choose your weapon...

Movies (4) Photos. (47) Poetry (16) Quotations. (76) Words (15) Writings. (137)

Sunday, December 12, 2010

the light

I need to start writing again. Get the idle thoughts in order. Scribble myself onto the level of clarified delusion. Make some goddamn sense of it all. Random words echo through my fingertips, ones I would happily type off in a frenzy, if they weren’t all submersed in the darkness. I remember, it felt like chaos in the tunnels of my mind. Scrambling faceless strangers, each one a representation of some failed relationship. Everyone is suffering… some of them don’t even know it yet, but the pain is inevitable. Then, the tunnels all collapsed one day… no structure in place… and what I managed to pull from the wreckage, I savored. I take none of it for granted. Not anymore.

Sunday, September 12, 2010

the circle room.

He unlocked the door for me, stood back and told me I had to turn the handle myself. My heartbeat took off at a run and my feet froze in place. I stared blankly for a moment and turned up with a desperate plea to meet the steady gaze of the key master. He smiled, kissed me and said… “You have nothing to worry about. Look. I’ll go first.” Damn. He made it look so fuckin’ easy. Went striding through that door as if it wasn’t there at all and the moment I realized He was waiting on the other side, all hesitation slipped quietly into the background. I reached out, firmly grasped the handle and walked slowly into… a room. A room so very far from normal. It was burning with a particular brightness my retinas had never been exposed to, and I had to shield my face with my hands. My eyes slowly adjusted enough to distinguish four walls, each one spectacularly different from the next… but with painstakingly complex patterns that melted into one another to create a beautiful circle. No discernable beginning or end… just a profound connection of detail. Awestruck and uncomfortable, I lurched across the uneven floor to steady myself in His arms. “It’s okay,” He whispered, “you’re safe now.” With His words and love to fuel me, I became comfortable within that room and surprisingly enough, that room became comfortable with me being there. The walls seemed to make more sense. I memorized those patterns, immersed myself completely within their very fibers. I helped to repair extensive damage when the rain or wind or mold or termites took over. The light that had once blinded me, was now one of my only conduits of true clarity. I began to see the same details appear on my own wall, and let myself believe I would get to be a part of it. A part of Him.
Then, one day without warning… someone changed the locks.

Now I am no longer invited in at all. I am deemed personally insignificant, and discarded to the next room over. Every now and again I hear someone scream my name, followed by an endless supply of indistinct murmurs. And so… I sit here in the corner alone, the dull ache of exile sinking deeper every moment. I hug my knees and cry out for someone to give me a new key. They aren’t listening. Everyday I’m left to wonder what is happening. Left to my own intangible devices of assumption and inference. Everyday, the details on my wall fade… and everyday, it gets more difficult to remember why I ever wanted to be in that room in the first place.

Wednesday, August 4, 2010

could it be?

A long time ago, the darkness in me defined love as an unattainable daydream of the na├»ve and childishly optimistic. The entire world was certainly just a vague mirage of lonely half-people, masquerading as clowns with fake smiles and painting their faces over and over again with masks of each other. I watched my feet falter and trip so easily over every uneven impossibility. Sprawled out on the street, bruised and bleeding, I watched faceless and fearful strangers pass by without a glance. Then, without warning, someone stood tall beside me and offered not one, but both hands down… and they slipped into mine with an ease I had never known. Outstretched and with the strength that millions had never dared to use, he lifted me up, above the endless procession of no-ones. I was safe. I was warm. I was healed. In that moment, and every one that has followed since, I knew that I was loved. Sure, the tension can cause every worn string to snap, but new ones just fall into place around them, now perfectly tuned. The entire puzzle can crackle, crumble and come crashing down all around me… but every piece just gets rebuilt, and glued into place forever. Sorrow waves in and tears drown every moment I’ve ever known … but then I just realize I can breathe underwater.

Friday, July 16, 2010

7am sliver of poetry,

Constantly swarmed by these endless
Single-file wires.
Conversations that wind up into
One huge spinning ball of metal consciousness.
It all melts together
And solidifies
Slowly
From the center.
Breaking the laws of physics.
Creating something...
...from nothing.

It’s all a little bit magical I think.

Tuesday, July 13, 2010

a coat - william butler yeats

I made my song a coat
Covered with embroideries
Out of old mythologies
From heel to throat;
But the fools caught it,
Wore it in the world's eyes
As though they'd wrought it.
Song, let them take it,
For there's more enterprise
In walking naked.

surprise!!!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

if only for tonight...

Let the usual things shuffle quietly into the background. Forget everything you've been told about how you should be. Tonight, envision all you could be. Suffuse yourself with the possibilities circling into your world at every moment. Spend the night imagining, dreaming and scheming. Dress differently, eat the foods you've never tried. Carry a notebook. Write of things to do, places to go, people to meet, and dreams to realize. Write everything, even if it seems silly. Draw pictures. Cartoons. Stickmen beating each other up. Create something.

Sunday, June 27, 2010

We are enslaved by anything we do not consciously see. We are freed by conscious perception.

believe me when i say...

Friday, June 25, 2010

We see an eagle glide slowly over the tidal river that divides the tiny town, and Peter (we call him P-ball) looks over. "Get his attention!" he yells. We start a choir of whistles completely void of any harmony... followed by a brief silence before Andrew (we call him Crayon) shouts out..
"Faggot!"
We laugh hysterically... though (at this moment) I'm not quite sure why. The eagle ignores us.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

small town life.

The laughter here is thick, long and uncontrolled. I crack a country boy heart or two with my disinterest. There is no nice way to dismiss the attention gathered from new-girl allure, but it doesn’t matter. I’ll come right out and say ‘fuck off’ if there’s no other way to make it clear. This is the small town life. A place where I toss out coyote howling sounds at every opportunity, drink beer like water and bake weed cookies with my mom. A place where taking refuge from the coastal heat, means a swim at Fred’s Hole and every second person walking by offers to smoke a joint with you. A place where my worst mumbling is somehow understood perfectly. Where thoughts are said out loud and everyone knows your name before you’ve met them.

Monday, June 14, 2010

intractable
(adjective) : difficult or stubborn

presage
(noun) : prediction or indication

fulmination
(noun) : a violent explosion.

Sunday, June 13, 2010

i'm hooked so toss me over



i want to play in the rain.

I want to be the girl seen dancing barefoot at the park on Sunday mornings. I want to read out loud, take a million pictures and never upload them anywhere. I want to write what the entire world is feeling. I want to be overwhelmed with desire and laughter. I want to paint every nail a different colour, and wear skate-shoes with skirts. I want to always have a book with me and never wear a watch. I was rolling a joint just now, and wished the entire world could wonder themselves aware of the elation that comes from the littlest things in life. The future obsession is drilled straight and heavy into our paradigms early on. Planning for later and letting the now slip past our fingertips. The silly nuances never rising through a complicated world... but I’m with Bueller. “Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”
And so we wait until (by a curious art disposed) we find one perfect whole... of all the pieces joined.

Tuesday, June 8, 2010

Hawkeye: War isn't Hell. War is war, and Hell is Hell. And of the two, war is a lot worse.
Father Mulcahy: How do you figure, Hawkeye?
Hawkeye: Easy, Father. Tell me, who goes to Hell?
Father Mulcahy: Sinners, I believe.
Hawkeye: Exactly. There are no innocent bystanders in Hell. War is chalk full of them - little kids, cripples, old ladies. In fact, except for some of the brass, almost everybody involved is an innocent bystander.

Thursday, May 27, 2010

"I would like to give you the silver branch, the small white flower, the one word that will protect you from the grief at the center of your dream. I would like to be the air that inhabits you for a moment only. I would like to be that unnoticed and that necessary."

Sunday, May 23, 2010

fishes.

Most of the new men I’ve encountered lately, remind me of fish-sticks. Molded into row after row of the same damn shape… mushy, pre-cooked, tasteless, and unseasoned. With standard yet questionable origins, they are manufactured to fit perfectly in that freezer friendly cardboard box. Adorned with flashy colours and arrogant one-liner catch phrases, they can be plucked from the shelf and into the cart with one or two effortless movements. Sure, there are several different types to choose from. Box A is healthier, Box B will save you money, Box C is conveniently located and Box D has that awesome cartoon ninja plastered on the front. So many viable options and alternatives to choose from! Or so you think… until they’ve made it out of the store, into the oven and onto your plate. Then it takes exactly one bite to realize that a fish-stick, no matter how appealing it may have seemed when you hand picked that particular one… is still just a fuckin’ fish-stick. No amount of tartar sauce is going to appease your now-shriveling taste buds, and somewhere around chew number five, you’re already trying to indulge an appetite that doesn’t exist anymore. Pleading for that elusive smoked salmon, or impossible lobster, but willing at this point to concede to some anchovies, or even a can of flaked tuna. Maybe what they say is true, and maybe there are a lot of fish in the sea, but too bad the majority of the world doesn’t even own a fishing pole, and instead, we simply buy the fish that have already been caught, processed and packaged for us by someone else.

Don't ask me to wake you up, unless you can handle me doing it with my mouth.

Thursday, May 6, 2010

"Sex is like music. For every person who pays for it, there are thousands more getting it for free."

Saturday, May 1, 2010

black and white resurrections.

world, meet rachel - my favorite character to date.

Jack got me to obsess over it, before any offer had even been made. The maybe’s and the might not’s had me fighting for air within seconds. “Maybe he wanted to fuck, but maybe not. He might not be thinking what I’m thinking. Maybe this is a bad idea, I might not know what I’m getting myself into.” All good reasons to listen to the voice in my head, and ignore the one in my vagina. Doubt seldom leads anyone to follow through with greater conviction, but my vagina is very persuasive. Hesitation itself is only a distortion of reality created to allow fear to dominate your decision, without guilt. A perfect self-delusion accepted in a way that seems entirely reasonable. Rational even. “Trust your instincts,” they say. “If it feels wrong, don’t do it.” Such perfect sheep nip, to keep the herds up to morally acceptable standards. Not the wolves though. I want to cross lines, I want to give in and succumb to the sexual tension’s demands. He’s rich, and good looking, has a myriad of pussy available to him at anytime, is exactly 30 years older than me, and I want him. It takes exactly one more sip of beer to convince myself, that the attraction is mutual, lock fear back into it’s lonely little corner, risk it all, and roll the fuckin’ dice.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

when I'm hurting...

When my fingers tremble as I type, I know the words I want will not run straight or easy. When my thoughts constantly elude me, hidden in some unknown corners of this bitter maze. When my entries get scarce here, and the raindrops don’t write themselves to any seemingly coherent points. When my emotions have been choked breathless and dried out. When I’ve felt too much of everything, to know what anything feels like anymore. When it’s so fucked up and down and in and out and backwards and upside down all at once. When the world turns slowly, but we all keep rushing. When there are crumpled tear-stained tissues overflowing every trashcan. When the fire is too hot to touch. When every song sounds like a heartache. When my dreams are just black and it feels worse than the nightmares. When everything is never as it seems.

Friday, April 9, 2010

the drunken ramble poet.

Well, I wrote the following ..."almost poem" last night in bed... and with no wireless yet, had to promise myself I would post it today.

I’d forgotten how great it feels to be measured on a level deeper than just appearance. Maybe not much deeper, but still a change. After a reawakening prompted by double vodka cranberry’s and a “highly” involved psycho self-analysis… I can feel my life slipping into a once-known territory that now seems entirely unfamiliar. I am hesitant about how to act… and grasping desperately at the hope that I won’t have to act at all. Anymore. The hope that my nature will rise to the surface, and this new world will see more than the last. More than my skin colour, chewed nails and nervous fidgeting. I know how to wear the masks, and play the part to perfection… but I don’t want to anymore. Always so cool, so aloof and rambunctious.. yet my eyes are blurred. They remain fixed on the horizon. You can think you know all there is to know about me after 5 minutes alone, but everything you know is wrong. If I could look away for just a moment, and let the mask slip….

There are a hundred thoughts I chase away every night. A thousand doubts, and a million memories. All of my tomorrows start here. Amidst the patience that doesn’t wait, but ends... and the pain that doesn’t hurt, but heals. It doesn’t matter how dark the sky is… because the stars are always there… even when you can’t see them. I wish I could tell you all my secrets… but my eyes are losing the battle against gravity, and the sandman is steadily trudging along in the distance. It is 1:24 am, and I am snuggling under this poufy marshmallow duvet, and drifting into the sleepy kingdom of the unconscious. G’night world. I kinda love you… even when I hate you.
Why does everyone disappear just when you need them the most?

Tuesday, April 6, 2010

rapacious (adjective)
1. given to seizing for plunder or the satisfaction of greed.
2. inordinately greedy; predatory; extortionate

Sunday, March 28, 2010

scatologic (adjective): obscene or vulgar

Thursday, March 25, 2010

siesmo caos.

A dark tirade is coming. I can feel the poison trickling it's way through my mind. It's because I notice the mirrors more now… always reflecting an imperfect world. A whole civilization melting away into the meaningless. Work, buy, spend, pay. A beautiful circle of nothing. Just like the zero key.
0
I’m waiting. For the silence to end. I’m waiting for all of us to wake up and scream at what we had become. The moral compass is not broken.. but stolen, and realigned. Now I can’t tell if those are angels or devils burning below me.

Tuesday, March 23, 2010

"Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again?"

nothing*

Saturday, March 20, 2010

“Many people hear voices when no-one is there. Some of them are called mad and are shut up in rooms where they stare at the walls all day. Others are called writers and they do pretty much the same thing.”

yummy*

Monday, March 15, 2010

word art*

blame humanity.

The human race is not evolving. We still have the same damn questions that have always been around. Why are we here? Why do things matter? What is life? What is time? What is death? Sure, we can talk to each other through little internet cages, and fly to the moon and all those other brilliant technological advances in the scientific part of who we are… but what about the other parts? There has to be more than science, and it seems like no matter how much we can make from rocks, trees, tools and industry… there is never any change in what we really understand philosophically. Why aren’t there research facilities all over the world spending billions on answering the oldest questions ever known? Instead, the money is used to build guns, to kill others, to make more money, to make more guns, to kill more people. Anyone else see something wrong in this pattern? Why do all governments seem to have one of two mantras: 1) Keep them sick and scared and always living for the future. Buy now, spend your whole life paying later! Glorify the stretch limo Superclass, and sell the ultimate and impossible dreams of endless money, power and fame. Or 2) Keep them poor and starving so you can eat your meals served on golden plates and greed your way to an excessive and beautiful life. Corrupt everything and die with fat pockets in a suffering world. Why is religion still the best answer we can guess at, and why are we so adamant to prove we’re already right, that we call it “faith” and say it’s a miracle?
Why aren’t more of us… asking why?

THIS, is the human race. You, me, us… collectively fucking the world (and each other) into something I’m ashamed to think we consider intelligent life. So satisfied with nothing of substance. So distracted, and apathetic. So quick to follow the one eyed man… but the world’s not blind… just blindfolded. We sink deep into our perfectly lethargic furniture, stare blankly at a big black hole where brains go to die for a few hours, microwave dinner and say with a smile… “Gee… this is nice.” It’s not nice. Having big shiny toys and a big shiny life… is not enough. I’m going to go so far as to say… fuck science. Fuck science for creating the means to build the “things” in life that have no purpose except to be better than the other guys. No conclusion. No happy ending. No moral to the story. This is our world… and we hold all blame for the way it’s turned out.

Sunday, March 14, 2010

Morality, like art, consists in drawing a line somewhere.

Saturday, March 13, 2010

just write.

I decided I wanted to try the 5-min brain splatter, and flared a little of my own style into it by writing it freehand – and now typing it up (unedited) for you to read.

It’s harder to write on paper. The motions carried out with more intent and precision. Each letter a shape instead of all poke’s and clicks. “There’s art in there somewhere,” she thinks, squinting at her fifth grade scrawl in the fading remains of daylight. The ash from her cigarette drops on the page. It’s a second-class choice Marlboro Red (there were no Menthols left, except the half butts stashed in the overflowing crab shaped ashtray). “Maybe I smoke too much.” She sighs, takes another long slow drag and kills it. Time to focus on the page. A harder task than you might imagine… fighting off the Furies of sleep. Maybe this is one of those moments when sleep is just less important. When reality is better than your dreams. She's had a few of those lately, although the dreams are not much to compare to. No monsters or zombies or anything oversized and slimy… just situations. The kind that her dream self doesn’t know how to react to. Everything all foggy and dark. No stars in the black pit of a sky, no faces on the surrounding strangers. Something good and pure is sparkling in the distance… but it’s out of reach. Always out of reach. Nothing ends, or begins… it just is. Stuck in some fucked up limbo. The insignificant details are usually all that can be remembered. Specifics left locked in her subconscious, where she wants them. So she can still wake up and tell herself “It’s just a dream.” It’s not logical, and even maybe a little destructive to seek meaning in nightmares, but they say fear is powerful right? So she'd like to believe that understanding whatever micro-pieces she can get her hands on – helps her understand herself too. Of courseshe would have to go all deep and broody on you – but it’s dark, she's tired and starting to see the appeal of rocking the lonelygirl08 name with pride. Only now, after turning the page, does she realize she never set a timer. Oh well, she's done anyways. Time limits are over-rated.

Thursday, March 11, 2010

"It sounds pretty but I disagree. I believe there are moments in your life when you have to dance like everyone is watching."

RAID the cockroach ninja.

Cockroaches are nasty little things, and around these tropical cities, not so little. Try as I might, (or might not) my room is never truly spotless, so they come around at night, click-click-clicking their creepy crawly legs across the dark wood floor. I can’t sleep very well when my eardrums are overflowing with the scurrying of something very alive and very disgusting. Something that also happens to be very near. So today, I fumigated that shit. It was a truly spirited adventure that started without a professional gas mask or expensive chemicals… but with RAID cockroach killer. I moved all my essentials to the empty room next door and set up headquarters. I crushed up corn chips as bait and laid them out in the dark abysmal corners of my now infested living space. Then… I waited. I waited so hard, and so impressively. When darkness came I tugged on jeans, runners and a hoodie, crept through the door… and clutched my RAID can out in front of me. I was a cockroach killing ninja. Armed with deep courage and seething vengeance… I fogged those buggers like it was my one true mission in life. With art, style, grace, and minimal girl shrieks, I stomped and sprayed and stomped and sprayed my way to glory. Just when I was beginning to think it was all over, my ninja sense tingled… and there, zig zagging his way out from the crack in the floor.. was a hulking beast of a creature. This was to be my finest moment. The war to end all wars. That is… until I realized the cockroach left in front of me was, quite literally, insane. Now, I’m not sure what’s actually in those Raid bottles… but someone somewhere at their research facilities has a twisted sense of humor. That ugly bug suddenly seemed a whole lot smaller as he ran back and forth on the same line, paused, jumped around, and continued his endless desperate journey to nowhere. There was no rhythm to his clicking, no intelligence in the flailing direction of his antennas. This was one very crazy, and very poisoned cockroach. I, of course, being the evil soul that I am… giggled at the helpless soul struggling below me, raised my shoe up high… and ended it all with one fatal crunch. Us ninjas have a job to do, and we will achieve it without mercy or compassion.

photo-editing* more proof that...

Thursday, March 4, 2010

60s party* don't stop...

"It's a shame we couldn't leave LSD under everyone's chairs. Show true tribute to the 60's."
-Dad (the night of his 50th birthday party)

Monday, March 1, 2010

more circles.

I imagine knowledge sometimes... as a circle. Inside, I'm safe. Surrounded by everything I know, or think I know about... and it's all slowly expanding everyday, but there is no limit. The potential growth is infinite, and that scares me a little bit. The non-understanding of an overflowing world. Risky misadventures waiting in the dark somewhere to leap on me.  I don't pretend to know everything and never will, but in the case of an online, completely publicized blog.. I will write lil tidbits from the very center of my safety circle.  - Me.

Sunday, February 28, 2010

heSurvived*

dick jokes can suck my dick.* iMade my own.


go sub NOW. please.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

If you can pretend as hard as I'm pretending, and imagine as hard as I've imagined, then this is not going to be the first time we've ever met.

Friday, February 19, 2010

cheated.

I think, in some disheartening and completely twisted way, you can almost define a past relationship by the way you broke up. Mine were never very dramatic, never even close to anything that happens in the movies. It wasn’t a flame being drenched in gallons of water all at once… it was the slow, steady fizzle of light rainfall. All in debt to the shocking percentage who happened to cheat on me. I suppose monogamy could truly be the most difficult fight against Mother Nature that the male species will ever encounter. So much in fact, that I don’t believe in second chances anymore. My immediate abandonment of forgiveness was never rooted in jealousy or rage… or even despair. It was the simple fact that I cared about them all. I cared so much that the mere thought of his flesh against anyone else's…him sharing that level of intimacy and him willing to risk it all for an hour or two of mindless pleasure... made me want to throw up in my mouth a little bit. It made my skin tight and the pit of my stomach lurch up into my throat. It strangled me until I gave up completely and the only thing left to do was walk away. Nothing hurts more than realizing he meant everything to you, but you meant nothing to him. I could easily throw around counter opinions that usually go in some form of the ultra lame “everyone makes mistakes.” Or simply “drunk choices gone wrong,” but you know that’s all bullshit. Mistakes happen, but cheating.. is not one I'm able to tolerate. There’s always that moment where he can look around and realize, ‘hey… even if I’m supremely wasted and my girlfriend’s not around, maybe I shouldn’t stick my penis in that vagina that isn't hers.’ If you are sober enough to have sex… you are sober enough to say no.

End of fucking story.

Sunday, February 14, 2010

(my three new words)

rollick: (verb)
to move or act in a carefree, frolicsome manner

incalescent: (adjective)
increasing in heat or ardor.

voracious  (adjective)
1. craving or consuming in large quantities
2. exceedingly eager or avid

Friday, February 12, 2010

"jack johnson's world"

Why don't the newscasters cry when they read about people who die? At least they could be decent enough to put just a tear in their eyes. Mama said, it's just make believe. You cant believe everything you see. So baby close your eyes to the lullabies on the news tonight.

Monday, February 8, 2010

somnus noctis.

Over the last week or two, I have been dreaming of music. It always starts from beneath my feet. Seeping out from the earth itself… layering into the mountains and trees… or flowing through the ocean and drifting up to meet the clouds. Each one of these dreams left me awake and at peace. Left me discovering a smile on my heart. Left me with the realization that after years of working on myself, and trying to understand my dream reality… that music is anywhere you want it to be. Maybe that is the real reality, not the one that we all get so caught up in. When I’m trapped now, or when the Other sneaks up and tries to manipulate my emotions… I remember a world overflowing with song, and these days, I have been listening more closely to what it’s trying to say to me. From beneath my feet, my musical dreams lift me up to an untouchable plain, where my inner darkness can’t stifle me. Where I am alone but never lonely. I heard a quote once somewhere saying, “music washes away the dust of everyday life”… and I think only now, do I truly understand the meaning.

Sunday, February 7, 2010

the PESOgirls.

The foreign men around here are deluded into thinking they are something so damn special. Simply.. and honestly… because the hot, young hookers have perfected the ability to make them feel attractive, important, and loved. For just a few thousand pesos a night. They are wrapped up in this endless supply of tricks and tips and lines… all used and delivered with the subtle mixture of naughty and nice. Innocent, but willing. A one night exchange of body parts for cash… is manipulated into feeling pretty damn close to paradise. So it’s all fantasies and disillusions swirling up in the egos of these foreign men living in the Philippines… until one day. There, swinging in through the thick log doors of the local expat pub, the young white chick strolls in… and it’s BOOM. Reality kick to the face. Within seconds, everything is off balance. No one knows what just happened, but we all feel it. The moment of ego deflation. Sometimes, I swear there is a slight breeze as it happens. A deep exhale of confidence as the walls start to crack and come crumbling down in the form of a list.

No, you are not a catch. No, your boring job does not impress her, no matter how good you might be at it. No, your wallet is not enough to get her in your bed. No, she will not follow you around like a lost puppy dog. No, she will not mold herself to suit your needs. Yes, she has something to say, and yes, she will speak her mind, even if you don’t like it. Yes she has layers and yes, some of them go deeper than you might be able to. Yes, she is more interested in being your friend and not at all in being your toy. Yes, she will demand respect and no, she will not tolerate those who don’t give it to her.

a dark smile

She carries darkness with her
through
a deserted swamp
and
up
a
dying
tree.
Lost in finding.
Winged and wounded.
Soon...
Nothing
ripples
into
everything.

Monday, January 25, 2010

You zealots say my smoking is affecting my judgement. -- I say to you... your judgement is affecting my smoke.


Step away.

my next tattoo.


Saturday, January 23, 2010

list from last night.

Rule number one: Avoid all things of the miniskirt and heels persuasion when embarking upon a drunken adventure
Rule number two: Begin said adventure much much later than 5pm
Rule number three: Do not begin said adventure at all… if feeling sad or upset.
Rule number four: Do not believe that beer can, or will, drown away all your troubles.
Rule number five: Do not shop in side-of-the-road boutiques if wasted
Rule number six: Realize that….yes, tiger print does make you look like a slut.
Rule number seven: Avoid changing into new dress in public places.
Rule number eight: Do not accompany American tourist friend to strip clubs.
Rule number nine: Do NOT, under any circumstances, let the girls convince you to dance on stage
Rule number ten: Read this list every weekend, and try not to break EVERY rule in one night.

Friday, January 22, 2010

a-loopy-looped

Blogger LupineLooPine said..."Enter me, a wrung out, high strung, pigmented figment of Heather's ligamented, tinted imagination. With my troglodyte undies, I stand proud on a pounded mound of miscellaneous dung to spread forth the fruits of my testicular knowledge, which really, is nothing more than Heather Maria's warped insights into reality, both external and internal."

Monday, January 18, 2010

27 questions... my way.

1. Who is your crush?
Someone.
2. Honestly, does your crush like you back?
Honestly, yes. Kinda.
3. What is your current mood?
Already annoyed by my decision to do this survey.
4. What color underwear are you wearing?
None – unless these plaid boxers count as pajamas and underwear.
5. What makes you happy?
Smiles and ice-cream. And orgasms.
6. What are you doing?
Typing
7. If you MUST be an animal for ONE day:
Well damn.. if I MUST, for just ONE day, I’d be… a bird. A little brown sparrow.
8. Ever had a near death experience?
Twice. When I was little and stupid and ate poisonous things.
9. And 10. Have been omitted due to extreme lack of relevance.
11. When was the last time you cried?
I cried tonight, from watching the season finale of Californication. Yeah yeah, I’m a girl. It happens.
12. Have you ever sung in front of a large audience?
Unless horribly drunk karaoke counts, then no. I have not, and will never.
13. If you could have one super power what would it be?
I’d like to be indestructible.
14. If you could go back in time, and change something what would you change?
I’d go back to about 30 seconds ago, and not do this survey.
15. First thing you notice about people?
Hands… or...handshake and voice.
16. What's your biggest secret?
Anyone who answers this question at all… is lying.
17. Favorite colour?
Pink
18. When was the last time you lied?
Just now. My favourite color is Green, and Yellow.
19. Do you still watch kiddy movies or TV shows?
Disney movies.
20. Omitted also.
21. What's your favorite smell?
Coconut Body Butter.
22. If you could describe your life in one word what would it be?
Life.
23. What should you be doing?
I WILL be… ending this survey now. They used the ‘should’ word on me. It’s over.
24. What was the last thing that made you upset/angry?
25. If you could have any last name in the world, what would you want?
26. Do you act differently around your crush?
27. Name one song that reminds you of an ex?

Saturday, January 16, 2010

quote of my life.

If you don't think too good, don't think too much.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

god and dinosaurs.

I am a devoted anti-alarmist. So much in fact, that I can say with absolute certainty, the dinosaurs were not turned into bone piles by some mass extinction catastrophe. Oh no no no. I have the real answer. The real reason why dinosaurs no longer exist today. Pure truth here ladies and gentleman. You see… when God was just a baby, He thought “Hey! This Earth place looks pretty damn cool. Let’s make something to live there.” At first, the little micro biotical sea creatures were all He needed to amuse himself, then as He aged, and started to branch out.. bigger sea creatures, and amphibians were made. By the time He himself could walk, God looked down again and thought “Yeah… that land stuff needs more of these things, and let’s give ‘em legs!” So the very first mammals were made. Step three happened sometime after God entered into the threatening world of toddlers, and thought “Let’s make HUGE monsters that are green and slimy and EAT EACH OTHER!” Along come massive body weight, but pea-size shit-for-brains dinosaurs… using up way too much oxygen and living purely on survival instincts in a world still being tossed between kill-zone ice ages and intense volcanism. But even those got boring. So puberty slams Him in the balls… and God just wants to destroy things. He thinks Himself a rebel and slowly kills off all the huge eyesores. Gets stoned and forgets about the sharks, whales and alligators. Finally, God becomes an adult, and makes the very responsible and grown up decision, to create the next things in His image. Boom. Humanity. He gives us the ability to think, and we become self-aware, consequently fucking up His whole plan for complete domination and planet rule. Now I’m thinking He’s getting bored again. Either that or He’s just senile and can’t control his friend Mother Nature anymore. So She’s throwin earthquakes and tidal waves around all over the place, trying to jump into the power position as God fades away into a little corner and starts muttering senseless old-people stories to no one in particular.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

the symposium

"According to Greek mythology humans were created with four arms, four legs, and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves."
-Plato

Saturday, January 9, 2010

there’s always that moment.

When the same trail I’ve walked everyday... drops into oblivion and I step off the ledge. That moment I realize I can’t hear my footsteps anymore, and everything is black. Or maybe white. Who can tell when you’re pit falling into nothingness? Colours are indeterminate, and useless. But look… even now, I’ve conned myself into writing that moment as some sort of ominous threat to familiarity. It’s not. Not really. Would I rather be back on the path, about to continue my daily traipse through the same old bullshit? Or would I rather fall victim to some blind-siding emotional cliff dive? Call me crazy, but life without risk… even if it’s risking all you’ve ever had, or will have again… sounds pretty pathetic to me. So keep your head up, keep your eyes straight ahead, and when that moment comes for you… don't cry because you might miss the constant echo of your feet hitting solid ground... smile because you're free to start again in the air... and find some new ground to walk, or crawl, or smash into later.

youtube: my angled alliteration

Fuck the spotless stains
In this anonymous amusement park.
The sport of strangers.
Creative cannibals
Calling out for more.
Insatiable idiots,
Playing and preying
With vicious dis-virtue.
Fanatical failures
Deserting their dreams...
And taking us with them.

Monday, January 4, 2010

currently reading*

I cheat on my books. All the time. These two are my new favourites though. For now.




Saturday, January 2, 2010

comment spelling FAIL!

  cmaldonado8 (2 weeks ago)
you have the eyes of an angle

loopy writes my rain.

"Thank heavens however for Heather's blog having the common multiplicative factor of stalkers, poets, friends, losers and enemies, for I'm sure our presence means a lot to her and gives her a reason to perpetuate her online sharing of anecdotes, perspectives, written stories and scripts, pictures of herself, and other unspecific narcissistic manifestations."

Friday, January 1, 2010

dreaming*

half-nut*

I've talked about my cat before, so I thought you might like a visual. His name is Ming, but less affectionately known as Half-Nut, the scrapper. This is me catching him on a good day. He actually looks almost white, instead of the usual greyish mix.

if you happen to be a billionaire...