god damn it, patrick stickles, you insane genius
Tonight two great ships will pull back to their ports
Depleted of everything that shoots flames and reports
And in the morning the shells will wash up on the shore
And the mighty of Earth will have no other recourse

But to shiver and shake and make shit in their shorts
Because we have been told that if you've been assured
There's a way to live the values your forefathers gave you
Prepare to be told "That shit's gay, dude"

Well, I guess that what they say is true
That there is no race more human
No one throws it away like they do

The things I used to love I have come to reject
The things I used to hate I have learned to accept
And the worst of the three you now have to expect
Satan ain't hard to see without craning your neck

He'll be seventy-some inches tall
He'll be chugging a beer and he'll be grabbing his balls
He's a remote explosive waiting for someone to call
He's just eighteen for now but he's going to murder us all

Solidarity's going to give a lot less than it'll take
Is there a girl at this college who hasn't been raped?
Is there a boy in this town that's not exploding with hate?
Is there a human alive that can look themselves in the face
Without winking?
Or say what they mean without drinking?
Or believe in something without thinking what if somebody doesn't approve?
Is there a soul on this Earth that isn't too frightened to move?

I think the wrong people got a hold of your brain
When it was nothing but a piece of putty
So now try as you may
But you will always be a tourist, little buddy

And half the time I open my mouth to speak
It's to repeat something that I heard on TV
And I've destroyed everything that wouldn't make me more like Bruce Springsteen
So I'm going back to New Jersey
I do believe they've had enough of me

So when I leave Boston my tail is between my legs
After deep cups of patience have been drunk to the dregs
And now I'm heading west on 84 again
And I'm as much of an asshole as I've ever been

And there is still nothing about myself I respect
Still haven't done anything I did not later regret
I've a hand and a napkin when I'm looking for sex
And that's no one to talk to when feeling depressed

And so now when I drink I'm going to drink to excess
And when I smoke I will smoke gaping holes in my chest
And when I scream I will scream until I'm gasping for breath
And when I get sick I will stay sick for the rest

Of my days peddling hate out the back of a Chevy Express
Each one a fart in the face of your idea of success
And if this be thy will, then fucking pass me the cup
And I'm sorry Dad no I'm not making this up

But my enemy it's your name on my lips as I go to sleep
And I know what little I've known of peace
Yes I've done to you what you've done to me
And I'd be nothing without you my darling
Please don't ever leave

Please don't ever leave

don't tell me i was born free
Once upon a time,

I cringe and grimace and laugh and snort at everything written here, but I slip into wonder of where my sense of passion went. Before, I could go for pages about the most mundane bullshit and actually mean everything I wrote -- now, it's a fill-in-the-blank ad-lib in order to fulfill some obligatory status post that is try-hard, that is layered in skin upon skin of irony, that I try to make sound witty but fuck it all if it isn't trite and meaningless. Maybe I've seen shit, man. Maybe it's just the stepping stone into 30-something world weariness.

Abort mission, and now here I stand before Good God and the Majesty of the World and His Light, and all I can think about is the concept of penance and doing right by man. Luke 13:3. I'll get it right one day.

I became a professional somewhere between then and now, still teetering on the edge of combined aforementioned Good God and not giving a damn. I have a man that I stand by; we'll probably have house, home, and fat children after the wedding. I have it all, but here we go again, me being some bullshit free spirit that for reasons unknown to me people used to worship, and I weave through the spokes of my now-adult life on the verge of breaking the wheel. I'm not a bad person, just a person. I am too bitter.

I hate not being in control, but here's to me a toast born of cynicism, repentance, and the love of all humankind.

Only a test.
A reminder of what I was, a continuation of what I am. Ten+ years in the making, busted lungs and liver and maybe some soul burn, but here I am, still the same fucking girl.

Well, not really. I'll still bury this along with the other skeletons.

a little silly
it's a disappointment that i haven't had any feelings worth recording until now, as if i really had become this shell of a person allowed to wisp through a lifespan eating-shitting-working-sleeping, erecting no monument to my existence save for a passing remark to someone and notching the days on an imaginary wall until the day i finally decide to give up or do something. it's more far-removed from ennui, actively striving to be inactive and listless, but that's all blah blah semantics and points are hard to come by.

i have this guy who likes me and in pragmatism and possibly obligation i like him back. not that he's an awful person -- our interests are common, he buys me things, he treats me well and i can see some sort of vague adoration when we glancingly meet eyes.

i haven't held eye contact with people in a long time.

i'm not unhappy, it just seems run like a business. his majors are accounting and finance. go figure.

last week though, this other guy that i've had funny little conversations with, who had disappeared without a trace and left me feeling slightly sullen but not entirely hurt because it's not like we were more than coworkers, happened to come along. probably stupidly but honestly, i say something to the effect of "oh, i miss talking to you," and there we are, exchanging numbers on our nokia/eriksson/samsung/whatever head tumors, that digital guillotine everyone charges to the killing blow, and off on our ways. we have a date, painting vandalism in a park and eating a dinner that was way out of my league, talking about awkward nothing-in-particulars like favorite (insert category here)s and aspirations defining us as individuals or the individuals we see ourselves as when we preen our interests to a dull peacock shine.. or not talking and just looking.

95% eye contact 5% looking away bashfully. not the point, but there really isn't one.

i don't know if it was the murmur in which he spoke or the strange frantic spark that seems to permeate every action he executes, but i haven't smiled so genuinely in god knows how long.

he's moving, not too far, and i was fine with not seeing him again and letting the occasion be what it was, good times and hangovers, but he called. elation and danger and all these things rushing back to me that i thought i had lost are suddenly apparent, and i don't want to say i feel like a person again because i'm pretty sure i've always been some sort of person, but even now i'm smiling teeth instead of the side-raised, thin-lipped customer service smile i've been giving the world for such a long time.

i've said this before to people, but i haven't had a tremor in my chest to back me up on it for the past couple of years.

i'm happy.

hey, I have a joke

knock knock
who's there?
nobody who?

my boss makes me want to stab myself in the face.

oh, hello there, I don't know if we've met. I'm your blast from the past.

score one for me
I am still in existence! YES!


So, updating, again: the crap.

I quit my job and I have another one. If you want to know, ask.

I'm cool, in general. Cliff and I tend to drink a lot, but that's what roommates are for, right?

Tell me something about yourself.

Addendum: Wilco is my favorite drunk music.

wow, those poor kids
My mother called me yesterday to tell me her dying wish because of her (lately) intense fear of dying. She wants me to have a teaching position before she dies.

Oh, it gets better.

I'm apparently taking my test in either September or November to be certified as a secondary school teacher in Oklahoma. When I told her this, she started crying big Korean blubbery tears and went on about how she's going to die soon. I'm not being nonchalant about the dying thing, since she's been thinking that she has been since I was five years old, but still.. I have to respect the dying wish, right?

So it's Ms. Pool to you, maybe.

explosions like bosnian happy hours
Dude, you know updating is bullshit.

I've been working 50-60 hour weeks since starting at the new Subway. My paychecks are pretty much bank, but my sanity has spiraled into a tangled web of sleep debt and I'M GOING TO FUCKING KILL EVERYBODY. :D. XD even.

Happy July 11th.

(no subject)
It's my segue: Hawthorne Heights has to be the creepiest band ever.

I'm working diligently on my paper, but the fact that it was just presented to us that we were going to be speaking in a conference setting with professors and other audience members makes me more than boneshakingly nervous. I mean, can I really say "shit, I don't know" to someone that has endured the process of tenure? Granted, I'm just an undergraduate, but the expectations in the Classics department always seems a little high. I guess it's that whole 2000-years of knowledge thing that drives a colloquial stick up the ass in regards to the loftiness that my colleagues wield.

Maybe that's why I don't have any major-related friends, but it's not going to matter in two weeks, because I'll be GRADUATED! Now I'll just have to petition for my promised $30k a year. Somehow, I don't think the big bosses are going to take me seriously.

This Wednesday I'll only have my Greek final to complete, so there's going to be a lot of drinking. Open invite to the house if I'm not at the Library or something.


Log in

No account? Create an account