Crisp Gray Matter

Tue, 05 Jan 2010 05:38:23 GMT

I never asked for any of this, least of all the anger. I always find myself wondering why everyone else stokes their fire. It'll only consume them in the end.

Red.

Fri, 01 Jan 2010 00:06:23 GMT

One smoke.

Two smoke.

Blue smoke.

New smoke.

Questions.

Denials.

Smell like shit now.

But at that moment I loved

my flaws.

Everything about them.

I thought I was

feeling kinda nice

but then I stood up.

And the world rolled back

this eyelid of

putrid toy land

came and next thing

I know its a bump on the

noggin and hatred in

my belly.

Porcelain bowl

welcomed my sludge

it splashed into my face

and in my hair.

Didn't smell bad though.

Dog's was next to me

worried obviously.

I felt bad for that,

but so good for

emptying the contents

of this supposed sea of chi.

I saw red, and lots of it.

I watched it flush away

into great pipe dream beyond

and washed my face.

Coughed up in the sink

more red.

More red.

Coughed up my lungs

and they were little

tinges, iotas of red.

So I learned something

today.

Smoking really is

the aunt flo

of unhealthies.

And I can throw up

just from reading something

I find disappointing.

Tue, 29 Dec 2009 19:38:32 GMT

Someone recently told me that rape could include oral sex, and for personal reasons this greatly alarms me. I guess I'm not as untainted as I once liked to believe.

I have a strong feeling that breast cancer is in my birth family's history.

I can lift all the weights I want and become the biggest bitch woman to ever live, but this up here, this cranium, still feels weak.

My family was never perfect, but now it's just in blue flames that burn slowly, hotly , and painfully.

I'm ashamed of my need to feel accepted, because I know for a fact most people cant, and wont. I don't like being attached to pointless endeavors.

I don't know why people have meaningless sex when meaningful sex is well worth the wait. Transport me back into the fifties, I guess.

It's never been something I could just snap out of.

The world thinks it's unhealthy to keep things inside, and yet when I try to talk about them, everyone says I'm one taco short of a platter, or a pussy.

Everyone is so fortunate. The earth is silent spinning ball of void for them.

I hate how in Now Thats What I Call Music they edit out 'ass' but leave the word 'bitch'.

I love rap music. And lord am I tired of defending it.

A friend once told me they couldn't believe someone so cynical could ever believe in God.

My relationship with God is strained and shaky these days.

I've never blamed God for my problems.

A friend once said that a relationship with God should be definite. Either you love him, or you hate him. That made me think about a lot of things.

Not a day goes by that I don't thank the Force I was adopted by my parents.

I miss No Doubt.

I'm tired of haphazard pop culture fanatics seeing something within the last year or so and then proceed to lecture me about the same thing that I've watched since I was born.

Only a fool would think that being biracial means that you'll be accepted by everyone. More like rejected.

I hate Jesse Roger's ex girlfriend. Not out of jealousy, surprisingly enough. Just the fact that she's a terrible person. She calls herself a Christian and yet she hates white people. The only thing I hate more than racist whites is racist blacks.

Life's a bitch, civilization is a shithole, and the people I hear the most are horrible. But if I'm quiet, and I mean REALLY quiet, I can hear Maasai women rock their babies to sleep.

Fuckerzzzzz.

Thu, 24 Dec 2009 21:11:09 GMT

I crawled out of my week long shitfest with the help of Denis Leary's Merry Fuckin' Christmas.

I don't know what it was. Perhaps it was the essence of Christmas that brought me back to life suddenly, or maybe my brain decided I had seen enough garbage and put on some rose colored specs for me once again. Either way, I'm glad I snapped out of whatever awful thing I was stuck in, at least for the next two days, because I truly adore this holiday. Not really for the presents or anything, but the togetherness that my family experiences, which is extremely vital after the events this year nearly tore us asunder. So, a recount of yesterday, because I need to get this off my chest and into the ether for I am SICK of having it in my brain. I wake up at seven thirty for no reason, and I once again lift weights, something I've been doing practically nonstop for several days. Lifted for about a half hour, and then I got a call from my graciously simplistic and bimbo-esque psychiatrist saying that he denied my application for seeking in-patient treatment because I dont appear to be a danger to myself or others. A while ago I had actually thought about revoking my application, but then as usual my condition reverted back to a familiar place of self pity and ridiculous amounts of sorrow that I'll never be able to explain. To be honest I was looking forward to trying some new medication and being able to talk/listen in the groups that they put you in for self exploration, but I guess if I'm not holding a knife to my nephew's throat with a gun against mine, I'm not crazy enough to help. After the call I continued exercising for another hour or so, gorging myself on all sorts of healthy foods because I finally got tired of putting junk into my body, and then how ironic is it that I feel a sharp pain shoot up and down and in all directions from my right knee. I collapse, try to get up again only to fall on my ass. The doctor's office wasn't open yet, and this didn't seem like a regular checkup visit, so my parents rushed me to the emergency room because they thought I may have broken my knee somehow. Now while it hurt like a MOTHERFUCKER it was not broken. They took some x rays and found that the tissue of the joint in my knee is deteriorating, and can be reversed by certain supplements; AFTER FIVE YEARS. I counted myself lucky. I mean, dont get me wrong I enjoy sitting on my ass but there comes the frequent moments where you have to get up and work your fingers to the bone. So, my shitty ass knee can be added to the list of my health problems, right up there with my horrid excuse for a back. I get home, ice the damn thing, and my dad humiliates me (albeit makes me laugh quite bitterly) by giving me an old cane he had used when he got hernia surgery. Thanks dad, nothing like a stalk of wood to make me feel sixty years older. Few hours later, the gate gets left open, and Echo bolts. I called and called but she didn't listen and just kept running, and eventually she went out of site. My knee was killing me but the prospect of my dog getting hit by a car due to bad roads and her own stupidity a day before Christmas made any pain in my knee practically nonexistent. I crossed the ditch and sparse woods next to my house, finally falling and losing the fucking cane somewhere and crawled through two neighborhoods in the freezing snow looking and calling for that damn dog, only to have my father come and pick me up and put me in his truck, going home to find that she had come thirty seconds after my mother had called for her. My dog is a bitch; literally. She earned a day in the crate for that little stunt.

And I don't know why this makes the list, possibly because it was the tar icing on a cake of tires, but almost everyone I knew wanted to discuss Avatar with me. 'Discuss', yeah, what a fucking joke. They gushed, and then when I didn't, they said I was picky and had no taste in movies. Well...let me say a little something about this movie, this over hyped 350 million on a screen. This, was an excellent concept. Excellent. Like, it had everything it needed to be an excellent, well written, well acted film. This movie had so much potential stuffed up its ass it was like a thanksgiving turkey, and the writers obviously knew nothing about cooking a bird. Of course I bow down to the almighty beauty that was the technology that made this movie possible. The scenery made of pure brilliance, and the jungles were so rich in beauty and savage untamed wilderness that it literally made me sigh in contentment. They outdid themselves with the jungles, the floating mountains, the planet which the moon of Pandora revolved around, meeting with the azure sky in a surreal array of spiraling gorgeous blending. The way this world, the Na'vi and their culture was crafted made George Lucas' Star Wars almost look like child's play. The sentiment that was introduced about halfway into the film, the beauty and love that nature gives and needs, the connection between all living things, the borrowing and giving of energy that is everywhere and everything, even the air we breathe, I have always been a strong believer in the cosmic force that gives us life, preserves within us a bond with nature that can never be broken no matter how much we surround ourselves with industrialized civilization. We were born in the woods thousands of years ago, and lived in them for another hundreds of thousands. Nighttime in the jungle, the plants, the trees, the strange and unusual creatures and plants that grew in abundance in this lush and barbaric utopia of Mother Nature, it was overwhelming at times, and I pity the soul who felt nothing as they viewed this. The designs of everything from the jungle to the physical design of the Na'vi were striking, and wonderfully creative. Now here comes my cursed 'but'. The acting. The plot. The desecration of what could have been a new and original storyline and moral message. Sabotaged, shat on, and thrown out the window like Hollywood does to everything. The graceful stature of the movie degenerated into a run of the mill action sequence, with explosions and death and destruction, because thats what really sells a movie, right? Some may argue that the battle scenes of the war against the Na'vi and the humans was necessary, because they were fighting for their right to live and the right to their land. Look, we can make every single parallel to each indigenous tribe across the globe but that will never change the atrocities that have been done to them. The war cries sounded so distinctively Native American that I felt the ticklings of racism climb up my spine and into my brain, visions of actual Natives living on their reservations watching this movie and thinking, "do they really believe making a movie about what we went through back in the day is going to make everything alright again?" Maybe James Cameron should fork over some of that cash to the Natives; you basically got rich off a film made about their suffering, pay up biatch. The message, the MESSAGE. Fighting is always the answer? Violence solves all your problems? Anti-war means going out with a bang and letting fire and explosions wreak havoc on the homeland and living happily ever after without even a glimpse of a ceremony for those who had died in this war? Here is what really gets me about this movie. It talks about the energy that flows through all living things, the cosmic force that gives life and takes it, is neither good or bad, that it keeps the balance of nature no matter what. There could have been the exploration of something extra-sentient here, something bigger than the humans, bigger than the Na'vi, bigger than any of us could have ever comprehended but NO. Explosions. War. Death. And a happy ending. Why are they ending on such a high note when it's fucking obvious the humans will be back in FULL FORCE? Sigh, either way, I think someone had a very distinct vision for this movie, a distinct, beautiful, and spiritual vision. and then as usual someone else came and fucked it all up, erasing and scribbling all over the screenplay until it was full of shitty Arnold Schwartzenegger one liners and main antagonist became the typical militaristic corporal white guy. Rarely do I ever encounter films like these, so filled with beauty and yet marred by hackneyed writing that could have easily been corrected had they took a step back and realized they had turned a masterpiece into the Smurfs on acid and steroids. Zoe Saldana did wonderfully, but that was to be expected; she's quite expressive even as a cold fish in Star Trek's Nyota Uhura, and her voice is like butter mixed with raindrops hitting a pond in slow motion. As for Sam Worthington, I knew I recognized his blatantly sour and monotonously boring vibe from many other movies. I guess he's the guy they hire when the main character had no zest in the first place. I mean, he actually became MORE interesting when he was in his Avatar, so what does that say about him in general? And...although my keen ears have been known to be wrong many a time, the language of the Na'vi seemed like it was just Swahili mixed with a bit of Cherokee Native America. I guess that's alright, but Cameron, if you've been working on this fucking thing since the mid 80's, why not go the extra mile and create an actual language of your OWN. Hm, then again I guess not everyone can be as rad as Tolkien. So...all in all, this movie had some fantastic bits, great potential and great beauty that the true nature lover within me has to adore, but honestly it's not the greatest thing since sliced bread. The jungle really isn't that far away, we have it here on our home planet, displayed in such movies as The Emerald Forest, Apocalypto, The Heart of Africa, anywhere that a tropical forest lives there will be people within it. How come we dont make more movies about them instead? But whatever. Avatar = B+. Needs improvement. And James Cameron, you're not the king of the world (he actually said that he was, 'half jokingly', I'm not joking).

My tunes in the boons.

Wed, 16 Dec 2009 00:28:53 GMT

Been listening to a lot of tunes lately.

10. ) Deliverence by Bubba Sparx

The last year or so, I've truly related to Chris Rock when he says that he loves rap music, but he's tired of defending it. So I don't even try anymore. Those who say that rap is just a bunch of misogynistic crap about bling and rims on a '97 saturn can just go right ahead and listen to their ironic selection of Iggy Pop (because Rock n' Roll has ALWAYS been so kind to women and gays, and I just love listening to how hard it is being a white suburb kid). Song's about how Bubba got his start in the business singing about something other than smacking hoes. Great beat, instrumental accompaniment, and truth be told his name has three x's, but I only put one because I find three to be a bit much.

9.) I'm Blue by The 5 6 7 8's

Now...let me get this straight. This band is a group of middle aged Japanese women who were fans of music from the 50's, 60's, 70's, and 80's, and decided to form a rockabelly band in the early nineties? Their most popular song is Woo Hoo, which has been featured in many American commercials circa 2003, but they really didn't catch my eye until I saw Kill Bill: Volume One, in which they play a concert at the House of Blue Leaves, the final dueling place of The Bride and O-Ren Ishii (codename 'Cottonmouth'). Great tunes, sassy attitude, vintage style, and a lead singer who obviously doesn't give a shit what the public thinks about her gutteral screaming. She's got a fan in me though.

8.) Fuwafuwa Buranyo by HALCALI

Got some more Japanese stuff for you. What can I say; I've always been a Japanese culture fanatic since fucking sixth grade, so naturally I'm addicted to their artists as well as my own. Techno, Hip Hop, Rap, and a little bit of that classic sugary pop mixed into the candy crags, however these chicks don't succumb to what I like to call 'hamster syndrome', in which their voices are so high and girly that they sound like rodents on helium shitting out a balloon. Their most popular single (the song that would have made this list but I got tired of it long ago from listening to it too damn much) Tandem was the theme song for independent CGI series Mr. Stain on Junk Alley, a particular surreal favorite of mine. So Mr. Stain and HALCALI went for a ride, and brought back kickassness.

7.) Hamburger Lady by Throbbing Gristle

I don't recommend anyone listening to this unless they're certain they want a shower afterward. This group perplexes me so, and in doing so fascinates all the more. Their music is hideous. Disgusting. Completely on the edge of reality and even makes surreality look like a simple trip to McDonalds. This song in particular makes me think of...fried eggs, puppies, kittens, and deformed babies with four legs and/or harlequin syndrome melting on the pavement of a post apocalyptic New York City summer day. AND I LOVE IT.

6.) Frank Sinatra by Cake

Cake is amazing. They are so stylist to a point where their tunes speak to all generations, not just a certain demographic, which is refreshing in this day and age where everyone is trying to 'reach out' to everyone else. Frank Sinatra in particular is beautiful. Their single 'Daria' (which was the ending theme to one episode of one of my favorite series 'Daria', coincidentally enough) would have made this list, but that was of course before I discovered Frank Sinatra. The clever usage of horns and smooth guitar/bass riffs is the classic Ska sound (something I have been ultimately turned off for a long time, thank ya Toby), but Cake pulls it off, works with it, and makes it charming and delicious. And did I mention the lyrics? Not your average OMG MY LIFE SUCKS track. It's sorrowful, inquisitive, young, old, a sort of soured disposition of an intelligent yet infantile child, I guess. This song is so sad.

5.) Lilium by Kimiko Noma

Anime, Japanese, fuck fuck fuck a duck up your ass. Elfen Lied may be of questionable material, but as someone who has obsessed over Catholic hymns and anything that had to do with latin, this song was like candy cane flavored silk butter over my ears. There's something so sad in those tones, not to mention I hardly ever hear anyone sing like dear Noma, who clearly has an opera esque diaphragm.

4.) Soul Sacrifice by Santana

The live version, to be precise. I watched the Woodstock movie a few years ago, and didn't really take anything away from it (mostly because the drunken high and hallucinogenic endeavors of a bunch of dumbass hippies repelled me greatly). So I watched it again, and was struck by Santana's performance in particular. Along with Evil Ways, they have some of the sickest beats ever recorded, jazz rock and native Latino beats melded into face melting style and flare. I've often said that any music that comes out of Mexico or beyond that knows where it's at, but as I listened to a young Carlos and his crew take the crowd by storm (shocking even Jimi Hendrix, who at the time was the biggest thing since sliced bread), for a split second I really, really, REALLY wished I was one of those hippies at that concert, dancing with my shirt off and rolling around in my own puke and shit. :D

3.) Saeglopur by Sigur Ros

I was almost turned off this band for the longest time. I realize how stupid it is to associate something like music with a certain populace of people, but at the time, everyone I absolutely despised and secretly despised constantly shoved Sigur Ros in my face. THE LYRICS ARE WONDERFUL, they told me. And finally I caved in, listened, and even though I laughed in realization because they're fucking speaking Icelandic (so how the fuck can they understand the...nevermind), and was struck by how expressive it was. I'm very good with languages, but I didn't really know two shits about Icelandic of all things, so I looked up the lyrics and the translations for them months after I heard Saeglopur in particular. Everyone raves about Hopipolla, but I think Saeglopur is something akin to Beethoven. It's soft, mourning, a bit dark and frightening at times despite it's high pitched experimental sounds, but then comes the big crescendo, enormous and empowering, before winding back down into the peaceful shadows once more. Glosoli is a damn good single as well. Sigur Ros kicks fuckin' ass.

2.) Laura by Scissor Sisters

This duo...is just slutty. Everything about them is slutty. They sound so utterly gay I wonder if...gay shit is flowing out their nostrils and onto their shit stained concrete. And the wonderful thing is, they actually pull it off. Their songs are filled with offbeat rhythms that shouldn't work but somehow they DO, coupled with a very whimsical take on the catty melodramatic bullshit that seems to flood our everyday lives like a sieve. 'I Cant Decide' is quite popular over here now, and I admit the first time I heard it I was already dragged into their funny little devil may care attributes, but Laura in particular is strong, bitchy, and counteractive to all that we view as unsavory, aka that preppy pretty cheerleader that you just wanted to fall and break her goddamn neck in high school.

It was a tie between Lily Allen, Bob Marley, Imogen Heap, Infected Mushroom, Club Des Belugas, and unfortunately, Lady Gaga.

Fuck ya'll, I dont need to give you number one. Too much pressure. -vanishes-

For the extras in my life whom I love, but make me really irate.

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 05:08:22 GMT

Anonymous truths for...frankly the people who I associate with but I don't care about as much as other certain individuals.

~ It's paradise whenever I'm not talking to a pile of sugar capable of human speech. Otherwise...well, and you wonder why I'm so quiet all the time.

~ It's impossible to be one's true self around you. You pretend you find it so pretentious and annoying when people tell you you're some kind of guru, but I can tell you soak it up like a parasitic sponge. You're a loser and the thought of you reproducing scares me, because the fact that you favor a life of meaningless sex, alcohol, and pseudo intellectualism over...fuck, just about anything else makes you a complete douchebag, no exceptions. Have fun living a life of not caring what other people think about you, at least then you'll never know what a truly pathetic creature you are.

~ You came close to ruining this family, but the fact that you're an inbred white trash retard trumps all of that. I don't care what that pea brain of yours is under the impression of; you're not a threat. Not a serious one at least. And Adin's a smart child; he'll grow up and see what an obvious waste of space you are.

~ I wonder when you'll come out of that stupid societal shell you have encased yourself in. Who knows what the fuck kind of person you are under there.

Wed, 09 Dec 2009 02:38:04 GMT

I didn't stick to my eight days of good shit. For that I feel kind of like dog excrement, but there isn't really anything I can do for that. This does make me laugh every time I see it though.

I forget which one I'm on. Five maybe.

Sun, 06 Dec 2009 06:41:33 GMT

We cut our Christmas tree today. That's pretty much it. On a more somber note, tonight will be spent sitting in shit that I have made for myself. And despite what a huge part of refuses to believe or even allow the other side of me to believe, tomorrow's a new day, and I will move on.This evening was...good for me. Terrible, painful, but I was able to come to terms with many things, and hopefully heal some hurt that I caused. I'm done causing pain for myself and others, on a conscious or sub conscious level. I cant let sorrows and anger rule my life anymore, and I will do my best to right the wrongs I've caused for other people.

Fooooour.

Sat, 05 Dec 2009 02:07:13 GMT

I honestly didn't wake up feeling too great this morning. Outside it was gray dingy and cold, the house was empty and my dad had forgotten to turn on the heat when he left for work, and I was feeling strangely depressed and anxious, not completely sure why. But I didn't really dwell on it like I would have normally, and instead relaxed, did some yoga stretches, and then rolled up my sleeves and did a fucking SHITLOAD of house work. I mean...if there's a single goddamn germ or dustbunny left in this house I'll be genuinely surprised. My mother came home ecstatic, which shouldn't be the appropriate response since in my display I was practically saying 'you don't do any housework and so your own kids have to do it for you, how funny is that', but whatever, I guess I cant be too bitter at how happy it made her. And knowing my family and their horrendous living conditions, it'll just go back to being a our good old smelly pig sty in no time. I did some creative writing and unfortunately my muse is still tapped out, but once again I didnt focus on it and instead just stuck to a day free of worry. But really, in the pit of my stomach, a familiar feeling of guilt and nastiness had risen and taken over again. Around four I went to my psychologist (to which I whined and bitched to myself...I would have had a day of complete nothing if it hadn't been for him, damnit! GOD.) We discussed many things, from the flawed and incredibly dysfunctional relationship my mom and I have, to my guilt and negative feelings of over empathizing with a certain someone and their loss, even though I really dont like the idea of it since I happen to dislike this person very much. But through some very careful and thankfully humorous discussion, I realized that it's fine that I empathize with this person, because in all honesty I understand his pain to a very great extent. I'm not without the experience of losing someone, and I know what a devastating feeling it is. However, I should not feel guilt over the situation, because it is not my responsibility and it was not my direct doing that put this person's pain into effect. Either way, I learned that I need to accept these feelings of sensitive empathy, because it's okay to feel them, but on the other hand I need to enjoy my newly kindled relationship with the one I love without useless sentiments of guilt attached to them. It'll take some time to forgive myself, but I've been known to work miracles before. :D

Bad things come in twos. Good things come in threes.

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 23:54:05 GMT

Or...is it the other way around? Fuck it, I cant be bothered, nyahh.

You know what I find absolutely amusing? Is that I find myself staying up way past my normal bedtime (around one in the morning or so) and just watching the strange things that come on during the wee hours of the morn. Oh sure, you've got your recycled Adult Swim stuff that just goes on and on until about four in the morning until G Gundam or some shit comes on, but every once in a while you get something good, nostalgic, or just plain fascinating. What always intrigues me is how eight years later I still watch a show I despise, if only for remembering happier times when being a kid was the best thing anyone could ask for. Rocket Power, one of the most baneful displays of my generation, comes on Nicktoons every morning at about two thirty in the morning. Now I'm sure you're wondering just how on earth such a revoltingly discriminate, racist, and stereotypical piece of shitty ass programming manages to keep my attention, but trust me, it's stupidity is what makes it so entertaining. The sad thing is, the animation is superb and a lost standard in today's children's cartoons, but I can't help but think that this only barely saves a ship that was destined to sink. It's supposedly about friendship and getting off your ass and into the sun, but apparently it's also about how being darker skinned, speaking in nineteen sixties ear drum splitting lingo, and shunning anyone who cant snowboard skateboard surf and play hockey at the same fucking time, always seems to be the ticket in the cool crowd. WOW, I NEVER KNEW THE REAL WORLD WAS LIKE THAT, SHAME ON ME. Nevertheless, it does take me back to a time where I remember everybody watching this show, yet everyone hated it. I mean, if you can induce such feelings of liking and revulsion at the same time, I guess they obviously have some kind of talent.

As for my good report on day three, I spent the majority of the last twelve hours of daylight jogging, reading, redoing my resume and cover letter, eating cereal and watching movies with the nephew, bitching at my brother to stop being a neglectful black man, and searching for a suitable apartment with a nice low rent. I'm surprised how many beautiful studios they're selling for like, five hundred bucks a month including utilities, close to all downtown restaurants and stores, and only one bedroom, but in turn an exercise room, a breakfast nook, a huge ass kitchen, and an sweet living room. So spacious! I cant exactly hone in on these things because number one I still have some business to attend to (such as finding another job, lulz). To sum up this relaxing and calmingly productive day, it's cold but beautiful outside, my dog is a sleepy panda, and I feel like making some hot chocolate and falling asleep, letting it spill all over my lap and burning my thighs bright red.

Deux.

Thu, 03 Dec 2009 05:58:15 GMT

First, this.

I went out clothes shopping and sushi with a friend and ended up spending about a hundred dollars. Now I'm not proud of the splurging, but the things that came with it are much appreciated. Pity I just shat out the digested dinner but I guess that's the circle of life. I spent the majority of today just chilling and being a happy camper about last night. I mean, nothing good happened last night and I feel awful about my friend's car, but I'm finding it a lot easier to laugh at shit lately, even when it by no means is really supposed to be amusing. Laughter is always the best medicine, and if the psychiatrists ever find that out they'll start making us pay for that too, so shush. The pants I bought are for guys and funnily enough may be too small for my waist (sigh...time to get back on the treadmille), but I may exchange them, or just get used to these and stretch them out with my chubby hubby tummy. French music is beautiful, and I don't give a good goddamn what any humorless asshole thinks; Aqua Teen Hungerforce is fucking hilarious and nothing anyone says changes that. I mean...come ON. Carl getting raped by hand banana? Whoever doesn't laugh at that can just...I don't even know, dude, I don't even know.

I Ka Barra. <3

Numberrrrr one. 1. Uno. Ichi.

Wed, 02 Dec 2009 08:29:00 GMT

1. Post about something that made you happy today even if it's just a small thing.
2. Do this everyday for eight days without fail.
~~3. Tag eight of your friends to do the same.~~ (Haha, nah, fuck that)

Eight days? Well alright, I'll try and keep up.

So I was feeling absolutely dreadful. Sometimes I get so down on myself that I end up shutting everyone out, and I realize this, and I shall work on it (possibly even bring certain people into that world, to prepare them for a long haul with the ever insufferable me. (Kylie, seriously. Do you realize what you're getting into with me? Just kidding, I love you with all my heart. Bear with me, I know I'm not an easy nut to crack and I'm sorry for that). But either way, my mentality was so far indrawn that I think the walls starting melting as I slid deeper into a self induced insanity, and then my friend Myra called. She immediately sensed the shitbomb in my voice, which isn't hard to do seeing as I wear my heart pretty loosely on my sleeve, so she took matters into her own hands and picked me up, right then and there. I sat in the passenger's seat like a dirty used douche, zombie-like and tear smattered, until we parked outside our favorite cafe and near the best hookah bar in town. We had a deep long talk about all this shit that keeps running through my mind and poisoning my chakras, and she told me that I need to fall as hard as possible before you can get back up, and that I need to accept that life is shit and laugh about it. And I thought about it: accept that life is shit and laugh about it? Haha, this...is why our friendship didn't end for good. So I thought about that, and I decided to laugh more at the funniness of my life, how shitty it is, because if I laugh at it, eventually everything shitty will be far more bearable. Not that I want to become one of those people who think that life is one big joke (like them starving kids in Africa...though the multicolor flies around their mouths add such plentiful texture. Yeah, see what I did there), but I'm at a point in my life where I need to stop avoiding the deep issues and let the shit hit my face while I keep walking uphill, blinded by giant brown dreck.

We smoked hookah for a while, which was enjoyable (I picked the flavor 'panda's milk'. I feel like going to China and sucking on a bear tit now; if that was just the shisha, imagine how euphoric the REAL THING will taste :D), and then we drove home, only to find that Colorado's shitty global warming chaos weather struck again, and the roads were super icy. As in...we were slipping and sliding all over the place; what did we expect a two ton vehicle to do? So we slid and slid and slid and BAM her wheel hit the curb and bent the axel completely, sending me into the window and giving me some interesting whiplash that I'm already feeling boiling somewhere in my upper vertebrae. So after some frantic phone calling (Myra with her grandparents and me trying to call my mom, which she didn't answer because of a fight we had earlier in the evening, HAHA cant wait to pull that on her tomorrow morning XD). So, minor car crash, and we spent the next ten minutes in the middle of the intersection with people steering all over fucking creation trying not to hit us, until this grungy ass guy who was probably an angel sent to help us came and pushed the damn thing all way over into the parking lot of a nearby seven eleven. So then we preceded to waste gas with the heat on and listen to Men at Work, giggling to ourselves about how much of a fucked up night the entire thing was, and how hilarious it struck us as. We waited inside the store for her grandfather, bought some donuts and a hotdog, and then watched as her car got towed as he drove us back in his awesome ass truck with his blinker on more or less the entire way, haha.

So basically, the good thing that happened to me today was the fact that I was in my first car accident and was able to laugh about it. Ding dong the car got wrecked, the car got wrecked, the car got wrecked. Ding dong Myra's car got wreeeeecked. Only thing I'm worried about is how she's going to get to school and work. Will she have to ride the piss-floor bus and sit next to a hobo? Find out next time at Mystery Bullshit Theater: Myra and Tasha get into some more interesting predicaments! :DDDDDDDDDDD

Little slice of my 2009.

Mon, 30 Nov 2009 20:51:55 GMT

As I look back at this year with a considerable amount of ~~knowledge~~ ~~wisdom~~ ~~endurance~~ reflectiveness in my eyes, I see several things. I see a a noose, a sword, a flame, and a boulder.

Once January hit I was as compressed as a fresh newspaper printed in the eighteen hundreds. I had seen her for the first time and knew the next time we would be together would be too long of a wait, and Brittany had started leaving our humble home to a series of one night stands, glass (meth) parties, and other white trash antics with my nephew in tow. I already knew this year was going to take it's toll on us, like the memory of the atom bomb in Hiroshima and Nagasaki, like Frodo and the ring. It was going to leave wounds, physical or emotional, and they were going to be the deepest ones I have encountered as of yet.

The noose symbolized many things. It was the thread on which I hung onto, sometimes clung to, other times used it to wipe out my enemies and the people who made my life miserable. Sometimes I also looked at it as my way out, because if the entire world went to hell and shit hit the fan, at least I would be comforted by the rough tightly spun fibers digging into my neck as I jerked myself out of this god forsaken planet of mine. Barely a month after Brittany left, taking Adin with her and leaving disturbing discoveries of her abuse and molestation against her own son behind her, my oldest friend had packed up her shit and said goodbye to me, like fourteen plus years didn't even matter in her book of self absorbed pity laced with a ridiculous habit of creating her own drama and bullshit. I can understand needing to sit for a while in one's self pity, but suddenly the sympathy and empathy was sucked out of me through a straw reading her words. READING, her words. My best friend had sent me an EMAIL, breaking up with me. I can reflect on a lot of things and at least laugh bitterly, but even now, as the wound is dulled and the pain partially nullified, I find nothing funny about the fact that she left me with a few shitty haphazard words in her wake. The walls were coming down not only on me, but on the rest of my family, and the one person I thought I could count on outside my family went MIA. I was livid, and hurt beyond the recognition of human perception. There are not words to describe that kind of betrayal, so I will not even try. It wont be until half a year later that she contacts me again. At this point, I drove to work wishing everything around me was a wasteland, burning, people on fire until their melted skin dripped down and blinded their own exploding eyeballs. But even if I hated that job, it saved me. The monotony of mundane chores of all things kept my mind off what surely would have been a destructive end.

The sword was my urge to kill. Justify. Reap. Anything to get what I needed. I was in survival mode. I had packed away my beloved emotions of virility, the ones kept me alive when I was an inch from becoming a vegetable. My ability to love had already dwindled, but by that moment I had nothing to live for, no one to console me, not even the mere ability to console myself, and that is something I find most shameful but I do digress. I hardly laughed or smiled, and food didn't really taste like food anymore. That was probably the time I had stopped eating whole meals, and to this day I go back and forth between heavy and emaciated, the flab of my skin screaming for some decent nutrition. I lost my inspiration to write and do anything I enjoyed completely, my hobbies and passions taking a sudden backseat to my inner turmoil. I turned stony to my loved ones, even aggressive. I hated them for not understanding, even though they could not possibly, and deep down I never wanted them to. I blew up and spat in the face of my present girlfriend's ex boyfriend for having someone so special after he treated me like I wasn't worth the atoms and cells it took to create me, proving how utterly undeserving he was of such a gift. I don't know what I wanted to happen from that situation, but I surely didn't want to break them up no matter what either of them thought. I just needed to get that out of me, for it poisoned me from the inside out just like everything else. I had my sword in my hand after all. I needed to do what I could to survive, to keep my head on at least semi straight, and letting that...fascist know exactly what I thought of him was something that needed to be done. Everything else...just kind of happened with it, and I take no responsibility for that, just my own actions and immature handlings. They always say the pen is more powerful than the blade in the end. Well my quill ran out of ink, so I needed to express myself in blood. A lot of things in the open, friendships ended, others strengthened. Now all I need to do is wipe the rapier clean of crimson without bathing myself in too much guilt. It's a useless emotion after all, and makes people do ridiculous and stupid things.

My flame is very, very blue. Cold and deathly beautiful on the outside, but the hottest of the hot, the most passionate of all types of fire to the touch. I found a home in someone else once again. Though they had been one of my greatest comrades I could have ever hoped to gain, things changed this time. I went to see her and saw that nature actually had colors. That faces could still smile, even if everything back home was in ruins. That skin could still feel warm and absolutely lovely even when I felt so unbelievably cold inside. I find it ironic that I discovered how unbelievably perfect things could be amidst even the darkest of times, and this was something I had never pictured even before this shitbomb of a year had entered my life. I always thought in the back of my head that the student body was right, that I was stupid for saving myself and that it wasn't a big deal to just get it over and done with, not caring who it was or how it was done. I was nearing the edge subconsciously, I'm sure, of just giving into their subliminal demands, maybe get drunk bonked by some guy at a party and then never have to remember it again, because the simple actuality that I had someone inside me gave me enough bragging rights for the populous to leave me alone. I'm glad I'm a lot more stubborn and haggish. Never had I ever believed perfection had existed. As someone who scorns the society in which perfection is projected on the faces of models and actresses, singers and other idols of grotesque distortion, making love to this girl and learning just how much she meant to me was, without a doubt, what saved my life this year. It was here that I learned my true nature as a Scorpio, as a woman, as the person I am. I was reminded that I was bold, smoldering, an individual with so much love in her heart but so much hate spoiling her sea of chi, desperate to heal and be healed.

The boulder is my stagnancy, and at the same time my stability. I never refuse to be spontaneous, but I was never the type of person who needed to try something in order to deduce that it was a bad idea, so I never leaped without looking, ever. Quit my job, smelled the flowers for a bit, came home to the same old shit smelling carcass of doom and drama that has permanently plastered itself to the walls of my house, and waited for two months as the feelings of bitterness arose for something else. I was tired of people saying one thing and doing another, tired of their weakness, their indecision, their shallow hemorrhaging discs without a spine to keep them walking upright in this cruel sadistic world. I hissed like an annoyed cat, ground my teeth, thought about doing the logical choice and just packing up my shit and going on with my life, but something made me stay. The possibility that perhaps waiting for someone to make a choice regarding my feelings is the only thing that will bring my heart peace is probably what did it. In the end it was all about her well being. It came to a point where I honestly couldn't have cared less if she wanted to be with me or not, but she was suffocating herself for a lost cause. I've always been a patient person, albeit bitterly, but I waited, and I was rewarded. I like to act, to instigate, to initiate things in my life, but I've found that some of the best things come when you're patient and reserved. Experiences speak to that, take it or leave it. Now, while grateful, I find myself forlorn and unfulfilled. Its the first time I've ever truly missed someone, where it hurt to know that thousands of miles separated us. But I'm getting by. My family is still crumbling, but at the same time a phoenix chick pokes its head out of the ashes every once in a while, reminding me that things die and in turn others are born, and reborn. I'm on an uncomfortable threshold with my spirituality. I know what is is like to be surrounded by a thousand and one bible thumpers and how chaotic that can be, but what is worse is believing in something when there's so much evidence that this is a godless world we live in. Whether or not it makes me weak in the eyes of others, I don't care, because I think it takes a lot of strength (perhaps a great deal of blind stupidity as well) to believe that something great, grand, merciless, beautiful, and natural dwarfs us all. I have seen things in this world most people cant imagine, felt things most people cant comprehend. Since I was young I've always wondered why I can feel the heat of this Nairobi boy's emotions as he kicks the soccer ball into the trashcan goal. With this in my mind, I no longer take offense when people say, "Tasha, you're far too oversensitive", because hell, they're absolutely right, but naturally they don't know just HOW right they are. I hate it when people tell me that the problems of the world aren't mine and that I shouldn't be sad over it. Funny how much of a different tune they'd sing if they could feel a woman being gang raped in Saudi Arabia, how hot her tears feel on their skin and how the helplessness turns her insides to sludge as they stab her again and again with flesh weapons. My half black ass the world's problems aren't my own.

This year has made me question everything about myself, and I still am. Makes me wonder what its all for, why, why, why everything. My dad once told me that in life you fall down each and every day, but as long as you fall on your back and can still see the sky, you can get back up and sock the one who knocked you down right in the kisser. Or forgive them the next day. Either way, its all about what we project, because what we send out comes back, and this is something I will have to eventually live by. I do not want to be another piece of humanity consumed by the curse we were given being born with a frontal lobe. I will not use this gift of mine to become angry, hateful, and violent, another statistic in my species of warlords and destructive villains. I will use it for what it was meant to do; to love, to create, to coexist, to protect myself and others, to swiftly bring forth what needs to be done and replace decay with compassion. In some people's eyes it may be seen as weakness, this path I take. In my mind however, it's always been easier to wallow in hatred than rise out from the abyss, easier to hate than love, easier to doubt than believe, easier to hold a lifelong grudge than forgive. Life is not about what is easy. It is about doing what's right, and the answers are hidden if we allow them to be.

Want/Do Not Want

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 19:02:03 GMT

x(

x(

x(

:D

:D

:D

:DDDD

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 20:13:11 GMT

+ What is your solution to being uninspired? I've been a dead horse when it comes to writing for a long time now, and no matter how long I wait for it to return it just gets worse and worse. In the back of my head I worry that it's because I'm not meant to be a writer, but I don't want to dwell on that. What's your cure ...for chronic writer's block?

replies:

- Music the mood it puts me in and the imagery that it brings to mind but that might just work for me and my poetry

- Paint

- Read a really exciting book?

- I pray and meditate in a candle-lit room. Sounds kinda corny, but it has always helped me out of the fog. I hate foggy minds and that's where I loose clairvoyance and reason- if the two could really ever go together... BUT you dear, You can do anything you like in this life and do it well. I couldn't imagine any other best sellers topping you ... See More because your writing is so amazing. Perhaps all you need is a new adventure, even one inside your mind would do. I say let your good feelings control you for one day. See if that at least helps the numbness, or where takes you.

Mon, 23 Nov 2009 18:18:26 GMT

I just realized, my lj layout looks like Valentines Day vomit. v_v

Sat, 21 Nov 2009 00:02:49 GMT

I've reached that point where talking about it doesn't help a long, long time ago.

Mon, 09 Nov 2009 16:30:01 GMT

It hurts.

Times change.

Fri, 06 Nov 2009 21:45:46 GMT

Y'see, times were like this

This is for certain.
I was going to wake up one
dreary morning

and the sun wouldn't be there.

that's how many obscure
veils had burned into
my retinas.

This is for certain.
I was going to look out
my window

evening rights
and chilling nights
perhaps some
vamp bites

and the moon wouldn't be there.

Or that I would have to write
'parents dead by
mysterious gunshot wound
nephew and pets
dismembered'
on my list of

FUCKS.

I'm sure you
know how easy
yet how damn hard
it is to form a smile
when the planet's
axis goes out of its
way to flip you off.

Silliest romance
I've ever had, really.
Here I am, preachity
preach preach
eat your veggies
and be one with the
colors of the fucking wind

and bam, I made
love to you like
I had done it

all my damn life.

Things ever come
that natural to you?

They never did to me.

So forgive me for
succumbing to the last resort
theory

You always did have
somewhat of a perplexed
understanding of my trust
in these braindead ways

because it was destiny
that I slipped into your niche
like rich creamy spread

literally, do ho ho.

Changed the whole nine yards.
Now, each time
the crust caves in

FAILED SOUFFLES
forget yeast

I can think about stars
on the ceiling
and how I was
able to see you
so clearly

even though it was dark.

Or how good sweat tastes
even from the smallest of
crannies

See I figure that
this cesspool, this
dung heap
ain't so bad
if hair can smell like yours

fuckin' proof that even flowers
grow in shit, m'love.

Don't send me trinkets
tokens of good taste and
bashful repayments

just light a candle
each time you recall
a breath of hot fresh air

Made me not want to
be cracked and mangled
anymore

so don't worry,
I'll keep my skin
soft for you.

last chickie in the coup.

Sat, 31 Oct 2009 07:47:20 GMT

I cant really write anymore.

It's not a huge concern, I mean I'm not freaking out and pulling my hair screaming to myself omg I cant write. I just...don't have anything to say in that way. Nothing to express in the written word. I sing, draw, manipulate, get out my tablet and draw some photogenic eyeballs. But not write. I find I don't need to.

But maybe I'm a little put off. The things I have brewing in my mind could be considered angry, yes. More bitter, actually. But at the same time, big big plans for world peace. I listen to songs about world peace. I'm considering never harming another living creature. I'm preparing myself to love every human being that I meet. To love a world like this so devoutly like I picture in my head? It's overwhelming, and seemingly impossible. I do feel obligated to the world, yes, but thats really not why I want to do it. I just feel like its what will bring me peace. I've always liked doing good, saying good, whether or not its always perceived as such. I don't want to be a saint, or even a martyr, but I know that suffering will make me strong yet flexible. I've always been an emotionally volatile, as well as resourceful person, pondering, feeling like none other, stirring up emotions inside of me again and again until they've run out of smoke, and trust me in someone like myself, it takes a long time for the fire of past wounds to go out. But eventually they do, and it's so...peaceful.

I wrote on a whiteboard I found in the kitchen many many things that I've read every morning since, and I think with repetition and reminders, I can hold onto love and never let it go. I lost love, and hope, all at once this year, completely and utterly, found it, and am struggling to keep it. In short intervals I can live without love, but without hope? I'm truly destitute. But...I'm trying. I really am.

“In the darkest times, hope is something you give yourself. That is the meaning of inner strength."

Socrates and Aristotle

Thu, 15 Oct 2009 19:55:27 GMT

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 22:49:45 GMT

Convo.

Wed, 14 Oct 2009 09:58:32 GMT

I feel a delicate yet heavy weight on my lap. Looking down, two dark honey ambers stare up at me, loving, questioning. What's the matter mom, she's obviously saying.

All I do is smile sadly, gently touch her elongated canine face. "Hey hun." I whisper.

Almost always our conversations are nonverbal. Our communication consists of excited grunts and erratic blinks, soft gazes and loving hearty touches. But this time, I'm in the mood to talk. And thankfully, what with her being the hyperactive pup that she is, she's in the mood to listen.

"Mom's going away for a little while. Can you handle that?"

Perhaps, but I'll miss you. And I'll be a complete brat when you get back.

"I know that, but I can retrain you and things will be good again."

Are you going somewhere to get happy?

"Not necessarily."

You're so sad. In the mornings, while I'm licking the kitchen floor, you stare into the air like that's what makes you sad.

"I know. Sometimes I just think sad thoughts. That's why I'm going away for a little bit. So I don't have to be sad so much."

Doleful blink. My princess doesn't say anything for a while, just kind of looks to the side like she's distracted, and perhaps she is. But I like to think that I know my daughter better than that. I pet her again, this time scrunching up the wrinkly skin of her supple face and massaging her furry cheeks. This seems to get her in a better mood, because her long tail wags a few times but then stops. A giant pink tongue swishes out and catches me on the lips. Its gross, but I laugh and wipe it off with the back of my hand. She's grinning.

"I wont be long, sweetie. When I get back, the walks will be great, and the fetches even longer."

Tip taps tip

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 21:06:47 GMT

crater swallows sun

and then we're stuck

in the frozen rat traps

with Popsicle metal

springs.

Dog's like jesus

and the cat's like

god,

one's eyes like

baby Adin's

all soft and pure

mischievous yet

untainted

the other...

critical

and

judgmental

watching your

every move

like each step

may or may

not be your last.

Peeks up, the light

listless and dull

on another

cyst fest day

and here I wonder

what they'll say

when I reveal to them

just how far

the cookie jar

loony bin

noodle bag

has gone

during the last year

or so.

Told her, and told

him, he looked

rather blank and

perhaps

rather perplexed

but she...

she just looked sad

sad her baby girl

was all grown up

and experiencing

the world's

magma first hand.

It all must smell

of pretentious

gilds and sweet

nothings

she's that way.

Cliffs are high

but bottoms too

soft for this heart

of diamonds and

rubies, blood red

and so stained

with sickle beauty

ice chip doubloons,

soaked in

sanguine sick.

Floral fauna caked

in reverence

heard the birds

call of morning

and regretted

this imagery

this train

that goes and

goes

this bus that goes

and goes

keep pulling on the

thin plastic cord

but it never comes

to a stop.

What's it like

to roll up in

a protective

little ball, I want

to ask both of them.

I suppose I could

roll over,

perhaps smell

the roses and dip

my toes in butter

bathe them in those

animal tongues

Fetal position so

futile, only makes

me feel like a bears feast.

Spark that makes your idea bright.

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 00:28:18 GMT