You Know You Wanna....

Ooh baby i like it rawww, yeah baby i like it rawwwwww

Fri, 28 Apr 2006 22:46:44 GMT

"Offer them what they secretly want and they of course immediately become panic-stricken."

“As early pioneers in the knowing, that when you lose your reason, you attain highest perfect knowing.”
-- "Book of Blues”

“All things are like visions beyond the reach of the human mind.”

“But let the mind beware, that though the flesh be bugged, the circumstances of existence are pretty glorious.”
-- "The Dharma Bums”

“I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life.”

“You can’t have birth without existence and you can’t have death without birth.”

"...Ah, life is a gate, a way, a path to Paradise anyway, why not live for fun and joy and love or some sort of girl by a fireside, why not go to your desire and LAUGH..."
-- "Big Sur”

“My witness is the empty sky.”

“Desolation, desolation, I owe so much to desolation.”
-- "The Dharma Bums”

“My aunt once said the world would never find peace until men fell at their women’s feet and asked for forgiveness.”

“The only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars..."
-- "On The Road”

“You’d be surprised how little I knew even up to yesterday.”

“It’s like old newspapers blowing down Bleecker Street.”
-- response to a question about fame

“I’d rather be thin than famous.”

“Dean, don’t drive so fast in the daytime...ah hell, Dean, I’m going in the back seat, I can’t stand it anymore, I can’ look."
-- "On the Road”

“I’m not a beatnik, I’m a Catholic.”

LETS BE REAL. JACK KEROUAC IS THE ULTIMATE SHIT

peanut butter crackers and diet coke

Fri, 28 Apr 2006 00:51:54 GMT

"SELF PORTRAIT AT 28"
by David Berman (god)

I know it's a bad title
but I'm giving it to myself as a gift
on a day nearly canceled by sunlight
when the entire hill is approaching
the ideal of Virginia
brochured with goldenrod and loblolly
and I think "at least I have not woken up
with a bloody knife in my hand"
by then having absently wandered
one hundred yards from the house
while still seated in this chair
with my eyes closed.

It is a certain hill
the one I imagine when I hear the word "hill"
and if the apocalypse turns out
to be a world-wide nervous breakdown
if our five billion minds collapse at once
well I'd call that a surprise ending
and this hill would still be beautiful
a place I wouldn't mind dying
alone or with you.

I am trying to get at something
and I want to talk very plainly to you
so that we are both comforted by the honesty.
You see there is a window by my desk
I stare out when I am stuck
though the outdoors has rarely inspired me to write
and I don't know why I keep staring at it.

My childhood hasn't made good material either
mostly being a mulch of white minutes
with a few stand out moments,
popping tar bubbles on the driveway in the summer
a certain amount of pride at school
everytime they called it "our sun"
and playing football when the only play
was "go out long" are what stand out now.

If squeezed for more information
I can remember old clock radios
with flipping metal numbers
and an entree called Surf and Turf.

As a way of getting in touch with my origins
every night I set the alarm clock
for the time I was born so that waking up
becomes a historical reenactment and the first thing I do
is take a reading of the day and try to flow with it like
when you're riding a mechanical bull and you strain to learn
the pattern quickly so you don't inadverantly resist it.

II two

I can't remember being born
and no one else can remember it either
even the doctor who I met years later
at a cocktail party.
It's one of the little disappointments
that makes you think about getting away
going to Holly Springs or Coral Gables
and taking a room on the square
with a landlady whose hands are scored
by disinfectant, telling the people you meet
that you are from Alaska, and listen
to what they have to say about Alaska
until you have learned much more about Alaska
than you ever will about Holly Springs or Coral Gables.

Sometimes I am buying a newspaper
in a strange city and think
"I am about to learn what it's like to live here."
Oftentimes there is a news item
about the complaints of homeowners
who live beside the airport
and I realize that I read an article
on this subject nearly once a year
and always receive the same image.

I am in bed late at night
in my house near the airport
listening to the jets fly overhead
a strange wife sleeping beside me.
In my mind, the bedroom is an amalgamation
of various cold medicine commercial sets
(there is always a box of tissue on the nightstand).

I know these recurring news articles are clues,
flaws in the design though I haven't figured out
how to string them together yet,
but I've begun to notice that the same people
are dying over and over again,
for instance Minnie Pearl
who died this year
for the fourth time in four years.

III three

Today is the first day of Lent
and once again I'm not really sure what it is.
How many more years will I let pass
before I take the trouble to ask someone?

It reminds of this morning
when you were getting ready for work.
I was sitting by the space heater
numbly watching you dress
and when you asked why I never wear a robe
I had so many good reasons
I didn't know where to begin.

If you were cool in high school
you didn't ask too many questions.
You could tell who'd been to last night's
big metal concert by the new t-shirts in the hallway.
You didn't have to ask
and that's what cool was:
the ability to deduct
to know without asking.
And the pressure to simulate coolness
means not asking when you don't know,
which is why kids grow ever more stupid.

A yearbook's endpages, filled with promises
to stay in touch, stand as proof of the uselessness
of a teenager's promise. Not like I'm dying
for a letter from the class stoner
ten years on but...

Do you remember the way the girls
would call out "love you!"
conveniently leaving out the "I"
as if they didn't want to commit
to their own declarations.

I agree that the "I" is a pretty heavy concept
and hope you won't get uncomfortable
if I should go into some deeper stuff here.

IV four

There are things I've given up on
like recording funny answering machine messages.
It's part of growing older
and the human race as a group
has matured along the same lines.
It seems our comedy dates the quickest.
If you laugh out loud at Shakespeare's jokes
I hope you won't be insulted
if I say you're trying too hard.
Even sketches from the original Saturday Night Live
seem slow-witted and obvious now.

It's just that our advances are irrepressible.
Nowadays little kids can't even set up lemonade stands.
It makes people too self-conscious about the past,
though try explaining that to a kid.

I'm not saying it should be this way.

All this new technology
will eventually give us new feelings
that will never completely displace the old ones
leaving everyone feeling quite nervous
and split in two.

We will travel to Mars
even as folks on Earth
are still ripping open potato chip
bags with their teeth.

Why? I don't have the time or intelligence
to make all the connections
like my friend Gordon
(this is a true story)
who grew up in Braintree Massachusetts
and had never pictured a brain snagged in a tree
until I brought it up.
He'd never broken the name down to its parts.
By then it was too late.
He had moved to Coral Gables.

V five

The hill out my window is still looking beautiful
suffused in a kind of gold national park light
and it seems to say,
I'm sorry the world could not possibly
use another poem about Orpheus
but I'm available if you're not working
on a self-portrait or anything.

I'm watching my dog have nightmares,
twitching and whining on the office floor
and I try to imagine what beast
has cornered him in the meadow
where his dreams are set.

I'm just letting the day be what it is:
a place for a large number of things
to gather and interact --
not even a place but an occasion
a reality for real things.

Friends warned me not to get too psychedelic
or religious with this piece:
"They won't accept it if it's too psychedelic
or religious," but these are valid topics
and I'm the one with the dog twitching on the floor
possibly dreaming of me
that part of me that would beat a dog
for no good reason
no reason that a dog could see.

I am trying to get at something so simple
that I have to talk plainly
so the words don't disfigure it
and if it turns out that what I say is untrue
then at least let it be harmless
like a leaky boat in the reeds
that is bothering no one.

VI six

I can't trust the accuracy of my own memories,
many of them having blended with sentimental
telephone and margarine commercials
plainly ruined by Madison Avenue
though no one seems to call the advertising world
"Madison Avenue" anymore. Have they moved?
Let's get an update on this.

But first I have some business to take care of.

I walked out to the hill behind our house
which looks positively Alaskan today
and it would be easier to explain this
if I had a picture to show you
but I was with our young dog
and he was running through the tall grass
like running through the tall grass
is all of life together
until a bird calls or he finds a beer can
and that thing fills all the space in his head.

You see,
his mind can only hold one thought at a time
and when he finally hears me call his name
he looks up and cocks his head
and for a single moment
my voice is everything:

Self-portrait at 28.

I think i might scream now

Tue, 25 Apr 2006 23:47:23 GMT

yo im about to be all up in all y'alls teen vogue's "street style" and shit. my ass got stopped on state street today.

LOOK OUT. teen vogue this month, vogue in a year, MUTHAFUCKIN PLANET IN TWO.

"You're all very helpful, but I'm not sure any of you are ready to give me what i need."

its simple, we dont want to kill

Tue, 18 Apr 2006 21:28:21 GMT

hi you pretty little genius!

haha my fashion illustration teacher did this.

hahaha indians.

thats the time you miss her most of all

Mon, 17 Apr 2006 08:26:05 GMT

pretty

Fresh out the jet, to the checks, where the G's at?

Sun, 09 Apr 2006 23:41:39 GMT

"Cashmere feels good. Fur feels good. Sex feels good. Drinking feels good. Having fun feels good. Enjoying the sky is a nice thing. Being happy, singing a song, having fun with your friends, experiencing the fact that we are this human thing. Fashion is a luxury, just like steak or caviar or champagne. It sounds frivolous, but within our world, enjoying life and feeling good about yourself, looking down at your feet and getting a little rush of excitement because your shoes look fabulous, on some level that becomes important. It adds something to your life. Thats the power of fashion. It's there to be enjoyed. I've never been overly cerebral about it. Some designers are; thats their image. My image has probably been more base. I feel fashion more than i think it. That doesn't mean I dont think about it. I am pragmatic. But my first instinct is gut."

I rediscovered this man!

IN OTHER NEWS, I GOT INTO THE FASHION DEPARTMENT, YOU STUPID MOTHERFUCKERS. MY NAMES ABOUT TO BE ALL OVA ALL Y'ALLS SHIT. WHATCHU KNOW ABOUT THAT

i dont reckon i cant stand no cake just now.

Wed, 05 Apr 2006 19:17:26 GMT

lifffffeeeeee riiiiighhhhtttt noooowwww

Also, Nikki. i watched brokeback again last night and almost called you during THE SCENE that is the summary of our friendship:
"Goddamn it, Ennis, you goddamn sonofabitch" "I wish i knew how to quit you" "THEN WHY DONT YOU! you did this to me, jack twist. the reason im like this is you!" ...you know. something to that extent. either way. i almost called but it was 5 in the morning and i was a little wine-y.

IF YA CANT FIX IT Y'GAT TA STAND IT

"Hey, are you a dreamer?"

Sun, 02 Apr 2006 09:23:41 GMT

Philosophy Professor: The reason why I refuse to take existentialism as just another French fashion or historical curiosity is that I think it has something very important to offer us... I'm afraid were losing the real virtues of living life passionately in the sense of taking responsibility for who you are the ability to make something of yourself and feel good about life. Existentialism is often discussed as if it were a philosophy of despair, but I think the truth is just the opposite. Sartre, once interviewed, said he never felt once minute of despair in his life. One thing that comes out from reading these guys is not a sense of anguish about life so much as a real kind of exuberance, of feeling on top of it, its like your life is yours to create. Ive read the post modernists with some interest, even admiration, but when I read them I always have this awful nagging feeling that something absolutely essential is getting left out. The more you talk about a person as a social construction or as a confluence of forces or as being fragmented of marginalised, what you do is you open up a whole new world of excuses. And when sartre talks about responsibilty, he's not talking about something abstract. He's not taling about the kind of self or souls that theologians would talk about. Hes talking about you and me talking, making descisions, doing things, and taking the consequences. It might be true that there are six million people in this world, and counting, but nevertheless -what you do makes a difference. It makes a difference, first of all, in material terms, to other people, and it sets an example. In short, I think the message here is that we shouuld never write ourselves off or see eachother as a victim of various forces. It's always our descision who we are.

Soap Opera Woman: Excuse me.
Wiley: Excuse me.
Soap Opera Woman: Hey. Could we do that again? I know we haven't met, but I don't want to be an ant. You know? I mean, it's like we go through life with our antennas bouncing off one another, continously on ant autopilot, with nothing really human required of us. Stop. Go. Walk here. Drive there. All action basically for survival. All communication simply to keep this ant colony buzzing along in an efficient, polite manner. "Here's your change." "Paper or plastic?' "Credit or debit?" "You want ketchup with that?" I don't want a straw. I want real human moments. I want to see you. I want you to see me. I don't want to give that up. I don't want to be ant, you know?

see the movie Waking Life

If I lived in China I'd have some Chinese children

Wed, 29 Mar 2006 23:15:19 GMT

what an amazing picture.

watched capote last night.

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,

angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to thestarry dynamo in the machinery of night,

who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water fiats 'doating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,

who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tenement roofs illuminated,

who passed through universities with radiant cool eyes hallucinating Arkansas and Blake-light tragedy among the scholars of war,

who were expelled from the academies for crazy & publishing obscene odes on the windows of the skull,

who cowered in unshaven rooms in underwear, burning their money in wastebaskets and listening to the Terror through the wall,

who got busted in their pubic beards returning through Laredo with a belt of marijuana for New York,

who ate fire in paint hotels or drank turpentine in Paradise Alley, death, or purgatoried their torsos night after night,

with dreams, with drugs, with waking nightmares, alcohol and cock and endless balls,

incomparable blind streets of shuddering cloud and lightning in the mind leaping toward poles of Canada & Paterson, illuminating all the motionless world of Time between,

Peyote solidities of halls, backyard green tree cemetery dawns, wine drunkenness over the rooftops, storefront boroughs of teahead joyride neon blinking traffic light, sun and moon and tree vibrations in the roaring winter dusks of Brooklyn, ashcan rantings and kind king light of mind,

who chained themselves to subways for the endless ride from Battery to holy Bronx on benzedrine until the noise of wheels and children brought them down shuddering mouth-wracked and battered bleak of brain all drained of brilliance in the drear light of Zoo,

who sank all night in submarine light of Bickford's floated out and sat through the stale beer afternoon in desolate Fugazzi's, I listening to the crack of doom on the hydrogen jukebox,

who talked continuously seventy hours from park to pad to bar to Bellevue to museum to the Brooklyn Bridge,

a lost battalion of platonic conversationalists jumping down the stoops off fire escapes off windowsills off Empire State out of the moon, yacketayakking screaming vomiting whispering facts and memories and anecdotes and eyeball kicks and shocks of hospitals and jails and wars,

whole intellects disgorged in total recall for seven days and nights with brilliant eyes, meat for the Synagogue cast on the pavement,

who vanished into nowhere Zen New Jersey leaving a trail of ambiguous picture postcards of Atlantic City Hall,

suffering Eastern sweats and Tangerian bone-grindings and migraines of China under junk-withdrawal in Newark's bleak furnished room,

who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts,

who lit cigarettes in boxcars boxcars boxcars racketing through snow toward lonesome farms in grandfather night,

who studied Plotinus Poe St. John of the Cross telepathy and bop kaballa because the cosmos instinctively vibrated at their feet in Kansas,

who loned it through the streets of Idaho seeking visionary indian angels,

who were visionary indian angels,

who thought they were only mad when Baltimore gleamed in supernatural ecstasy,

who jumped in limousines with the Chinaman of Oklahoma on the impulse of winter midnight streetlight smalltown rain,

who lounged hungry and lonesome through Houston seeking jazz or sex or soup, and followed the brilliant Spaniard to converse about America and Eternity, a hopeless task, and so took ship to Africa,

who disappeared into the volcanoes of Mexico leaving behind nothing but the shadow of dungarees and the lava and ash of poetry scattered in fireplace Chicago,

who reappeared on the West Coast investigating the E.B.I. in beards and shorts with big pacifist eyes sexy in their dark skin passing out incomprehensible leaflets,

who burned cigarette holes in their arms protesting the narcotic tobacco haze of Capitalism,

who distributed Supercommunist pamphlets in Union Square weeping and undressing while the sirens of Los Alamos wailed them down, and wailed down Wall, and the Staten Island ferry also wailed,

who broke down crying in white gymnasiums naked and trembling before the machinery of other skeletons,

who bit detectives in the neck and shrieked with delight in policecars for committing no crime but their own wild cooking pederasty and intoxication,

who howled on their knees in the subway and were dragged off the roof waving genitals and manuscripts,

who let themselves be fucked in the ass by saintly motorcyclists, and screamed with joy,

who blew and were blown by those human seraphim, the sailors, caresses of Atlantic and Caribbean love,

who balled in the morning in the evenings in rosegardens and the grass of public parks and cemeteries scattering their semen freely to whomever come who may,

who hiccupped endlessly trying to giggle but wound up with a sob behind a partition in a Turkish Bath when the blonde & naked angel came to pierce them with a sword,

who lost their loveboys to the three old shrews of fate the one eyed shrew of the heterosexual dollar the one eyed shrew that winks out of the womb and the one eyed shrew that does nothing but sit on her ass and snip the intellectual golden threads of the craftsman's loom,

who copulated ecstatic and insatiate with a bottle of beer a sweetheart a package of cigarettes a candle and fell off the bed, and continued along the floor and down the hall and ended fainting on the wall with a vision of ultimate cunt and come eluding the last gyzym of consciousness,

who sweetened the snatches of a million girls trembling in the sunset, and were red eyed in the morning but prepared to sweeten the snatch of the sunrise, flashing buttocks under barns and naked in the lake,

who went out whoring through Colorado in myriad stolen night-cars, N.C., secret hero of these poems, cocksman and Adonis of Denver--joy to the memory of his innumerable lays of girls in empty lots & diner backyards, moviehouses rickety rows, on mountaintops in caves or with gaunt waitresses in familiar roadside lonely petticoat upliftings & especially secret gas-station solipsisms of johns, & hometown alleys too

who faded out in vast sordid movies, were shifted in dreams, woke on a sudden Manhattan, and picked themselves up out of basements hungover with heartless Tokay and horrors of Third Avenue iron dreams & stumbled to unemployment offices,

who walked all night with their shoes full of blood on the snowbank docks waiting for a door in the East River to open to a room full of steamheat and opium,

who created great suicidal dramas on the apartment cliff-banks of the Hudson under the wartime blue floodlight of the moon & their heads shall be crowned with laurel in oblivion,

who ate the lamb stew of the imagination or digested the crab at the muddy bottom of the rivers of Bowery,

who wept at the romance of the streets with their pushcarts full of onions and bad music,

who sat in boxes breathing in the darkness under the bridge, and rose up to build harpsichords in their lofts,

who coughed on the sixth floor of Harlem crowned with flame under the tubercular sky surrounded by orange crates of theology,

who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish,

who cooked rotten animals lung heart feet tail borsht & tortillas dreaming of the pure vegetable kingdom,

who plunged themselves under meat trucks looking for an egg,

who threw their watches off the roof to cast their ballot for Eternity outside of Time, & alarm clocks fell on their heads every day for the next decade,

who cut their wrists three times successively unsuccessfully, gave up and were forced to open antique stores where they thought they were growing old and cried,

who were burned alive in their innocent flannel suits on Madison Avenue amid blasts of leaden verse & the tanked-up clatter of the iron regiments of fashion & the nitroglycerine shrieks of the fairies of advertising & the mustard gas of sinister intelligent editors, or were run down by the drunken taxicabs of Absolute Reality,

who jumped off the Brooklyn Bridge this actually happened and walked away unknown and forgotten into the ghostly daze of Chinatown soup alleyways & firetrucks, not even one free beer,

who sang out of their windows in despair, fell out of the subway window, jumped in the filthy Passaic, leaped on negroes, cried all over the street, danced on broken wineglasses barefoot smashed phonograph records of nostalgic European 1930'S German jazz finished the whiskey and threw up groaning into the bloody toilet, moans in their ears and the blast of colossal steam-whistles,

who barreled down the highways of the past journeying to each other's hotrod-Golgotha jail-solitude watch or Birmingham jazz incarnation,

who drove crosscountry seventytwo hours to find out if I had a vision or you had a vision or he had a vision to find out Eternity.

who journeyed to Denver, who died in Denver, who came back to Denver & waited in vain, who watched over Denver & brooded & loned in Denver and finally went away to find out the Time, & now Denver is lonesome for her heroes,

who fell on their knees in hopeless cathedrals praying for each other's salvation and light and breasts, until the soul illuminated its hair for a second,

who crashed through their minds in jail waiting for impossible criminals with golden heads and the charm of reality in their hearts who sang sweet blues to Alcatraz,

who retired to Mexico to cultivate a habit, or Rocky Mount to tender Buddhas or Tangiers to boys or Southern Pacific to the black locomotive' or Harvard to Narcissus to Woodlawn to the daisy-chain or grave,

who demanded sanity trials accusing the radio of hypnotism & were left with their insanity & their hands & a hung jury,

who threw potato salad at CCNY lecturers on Dadaism and subsequently presented themselves on the granite steps of the madhouse with shaven heads and harlequin speech of suicide, demanding instantaneous lobotomy,

and who were given instead the concrete void of insulin metrasol electricity hydrotherapy psychotherapy occupational therapy pingpong & amnesia,

who in humorless protest overturned only one symbolic pingpong table, resting briefly in catatonia,

returning years later truly bald except for a wig of blood, and tears and fingers, to the visible madman doom of the wards of the madtowns of the East,

Pilgrim State's Rockland's and Greystone's foetid halls, bickering with the echoes of the soul, rocking and rolling in the midnight solitude-bench dolmen-realms of love, dream of life a nightmare, bodies turned to stone as heavy as the moon,

with mother finally * * * * * *, and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 AM and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination--

ah, Carl, while you are not safe I am not safe, and now you're really in the total animal soup of time--

and who therefore ran through the icy streets obsessed with a sudden flash of the alchemy of the use of the ellipse the catalog the meter & the vibrating plane,

who dreamt and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space through images juxtaposed, and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun and dash of consciousness together jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus

to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame, rejected yet confessing out the soul to conform to the rhythm of thought in his naked and endless head,

the madman bum and angel beat in Time, unknown, yet putting down here what might be left to say in time come after death,

and rose reincarnate in the ghostly clothes of jazz in the goldhorn shadow of the band and blew the suffering of America's naked mind for love into an eli eli lamma lamma sabacthani saxophone cry that shivered the cities down to the last radio

with the absolute heart of the poem of life butchered out of their own bodies good to eat a thousand years.

Allan Ginsberg
from "Howl"
1956

total brilliancee.

Chi Town Chi Town, we gon show them how we get down

Fri, 17 Mar 2006 22:23:47 GMT

Went thifting today off Damen.

Best experience of my life. Things that i now own:

Oh, hi, bag. (this is not the actual bag. this is a googled image. alrightok) Hey. hey you, hey bag. are you authentically from a bomb ass long time ago?

Yessss!

And hey, bag, are you authentic and not some cheap ass rip off?

uh huh!

Only a couple more questions, kick ass bag. Are you made out of authentic lamb leather?

yessir!

And finally, bag. finally. Did i pay alot for you?

NO WAY!

why is that, baggy mc love?

BECAUSE YOU KNOW ABOUT OFF THE GODDAMN CHAIN VINTAGE STORES AND YOU ARE A DECENT PERSON! HUZZAH!

alright COOL. next.
I am wandering around this store called the Brown Elephant. i find shoes. im browsing. you know. i mean, IM LOOKING AROUND AT THE SHOES.

and then. i spot them.
I see a Y. i see the S. i see the L. Yves Saint Laurent shoes. for five dollars. its true. they are red. and also glorious. COOL

And finally
an extra large off white vintage tee shirt with a green silohette of a man with a machine gun and a ski mask and in green lettering, it says, "BIER BUA!" i looked up what it means on google? aparantly it means like, "yours truly" or "sicerely yours" so....ski mask..machine gun...."sincerely yours"

Hey, crazy shirt. did i pay alot for you?

yes. you did. you paid FAR too much for me considering i am a mens extra large tee shirt that is way..way...way old.

are you very very soft and old and threadbaren though?

yes. obviously.

do you make me feel like a rockstar?

of course i do. only rockstars and mary kate olsen wear oversized aged teeshirts.

alright. im glad i bought you then.

im glad im yours.

want to hang out tonight?

yes.

COOL, THRIFTING!

"I dont leave my house, ever."

Tue, 14 Mar 2006 06:57:29 GMT

Devendra Banhart proposed to me today. how cool is THAT!

im choosing my confessions

Mon, 13 Mar 2006 06:32:24 GMT

the best person of all times, ever. amen.

Art died with Andy's Brillo Pad Box

Wed, 08 Mar 2006 16:48:30 GMT

Clem knew what was up.

theres always money in the banana stand

Tue, 07 Mar 2006 01:11:16 GMT

thank god

yo, ill handle this

Tue, 28 Feb 2006 06:16:31 GMT

WU TANG CLAN AINT NOTHIN TO FUCK WITH

youre gonna die

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 04:17:49 GMT

I want to share some lyrics with you. they are from William Shatner's 2004 album entitled, "Has Been"

"common people"
ft. Joe Jackson

She came from Greece. She had a thirst for knowledge.
She studied sculpture at Saint Martin's College.
That's where I--caught her eye.
She told me that her dad was loaded.
I said, in that case I'll have a rum and Coca-Cola.
She said fine, and in thirty seconds time she said...
I wanna live like common people.
I wanna do whatever common people do.
I wanna sleep with common people.
I wanna sleep with common people like you.
Well, what else could I do? I said, I'll see what I can do!

I took her to a supermarket.
I don't know why, but I had to start it somewhere.
So it started there!
I said, pretend you've got no money.
She just laughed and said, oh, you're so funny!
I said, yeah? Well I can't see anyone else smiling in here!
Are you sure you want to live like common people?
You want to see whatever common people see?
You want to sleep with common people?
You want to sleep with common people like me?
But she didn't understand...

...she just smiled and held my hands!
Rent a flat above a shop!
Cut your hair and get a job!
Smoke some fags and play some pool.
Pretend you never went to school.
But still you'll never get it right.
When you're lyin' in bed at night,
Watching roaches climb the wall.
If you call your dad he could stop it all.

You'll never live like common people!
You'll never do whatever common people do!
You'll never fail like common people!
You'll never watch your life slide out of view,
and dance, and drink, and screw!
Because there's nothing else to do!

another song,
"thats me trying"
ft. Ben Folds and Aimee Mann

I got your address from the phone book at the library
Wandered in, looked you up and you were there
Weird that you've been living, maybe, 2 miles away for the best part of 20 years
You must be, what, in your early forties now
If I remember,
You were born in June or was it May?
Eisenhower was the president although it may have been JFK

Years of silence
Not enough who could blame us giving up?
Above the quiet there's a buzz
That's me trying

You still working in that store on ventura?
You still going with--no, that's not fair
I know I haven't been the very best of dads
I'll hold my hand up there
The reason that I'm writing is that i'd like for us to meet
Get a little daughter dad action going soon
We can put things behind us
Eat some pizza, drink some beer
You still see your sister Lemli?
Bring her, too

Years of silence, not enough
Who could blame us giving up?
Above the quiet there's a buzz
That's me trying

But I don't want to talk about any of that bad stuff
Why I missed out on your wedding and your high school graduation
I'd like to explain, but I can't
So let's keep things neutral
Stick to topics that won't bug us

How 'bout this?
Let's choose a book and we'll read it before we meet
Then we can sit down at a restaurant
Have a look at the menu and talk about it while we eat
See, if we never had a problem
Then that's what life would be like
Easy
Uncomplicated
Cool

So let's just pretend that the past didn't happen
I don't really like thriller as well.
I don't want to know if I've got grandchildren
no need to tell me where I went wrong
I don't want to know what happened in your thirties
You wanna try 'cold mountain'?
Or is that too long??

Years of silence, not enough
Who could blame us giving up?
Above the quiet there's a buzz
That's me trying
I'm trying

this is all i care about right now.

your time is gonna come

Sat, 18 Feb 2006 01:38:51 GMT

lookkk, a shitty drawing exerciseee.

fucking hell bloody mother of god i am so bored.

happy birthday, hilton.

Thu, 16 Feb 2006 05:36:45 GMT

i dont think that is going to work. it was just an experiment.

fucknewentrythatnobodywillreadalright letsmakethishappenyayayayaya

fact: looking like a crack fiend is the best thing that ever happened to me.
fact: i am on day 6 for my mens white cut up undershirt. if you turn it inside out you can see actual dirt and stuff. AMAZING
fact: i left my pashmina at the boys house so i have to go on one more date with him. totally lame.
fact: smoking marlboro ultra lights is like smoking clean air.
fact: my friend jacob and his girlfriend casey are like, my life. They were both born and raised in manhattan and she looks like demi moore and dresses like..upscale urban outfitters. and i hate urban outfitters style so that says something. and they've been dating since the 7th grade and he goes shopping in chicago for her and buys her vintage pucci scarves. COME ON. he has never said a single thing bad about her since i have known him. sample conversations:

me: jacob, did you give casey that scarf?
jacob: yeahhh
me: did she like it?
jacob: she loved it. she looked amazing in it.

*looking at pictures of a model*
me: oh, models.
jacob: my girlfriend is prettier.

man oh man

fact: heidi klum is possibly the smuggest bitch alive
fact: michael kors should stop designing shitty resort wear that is only one step left and up from tommy hilfiger and start just being a commentator and philosopher. and title his first book "Life: Oh GAWD, Its Like Somebody Wrapped Me In Cheap Silk Charmeuse And Spun Me Around In An Office Desk Chair While Sprinkling Self Tanner And Jade Green Sequins On Me"

fact: ive just made friends with this boy after facebook messaging back and forth for months. in our old messages he would just rip me apart and insult me and then throw in a, "but youre pretty or something." we'd see each other on the street and avoid each other or he would give me a smug condescending smirk and sometimes a....dare i say...snort? i dare. finally we became friends and i ventured to his room last thursday where we drank wine that tasted like vinegar.
fact a: he is THE MOST arrogant person i have ever met
fact b: he said, "There are three things that are just...untouchable and beautiful: jazz, sex, and art."
fact c: he talked about himself for an entire hour and thats all
fact d: he lives alone in a room, he is 23 or so, he has 300 books in his room, mostly philosophy, and he paints excessive female nudes. hes very into "the visceral qualities of Abstract Expressionism."
fact e: he is totally abraisive and makes me uncomfortable
fact f: i am drinking wine tomorrow at 9:00 with him.

fact: there is this other boy that facebook messages me and basically remembers everything ive ever worn, every time he has ever seen me, and what i looked like when he saw me ( happy, sad, passive...etc)
fact a: i was in an elevator with him 2 days ago and i wasnt pay attention. he and a friend were the only two in the elevator with me and he didnt say anything to me and i didnt recognize him. i got off and caught his reflection in the glass and his jaw was dropped and he was covering his face with his hand. it was basically the cutest thing ive ever seen

fact: i just made it sound like i have at least 20 boys in rotation and i am a desirable object at my school. dont confuse. i have nothing.
fact: my fashion department interview is in like, 3 weeks and i have to have a 10 piece colored collection with fabric swatches, 10 examples of other, nonfashion oriented work, and be prepared for an interview with "the fashion board."
fact a: i am shitting myselffffffffff

fact: blah blah blah something witty and offhand and unexpected

the last thing i said: " 'Its visceral. Keep stroking your fucking canvas with your oil paints you fag.' "

people youve been before that you dont want around anymore

Tue, 14 Feb 2006 06:39:06 GMT

Shitilikerightnowletsdothis:

1./A./- cigarettes still.
2./B./- taking pictures
3./C./- self portraits
4./D./- Vincent VanGogh
5./E./- Ashley Olsen drug use
6./F./- my big white guys' undershirt that i cut the neck out of and also the hems. i havent stopped wearing it for 3 days now.
7./G./- looking like a drug addict
8./H./- messiness/messy things/shitstyle art
9./I./- Fleetwood Mac
10./J./- "you shook me"- Led Zepellin
11./K./- wine
12./L/- facebook
13./M./-fresh flowers
14./N./- summer
15./O./- bran muffins
16./P./- tragically fabulous gay boys (myspace "your fucked up")
17./Q./- black
18./R./- 9am-9pm classes
19./S./- red suede string bracelet
20./T./- red lipstick
21./U/- doing laundry
22./V./- the asian
23./W./- bread
24./X./- Elliot Smith
25./Y./- watching movies
26./Z./- Edith Piaf

Sun, 12 Feb 2006 10:09:30 GMT

DRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSDRUGSSSSS

coke is disgusting and it turns decent people into shitty bright eyes songs.

also, artists are bullshit.

i know i just cant stay here in heaven

Fri, 10 Feb 2006 02:08:27 GMT

"Im suprised that bitch aint all jittery an shit."

-employee at starbucks about me after i ordered my third venti hazelnut latte of the day.

friend: "What did you do today?"

me: "Picked up a chain smoking habit."

"Ok, im going to put in some gay porn right now that we are going to watch. i want you all to take notes on what might be considered 'avant- garde' in this gay porno video." -my english teacher

"slapping partner in head while sodomizing"- my notes in english today

homeless guy: Thank ya! god bless ya!

guy: im a Buddhist.

homeless guy: I dont care whatchya religion is, cracka. i need a turkey and swiss cheeses sammich! y'gave me some change. i dont need no preaching, i just need me a sammich. goddamn. *looks at me*

me: ...yeah, i know what you mean

homeless guy: ... no you dont

me: well, i want a sandwich either way.

homeless guy: oh, girl. i hear that.

me: have a good day

homeless guy: god bless ya.

me: haha ah, yeah you too.

homeless guy: i dont believe in no god.

me: alright

"Oh my god, are you going to the Johnny Love party?? the theme is Eating disorders. Theyre having a contest and whoever is the skinniest gets to clean the party after with whoever the fattest person is."- girl in my english class

THINGS I LIKE AS I AM TYPING THIS:

-the size "venti"

-cigarettes

-how my hands smell after smoking

-my mom and dad

-my white pashmina

-black and white things

-wearing very dark brown eyeshadow under my eyes

-my whitewashed jeans

-drawing

-routines

-red wine

-pickles and unsalted peanuts together

-old vogues from the 1960s

-old dirty magazines from the 1930s

-3 coats minimum of Sally Hansen "Always Ascher" nailpolish

-my grey crocheted peep toe pumps

-wrapping my laptop in the same red blue green brown and white paisley scarf everyday

-argo tea

-chocolatte croissants

-fleetwood mac

-looking at bobo or urban hippies

-transfer students

-doing my hair

-going tagging with my friend zach

-zoey smoking in our room

-zoey actually living here

-still not knowing the asian's name

-the fact that the asian slept from 2-11 yesterday

-street markets

-old, found objects

-small groups of friends

-staying in

-talking to my friend werm more often in small amounts

-calling friends more often

-talking to nikki online

-being quiet

-mariah careys #1s

-elton john's greatest hits

-the songs, "Levon," "Sorry seems to be the hardest word," "Rocket Man"

-old recordings of my choir

-paris

-thinking about the next 10 years

-strangers

-being alone

youre just a baby, baby girl.

Wed, 08 Feb 2006 04:38:00 GMT

Beginning Fashion Illustration

Week 1: Intro to class, portfolio review, discuss directiojn and focus, syllabus, supplies

Week 2: Gesture/Propoortion lecture and drawing female figure

Week 3: Shape drawing, female figure drawing

Week 4: shadow and reflection lecture and drawing, form and draping, lighting

Week 5: Explore line quality, drama and emotion in drawing. Male figure characteristics

Week 6: Beauty head drawing. female/ male, Fashion Resource Center

Week 7: Drawing with dry color. Black paper, Editorial fashion drawing, stylization

Week 8: Drawing on color paper. Costume/ Theme drawing

Week 9: tba

Week 10: Intro. to Watercolor

Week 11: Drawing Children, proportion, character

Week 12: Drawing flats, watercolor continued

Week 13: MARKER DEMONSTRATION

Week 14: Woring in class with markers

Week 15: Crit Week, individual work

Week 16: Final project due, individual drawing critiques

Basically this class is the best thing that has ever happened to me. Just today completely changed the way i draw fashion figures. my mind is blown. My teacher did the artwork on the 2006 Prismacolor boxes. He worked for any major upscale department store you can think of doing fashion illustration fo ads. hes basically a fashion illustration god of some kind. its sick.

ALRIGHT MOVING ON.

RESEARCH STUDIO II
Pop Culture on the Skids
Instructor: Adam Scott

"Isnt life a series of images that change as they repeat themselves?

-Andy Warhol

"When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro."

-Dr. Hunter S. Thompson

Preface:
The trajectory of this class can be summed up by the above quotes. On the one hand, being a visual artist essentially means that you communicate and materialize your ideas vidually. On the other hand, to deploy a successful communication with the world outside of your mind, you must understand and manipulate the various structures and pathways of visual art presentation.

All of you, including myself, are part of a generation that you could be identified as Late 20th Century, 21st Century, Post- Modern, Post 1968, Post Human, MTV, Just Say No, X, Y, etc.... generations. As visual proucers you must be able to understand the time in which you were born and the moment in which you live now. This understanding is derived from both a historical retro-criticality, and the realization that you are implicated in the very cultural currents that you seek to comment on. Each one of us is a living breathing nexus of histories, cultures, bodies, thoughts, emotions and actions.

Where, in this ocean of intensities, ambiances, postures, architectures , and signs do we generate our visual ideas? From the well worn Art Historical Cannon? Or can interesting visual ideas spring forth from a hermetically sealed and completely interior existence? Maybe a pure re-presenting and reflecting of the exterior world ios where strong art ideas come from?

Introduction:

In this class we will come face to face with the chasm that lies between you and everything else. Face to face with past art practices, contemporary art practices, cultural/socio/political issues past and present, and the ideas and life experiences each one of you carries with you. A subtitle of this class could read, "Where does your art come from? " That is precisely what we will collectively and individually investigate to the very ends of our understanding.

CHAPTERS:
1.) The Politics of Presentation:

Jan 31-Feb 28
"put it on a plate, you'll enjoy it more"

2.) Contemporary Strategies

March 7-March 28th
"Termite Art, Neo Avant, Retro Neo, It came from Brooklyn!"

3.) Fin/ End

April 11-May 9
"Show us what youre made of"

Chapter 1:

In this chapter we will investigate ideas that make up the architecture of presentation. By evoking presentation as an architecture we are acknowledging that th epublic presentation of art work is based on a combination of historical gestures and contemporary attitudes. These gestures and attitudes create a palpable space that we as artists both inhabit, create, and seek to destroy.

The presentation of art has as much to do with the transmission of meaning as does the art object itself. As visual producers we must come to terms with the very real effects that the space of presentation has on our work. The presentation of our work should ambplify the work's ideas to such an extent that the work becomeks concrete visual facts, undeniably existing in the world.

We will study display mehodologies from a range of historically situated art mvoements. We will also look at contemporary artists who use those innovative strategies to re-invent their own work.

PROJECT: Create a piece whose display is integral to its meaning, wand whose meaning is integral to its display.

Chapter 2:

What does it mean to be a contemporary artist? Can we ever really dfine what the contempoary moment is? Whats happening right now?? Is being contemporary the act of re-inventing the wheel every time you make something? Or is it simply being conscious of yourself in the present moment? Is there any such thing as timelessness?

In this chapter, we will investigate contemporary art strategies using the last WhitneyBiennial of American Art as the starting point. We will also spotlight work being produced in Europe and Asia.

PROJECT: Create a work that you feel exists, adresses, consists of, or is critical of the present cultural moment. Is its work aware of its own time?

ADAM SCOTT, my teacher, IS BRILLIANT. HE SELLS HIS WORK TO TAKASHI MURAKAMI. um for murakamis PRIVATE COLLECTION. LOOK AT HIS STUf IMMEDIATELY AND SOAK UP HOW FUCKING RAD HE IS:

http://www.kavigupta.com/artists/scott/as_images.html#

UMMM ALL GALLERY OPENINGS THIS WEEKEND FREE WINE HAILING CABS LIKE FUCK HIGH HEELS YES PLEASE.

fuckiamsogladigotoartschoolfuckfuckfuck.

this boys too young to be singing the blues

Sun, 05 Feb 2006 22:24:50 GMT

is anybody happy right now? i dont know anybody who is happy right now. maybe its the winter.

im not going to be a famous model. as it turns out.

i was supposed to go to that thing, and i didnt go because im sick and got these terrible fever blisters on my lip. i know. its SO disgusting. so. and i just didnt think i could rock fever blisters in any sort of way that was vogue or hot. so i didnt go. foreign motherfucker emailed me to say he "missed my presence." and told me that there is one tomorrow (monday) but, my fever blisters arent gone yet. i know. disgusting. im basically a freakish monster right now. if i had it my way i would hide my face from the world and not see anyone until it was better because now if anyone looks at me im like, "THEY'RE STARING AT MY SICK LIP!" so basically im developing the mindset of a deformed beast.

factamatabuloussssnessss

-fact: i have this Michael Kors coat that i got especially for chicago winters. ESPECIALLY. it is hugeee and puffy and the warmest thing on earth and i have worn it TWO times. two. because i keep going, "oh its not cold enough for THAT parka. that thing is HUGE." well winter is almost fucking over and i have frozen my shit on MORE than on occasion.

-fact: dont buy unsalted peanuts. even if you hate salt, (me) still...get the salted kind.

-fact: it is Superbowl today. nobody at my school knows this. seriously. nobody knows the superbowl is today. all i want to do right now is play beer pong while wearing a northface and birkenstocks. fuck.

-fact: last night, i got off the train around Wrigleyville with a group of people, walked 4 blocks, stopped in at a mexican restaurant when 3 parties got broken up in a matter of 5 minutes. Everyone left except for me, my friend jenny and two boys. third boy came. third boy was mad at other two boys for "ditching him" all day. We start walking to another party with third boy yelling at other two boys. me and jenny just walk quietly behind

(mind you, it is about -3 degrees with the wind.)

anyway. it felt like daddy punched mommy at the dinnertable and we all still had to eat together. thats what it was like. we get to the party which is LITERALLY about 15 blocks away. (it is still -3.) i lost all feeling in my toes, regained it and then a faint stinging feeling started in. i was ACTUALLY positive i was getting frostbite. i still think that is possible. but my toes arent black. so i guess its okay. we roll up on said party. TECHNO MUSIC IS PLAYING IN A ROOM WITH A BLACKLIGHT. excuse me? we go into kitchen. it was so so so scene. boys pull out their beer. party host who is beligerant and ridiculous walks up to our little group which is now getting along and being jovial,

"GIVE ME A SILVER BULLET"
"No, dude. be cool."
"THIS IS MY HOUSE GIVE ME ONE I NEED ONE akljdfalksdjf;kajsd;lfkaj;sdklfjaui barffffffkajsdkjfad"
"no dude. we payed for this"

blah blah blah blah blah words exchanged or something.

then it was okay.

then we all drank and it was fine.

neighbors complained, WE THEN GOT THE BEST HOTDOGS CHICAGO HAS TO OFFER. cabs were called...balh blah blah. went back to a fourth boy's apartment and i listened to drug talk for about an hour and hated my life and starting wondering why i was on earth.

fact: actualy...ACTUALLY...in REAL LIFE...my BIGGEST PET PEEVE...is people who say they are going to do something.........

and. do .not. do it.

fact: Elton John is my life.

fact: T.G.I Fridays Potato Skins snap chips in cheddar and bacon flavor are everything that is good on earth

fact: i could cut out a substantial portion of the people i call "close friends" and still probably completely happy.

fact: i would probably leave my school in a second if i wasnt so obsessed with the actual SCHOOL itself and the city. everyone here can go straight to hell.

fact: my friend zach makes me laugh harder than anyone i have ever met

fact: i have a fake crush on the weirdest boy here.

fact: my roommate has done about 9 hours of homework in 2 days and i have yet to do 9 hours of homework since being at school. not really. but seriously.

fact: some people just found out the superbowl is today and now we are ordering pizza, chicken wings, and eating chips and dip and beeeer. Yayayayayayaya. food is universal.

fact: i. hate. beer.

fact: Pete Dougherty hasnt called me lately and i think i overestimated his obsession with me because i am vain and self absorbed and he is alot more comlicated than i gave him credit for.

i wanna do what the common people do

Thu, 02 Feb 2006 00:42:45 GMT

I am going to be a famous model

Today i was trying to mail some shit out of the second floor the Carson Pririe-Scott building. (post office in the middle of a clothing rack, excuse me?) and then i realized they only take cash. i dont carry cash. what the fuck. who actually carries cash. so im walking away from the post office, and i hear, "esscoos me, mees?" and i go, 'yeah?" and this man gets all crazy on me and whips out an organizer thing all, "do you model?" "nooooo...." have you ever modeled??" "as a joke once. i did a sears catalog. it was really..i dont know. it was funny." "you have good face. you have face that is popular right now. ess very natural look, you know?" "haha sure, thanks" (i am so flattered and going to seriiously consider whatever this frightening foreign man suggests at this point.) "i give you card. i em with modeling group. i scout, you know?" "ohh, surrre. sure yeah." "we have event tomorrow. its at the 6:30. you come and you know, you bring friends for you know moral support oor something like this. how old are you?" "19" "i thought you were 16" "no i am 19. just turned 19." "if you are 16 you have to bring ehh..you know. guardian." "im 19" "okay, well you bring friend or , you know. you can write down some information on this, yes?" "sure" and i write down everything necessary for him to rape me. "so you come tomorrow and its at 6:30. you bring pictures- nothing fancy, you know. just some snepshoots. nothing fency." "sure, sure. well thank you" *cards are exchanged (by exchanged i mena, he gives them to me)* i fumble and shake his hand.

so, as you can see. A legitimate man approached me in a completely professional and respectable manner and offered me my future in the form of two business cards:

1.) a dark purple paper business card made out of...paper slightly more study than tagboard. on this card there are two streaks of perriwinkle and violet. on those streaks there is a big abstract star with a smaller abstract star next to it. to the right of these stars, in white Ariel-esque font:

MODA
HELPING MODELS SUCCEED-
FROM START TO FINISH
(bolded) DRAZAN GALIC
PROFESSIONAL TALENT SCOUT

325 N. LASALLE
SUITE 425
CHICAGO, IL 60610
(708)- 771-4521
(630) 750- 2508 (cell)
drazang@aol.co

(there was no "m")

www.modamodeling.com

alright. my future in the form of card number 2:

2.) actual cardboard, maybe? printed on a shiny lizard-y green/chartreuse color are two models photoshopped so that they blend into the background;. one is brunette and looks like the prettiest girl working at borders. the other one is in a "pregnant? need help?" type position. you know the one i mean. and she looks like she is 16, although she is probably 19. and she is modely. i will gie her that. on top of THEM in BLACK BOLD FONT: "MODA" the a has two dots over it because maybe you pronounce that "a" differently? whatever. it is underlined and then has actual "tildas" you know what i mean ~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~ that bullshit. inside of them it says "Chicago" enter down twice "HELPING MODELS SUCCEED (succeed is in red) ...FROM START TO FINISH" (there is an actual "..." before the last phrase) enter down 7 times: www.modamodeling.com

FLIP THE CARD OVER

ID #: (handwritten) DxG 6659 (i am the 6659th person he gave this shitty card to????)
Appt. 2/2/06 6:30 pm

And then directions are written to the place. website given once again.

mind you, if you flip the first card over? it says "Business cards are FREE at www.vistaprint.com!"

As you can see, i am going to be a famous model of the likes of Gemma Ward, Naomi Campbell, Cindy Crawford, Tyra pre ghettostage Banks, Linda Evangelista, and obviously surpass Kate Moss.

BASICALLY, i am going tomorrow....drunk...with my 7 ft. tall gay black friend michael who refuses to wear anything but stone washed jeans, cut off neon shirts that say "rad" on them from the eighties, baseball jackets that come to his elbows and old school nikes. i am also going with my friend Brad, who is taking all of this VERY seriously and is honestly planning out what to wear for tomorrow. And also my friend matias who could probably model for Ford...not an exaggeration in the slightest when i say he is singlehandedly undisputedly the most beautiful boy i have ever seen. he's argentinian. buut he's like, 5'3 literally. Anyway. we are going drunk and ridiculous. i am wearing black leggings, a large black and white striped shirt, bright green flats. i am going to wear black $1 sunglasses from goodwill and refuse to take them off. i am going to smoke cigarettes inside when everyone knows that chicago passed an ordinance that says you can only smoke 15 feet away from any building. i am going to put this cigarette out when they tell me to on Matias' arm. its ok. we practiced. i am probably going to engage in some hardcore porn tonight and have pictures taken, get them 1 hour developed tomorrow morning, and take those pics with me.

The future knocked today, guys.....and i answered the door and offered the future a warm beverage.

Girl, You'll be a Woman Soon

Tue, 31 Jan 2006 04:38:11 GMT

READ THE PLAY "INTERIOR" by Maurice Maeterlinck.

AVANT- GARDE THEATER IS EVERYTHING THAT IS GOOD IN THIS WORLD.

p.s: i cant make picture entries while at school.

ITS ALL ABOUT THE TEXT-ingtons BABYYY.

heyiwentoutonadatewithpetedoughertyandhethinkswearelikeseriouslydatingbutidontreallythinkweareandhetextedmelikeliterally6timestodayandi vomitted in my mouth and swallowed it.

i had my first Drawing Practices studio today. 9-4 you weird assholes. I did the hardest drawing exercize i have done thus far in my existence.
First and foremost: my teacher looks like the grim reaper mated with an OLDER version of the male love interest in "Drive me Crazy" (starring melissa joan hart.) and then dressed in shades of khaki and faded Gap.

He made us draw ourselves...only we could only draw what we saw. i dont mean that metaphorically. we had to look down and only draw what we saw. maybe im dumb. maybe i am a bad artist. but i found this gruesome and brutally retarded. (that ISSSS a metaphor.) its hard to look down and draw because like.....

fuck that. its hard because i said it is and if you think its easy then fuck you even harder because obviously youre just lying.

and NOBODY likes a LIAR.

im experimenting with spacing since i have a severe lack of image.

FACT-A-LICIOUSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS

fact: i ate the following today: a grande cinnamon dolce latte with an extra shot (dont get it. it tastes like spiced sugar just slowing dripping down your esophogus) half of a bagel sandwich with cream cheese, a loaded baked potato, chilli, two 1 inch by 3 inch sandwiches, a diet cherry coke, a regular coke, a butterfinger, pretzel sandwiches, leftover pasta, a bite of cottage cheese, a bite of another pasta, and i licked a rice cake. im not saiyng that to be funny. i licked a rice cake and decided against it.

fact: if you have a red clutch, mine is better than yours.

fact: i got a letter from my penpal today. it came with a cd

fact: i wore sandles today and a jacket with a tank top. it was 30 degrees and it snowed. hard.

fact: i stepped in a puddle today while in my sandles and had to go into staples for about 20 minutes while i regained feeling in it. it was ACTUALLY the hardest trip home i have ever had.

fact: a horse ACTUALLY flung its own feces right into my friends face today on our lunch break. it went to trot off with its little police man on its back, and kicked its own pile of literal horse shit into my friends face. she started gagging and then i had to find an alleyway with no people so she could throw up undisturbed. (in my frantic frenzy, THIS is when puddle number one happened)

fact: Horseshit face's FACE is raw now because she went home and washed it a literal 7 times.

fact: zoey came home today after an absence of 4 days

fact: i sewed patches into my jeans

fact: today i was walking down the street and i was genuinely wondering and really contemplating what mary kate olsen was doing at that moment. IMMEDIATELY after finishing that thought, i wondered if William Shatner had sex last night. (mind you, not what he was doing that moment. just if he had sex..LAST night) immediately after THAT thought i questioned whether not he was dead. and im certain he's not and i know that so i dont know why i questioned that.

fact: William Shatner made an amazing album with amazing music and poetry and ben folds sings backup.

fact: William Shatner calls cigarettes "fags." (ITS BECAUSE HES TOO OLD TO KNOW HE CANT SAY THAT ANYMORE OMGMGOMGOMGGOGMOGMGOMG)

fact: if you can say the word "como" in your address....you are wealthy. Como anything= wealth.

fact: Long Island is decidedly "trashy with taste"

fact: boho chic is dead.

fact: i actually detest urban outfitters

fact: zoey is woring at urban and gets 40% off.

fact: zoey and i discovered there is no reason we cannot turn our room into a smoking room even though we do not live on a smoking floor. All that is needed is Oust, Marlboro Reds, a shot glass, the ability to open a window, and the desire to suck tar hard. I, madam, do not smoke. i just like DISOBEYING THE RULESSSSSSSSSSSS

ALRIGHT ALRIGHTTTTTTTT

fact: if you get TOO many magazines, magazines arent special anymore.

fact: im playing a new game where i try to lock eyes with strange and vaguely attractive men on the street in an attempt to find my soulmate

fact: i actually gave a bum a buck and some change AND a smoothie today. right after doing this he asked if i had a cigarette. when i said i didnt smoke he said, "yeah right. you young. you a smoka. cough up that cigarette." (who says cough up. thats so Buz from Home Alone) i said, "are you even serious?!" and he said, "get outta here!" and i my friend zach goes, "alright you freakin homeless dude. stay fly-y-y-yy-y-yy-y-y-yy till ya die-e-e-ee-e-ee-e-e-ee"

fact: i dont know my new asian roommates name. i introduce her as "my roommate"

fact: she woke me up two days ago and said, "you have the hangovers, yes?" and gave me a muffin on a small plate. we made out. not really. but seriously.

fuck you.

fact: Allison Sissom was drawing old dead Existentialist dudes like, an hour ago.

fact: i would totally get a nose job and or collagin injected into me.

fact: Gweneth Paltrow likes the Arcade Fire

fact: So does Apple.

fact: college consists of alcohol and boredum. in reverse order. that is a metaphor. an extended one at that.

STAY COOL MAH BABIESSSSSSS

bonitaaa boniquaaaa