to say that awkward happens when you throw 300plus kids into a zone where no one knows anyone's no one and you eat at eachother's phrases for common speech and similar tastes.
every now and then you take walks with boys who you've talked to from a lofty internet sight and feel like you know eachother because it's 3 am on a college campus, and this intimate veil modifies and mollifies yr nerves because no one else is out. no one else, but that's not what college is. when college comes, there's going to be kids kissing books kissing boys and kissing chants and beer bottled cans because that's what the future holds // so i walked around this campus, this absolutely beautiful campus with my breath in my hands because i wasn't intentionally trying to hold it, it just stuck still because i was overwhelmed // at first's first, i thought i may sit there and corner myself in squares i wanted to be sucked out of, but there were no such shapes. vast circles kept forming and deforming into beautiful happenings, beat, as we drove on our histories in the early hours of the am. we stayed up all night and day, and the next, because we were free to do so.

i'm really looking forward to the fall.
and i am finally confident in this decision.
more importantly, i am comfortable.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-07-08T12:22:00

2005-07-08T16:21:22Z

give me yr name and i guess i'll:

              1one: write something I like about you
2two. tell what song reminds me of you
                3three:apply an o'clock to you and tell you what it would be
4four. TRY to name a single word that best describes you (might not be able to here, foolery)
                                 5five: tell you the most memorable moment I've had with you
6six. tell ye that color color color you remind me of
                          7seven: then tell you something that i may have wondered about you

8eight > i guess ye can put this in yr journal, if fancied - and really any other cute verbs like fancy can be used. .

many words to say and be said. i think i may do that tonight.
i leave tomorrow.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-06-29T13:28:00

2005-06-29T17:27:54Z

There are these types of hallways. It’s this type of hallway where you step between the gray and gray, the ceiling gray and floor gray, and yr sides are encased by white, streaked-dirt white from bored hands rubbing their fingers across the pallid walls. Making marks to match their footsteps on the somber carpet, they’re all lonely forty-somes. They’re all just now attempting to make money so they listen to these men too tall men stuck in their girth and deep voices telling them to "go get ‘em!" and they jump up out of their seats throwing fists and chanting "damn right I’ll go sell that house!" Every now and then, there are the little ones - the tiny men with their heads sinking into their necks and drowning between their shoulder blades. They’re the ones that speak mild-soft for the bulk of their sermons, but then, they’ll tangle up another thought and scream it out to prove they share the same philosophy as the big man, big-time seller, and they can all be the same. They can all make the A+ grade in that projected classroom desk scene like childhood, but minus the cubbies. The cubbies were always the best part. Maybe that’s why it feels different for them.

The women seem to be predominantly single, African-American women in their thirties attempting to find their soul mates over real estate coaching camps and chicken-salad, cigarette, aspartame lunch breaks. Restrooms hear these test scores and jealous scorns when the older white woman isn’t able to pull off the 86% like the thin doe of a female striping on all sorts of lip balm, gloss, glass, wax. Floozies flossing their time and teeth between sullen inspiration sequences all succumbing to nothing but the trip home to the supermarket, gym, or television to figure out we’re still not what we want to be.

And sometimes when I’m not spinning the one long hallway of this stranger brand and step out of the gray sandwich, there are these vibrant yellow signs with arrows and directions and cartography always sounded so interesting, but in the scheme of things, it’s pretty mundane. You can make yr maps by following yr own boredom, but not in the desk, I’m going to sit here and work for no-one, myself, fashion. Who wants to make maps? More importantly, I open and close files, but I see people’s last names and first names and all the differences in settings and locales. And. I remember why I like being free from chores. I remember why I actually enjoyed High Fidelity back in the day; it introduced me to the Beta Band. I also found that jazz mix that Allison so kindly made for me and pieced me back to my spot in time of where things are slow and so far from solid, but they morph the way they can, the way they want, without wanting and splicing commas and time and water bottles and the trips to the bathroom are really so illuminated because they bring me back to the world so far from my world, yet still in social form.

Things are happening all around.

I like it that it’s not quite alright to read in the office, but no one’s going to harass you for stepping out to the bathroom, even if you’re there for a while. So I am pleasantly spending my breaks, every hour or so, for some time, sitting on 6610 Rockledge Drive’s first floor toilet reading Nine Stories.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-06-23T13:50:00

2005-06-23T17:51:18Z

BE PREPARED.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-06-20T11:11:00

2005-06-20T15:09:10Z

bathroom_irony @ 2005-06-20T02:23:00

2005-06-20T06:23:15Z

sometimes, in the summer, i sleep in my long underwear.

bathroom_irony @ 2005-06-11T17:00:00

2005-06-11T21:19:00Z

from/for gabby:
6 songs [not current favorites as much as general favorites] and in no particular order

1. tv on the radio "young liars"
2. the jesus & mary chain "almost gold"
3. sonic youth "karen revisited"
4. the arcade fire "une annee sans lumiere"
5. smart went crazy "holds up her hand, blocks out the sun"
6. of montreal "wraith pinned to the mist and other games"

last cd purchased: of montreal - sunlandic twins

current song - the unicorns "the clap"

five songs i listen to often:
                                       broken social scene "kc accidental"
                                       can "one more night"
                                       dismemberment plan "a life of possibilities"
                                       television "marquee moon"
                                       elliott smith "rose parade"

i'd go forth proudly(!!) and tag others, but i lack the energy to search for the untag-g-ed, so feel free to respond in yr own journal, or below in mine with yr "current songs."

adieu.