choose your weapon...

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

Thursday, December 31, 2009

Kate says the year has been like eating a raw egg everyday;
Peter says it's been like wearing a bag of rocks on your head;
Heather-Maria says it's been like a pack of wild dogs who have stumbled across an abandoned meat hangar;
and smiles because she clearly... is the winner.


In my pursuit of meaningful writing, one thing remains clear. I need to choose my words as others would choose how they solve algebra. With precision, with caution, and with the hands of an artisan. I need to melt words into one another. I need to stop, tilt my head, and listen to the echo of each sentence. I need to notice the paragraphs of emotional resonance or even, the perfectly tuned reverberations that come from freedom and pain and love and fear. Sound waves written down and answered by the influence of those who listen. Words are not just seen, they are not just letters sitting vacant, they are products of the individuals inner magic, buried until we create them with the intent to be heard.

Tuesday, December 29, 2009

"Reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one."- Albert Einstein


As laughter fights from your lips,
Imagination, sincerity,
And innocence of mind,
Are ripped from the hands outside.
Self-sacrifice is useless.
So you wish for the past,
For who you used to be,
You sit there and hope
For things you cant see
Are just things.

callous disregard for youtube admirers

Today I finally checked my youtube mail, something I have come to believe is a very subtle type of torture. Not knowing what words I’m about to see, or if I have the willpower to disregard the negative ones. I hope that you, dear reader, are smart enough to gather that… today, I failed in the attempt. Hence the title of this post, which comes from yet another David. What is it with that name and the useless desire to try and tell me all about myself? No offense Dear David W, but I don’t owe you anything. Never have and never will. So call me evil, or disgusting, or exclusive… call me whatever the fuck you want actually, just don’t waste my time by writing it all out and pressing send. I am not one of those youtube super egos that replies to every comment or message left by a fan, no matter how admiring you might be. Ask some long time followers, even the ones in my “privileged little circle of beautiful people”. I fall off the radar easily, and don’t enjoy typing out the same answers to the same damn questions I’m asked over and over again. You are free to interpret that lack of action in whichever way your judgment-clouded mind sees fit… but you won’t be right. In thanks to your recent bout of assumption driven bullshit… you won’t ever get the chance to stumble across any sincere realization of the girl typing behind this screen, and by now, wouldn’t want to anyways. So either we’ve both just won, or we’ve both just lost. I’m not sure… but I am sure I don’t give enough of a fuck to wonder about it even one more second.

All my love,
Heartless bitch Heather-Maria.

Sunday, December 27, 2009

"Many a good hanging prevents a bad marriage" - William Shakespeare

Friday, December 25, 2009

evocative;  tending to evoke. redolent, remindful, reminiscent.

Thursday, December 24, 2009

"I want to be that little speck of clarity that finds it’s way through the dust of life's daily nothings... and then I want to go get dirty all over again."

Tuesday, December 15, 2009

In a dark moment I ask, "How can anyone bring a child into this world?"  And the answer rings clear, "Because there is no other world, and because the child has no other way into it."  ~Robert Brault

Sunday, December 13, 2009

seriously WTF?

I made the mistake of meandering on over to some blogs in the self-proclaimed “philosophy” category… and suddenly feel a whole lot like a retard at an advanced physics lecture. What the fuck are these people really talking about?… and more importantly… why does philosophy seek to exclude anyone who hasn't memorized the entire dictionary? Below I’ve compiled a list of all the sentences I could find that are either (a) kind-of confusing or (b) completely fucked. Leaning heavily towards (c) incomprehensible, and in turn, transformed them into either (a) not-so confusing or (b) so fucking simple.

“Rational entitlement to comprehension is not generated solely by present experience, but by experience in conjunction with the prior metaphysical and experiential standing of the subject.”
a.k.a. Knowledge comes not only from what is happening now, but also from previous thoughts, experience and opinion.

“Experience is seen as analogous to a function or ‘argument schema’, such as modus ponens, which maps subjective views onto judgments.”
a.k.a. Experience is similar to the design of a simple if-then argument, when judgment is combined with only one side of the story. 

“The resulting theory aims to remain entirely neutral on ontological issues whilst enabling experience to make a rational contribution to knowledge despite its non-propositional structure.”
a.k.a. The result remains neutral on the existence of God, and at the same time relates experience to knowledge, despite the theories lack of proven truth.

Maybe it's a natural arrogance that comes with the subject, or maybe it's a way to try and avoid misinterpretation by creating new, impossibly complicated ways to twist simple ideas into a mess of the least used words in the average vocabulary, but whatever the reason... it's completely unnecessary. Makes a little more sense that the idiots of the world seem to stay idiots. No one smart enough to change their minds can speak the same language."Yes Billy Bob" says Mr. Philosopher "the adherence to questionable methodological principles seems to be motivated more by a desire for logical tidiness and consistency than phenomenological accuracy.I'm sure he knows exactly what you mean.

shades of grey*

Friday, December 11, 2009

define yourself

heather maria [hɛðər məˈriə] heth-er muh-ree-uh
1) notably elusive creature, infatuated with the written word, needlessly argumentative, steadfast in morals and men, gives in to escapism
2) chameleon of unknown natures and origin, can be associated vaguely to the symbol ‘?’
3) eccentric pretender
4) avid realist


If only you could see me now. I wonder what you’d say, I wonder how you’d look at me… and I wonder if your mind would change. If you could see the tear stained sheets, and brimming balcony ashtray. Proof that I tried to smoke away the feeling that no one really cares. Pretended it didn’t matter. Convinced myself into apathetic delusions… because, of course, it does matter. It matters tonight, that I’m here... sitting at home. My good clothes tossed on the floor and replaced with boxers and a t-shirt. Here I am… writing to strangers who couldn’t make this go away even if they tried. Strangers that somehow feel closer then anyone I see everyday. I’d love to blame the not-friends that circle in and around my life, but it’s not the first time I’ve been left behind… it’s just the first time I let it matter so much. I wonder what’s changed. I wonder what I can do to make it easier. I wonder why I’m suddenly so afraid of the solitary confinement I once cherished. I wonder if it will all seem better tomorrow.

Wednesday, December 2, 2009

"Soul meets soul on lovers' lips."

Sunday, November 29, 2009

...she wrote with the slightest hint of pessimism.

Oh sure. It's exactly like true love.... if scaled by the hourly rate of some filthy back door motel room where paper-bagged harlots trade orgasms for cash and cash for candy that comes individually packaged in it's very own AIDS stained needle.

I'm dying to live in a world where everything doesn't feel the same as nothing.

Humanities ravenous appetite for indifference consumes most of us... with it's tendency to rape the truth and sincerity out of anyone who's not drowning in their own fear of reality. But not me. Oh no. I have the pathetic desire to see what's really in front of me... and the ignorant audacity to call it beautiful.

It's always been, and always will be about avoiding the curse of a monotonous excuse for existence.

the sarcastic taste of culture

I went to Hongkong for the weekend, and this is all I bought.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

the WRONG way

I've been watching way too much Californication. WAY too much. It has me wanting to write something worthy of Palahniuk, or Vonnegut or Selby. Of course, that's asking for the impossible...but I spent the better part of today coming up with something... anything that might shock or disturb humanity out of the straight-edged addiction to the same old story. Here's a little taste.

"I can’t help myself. The man’s got a target in his pants and I never miss a shot. Unaware of my intention to fuck his world inside out, he pretends to listen intently to Gucci Barbie’s champagne soaked tirade as she bounces her fake tits all over his wallet. He’s been watching the door all night, silently aching for someone better to come along. I wish I could say I fancied it a challenge but the black coffee truth is, no one surprises me. They all start by admitting they want a little bit more of that sweet cream in their cup, and finish with it dripping from the mouth of their next empty conquest. A circle of steaming shit stains, polished and scrubbed clean only to get pumped full of garbage again... and smile while simultaneously hating every second of it."

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

"I find it strange that in a city of 30 million people, I'm still reaching out for someone who isn't there."

Sunday, November 22, 2009

"Through the blackest night, morning gently tiptoes, feeling its way to dawn."

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Don’t be afraid of the unknown.
It’s not that easy.
Sure it is.
Well what about you?
What are you scared of?

...Being ordinary.

Wednesday, November 18, 2009

"Imagination is the highest kite one can fly."

Tuesday, November 17, 2009

iBITE my nails.

For as long as I can remember, I’ve bitten my nails. A few years ago my friend Amber (who worked at one of those nail salons and had some fancy name she called herself... re: aesthetician) decided I needed acrylic nails. Fucking. Really. Stupid. Decision. My life was fucked upside down from the minute I tried to push the salon door open. Keyword: tried. Over the next week, I realized a few very important elements of my life. First, I was a short order cook and used my hands for handling raw food, very hot objects and sharp shiny things at a pace that had amateurs in tears. Not to mention I did it all in style, with a black baseball cap on backwards and disgustingly grease-caked skate shoes. Try matching that to long plastic pink things expertly glued on your fingertips. Then, I was a chronic stoner, and held the crown for speed rolling, immediately lost the minute those damn nails showed up. Not to mention grinding weed, packing bowls, lighting bowls, cleaning bongs. Also, I was an independent, adult human being. Expected to be perfectly capable of doing up my own buttons and zippers, opening shampoo bottles, and holding a toothbrush. I was useless. Completely and utterly useless, temporarily driven to insanity by a ridiculous and superficial custom. Ladies who can pull it off, I applaud you, for it is much more difficult then it seems, and while you may be able to bear the everyday torture… I could not, and don’t believe I’ll ever try again. So yeah. I bite my nails. Because I have to.


I hate people who try to rationalize evil and claim Hitler, or Stalin, or any other manic tyrant to be brilliantly intelligent. Sure, they were infatuated with power, and at some point all managed to fuck up the whole world. But if they were smart, truly smart in my definition of the word, they would have realized that their motives were fuckin crazy from day one… and no amount of blood overflowing the streets would make any of it any better. Smart people avoid death, destruction and chaos, because they don’t need it to accomplish their rise to power. It’s the weak and heartless that fall back to the fear mongering, the epitome of controlling the masses, the cowards excuse to murder rape and pillage in the name of their cause. Of course, that means we as a world race… must be REALLY fucking stupid, because we fall for it, over and over again. Learning nothing from history. Re-writing the same malicious stories with different coloured inks. Justifying our own apathetic attitudes and blindly following the leader without question.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

"Nothing in this world is anything like that of your favorite lover.
There are no substitutions."

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Do not go gentle into that good night
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
- Dylan Thomas

Sunday, November 8, 2009

people always leave

Online friendships of any level are fleeting. They come and go and come and stay and go as fast as they started all over again. Circling the bridge between all things genuine, and all things temporary. Expectations flutter and fall in silence, no one voicing their inner longing for the people who have vanished to different things. Better things maybe. But it doesn’t make the pain any less. It just makes it easier to pretend it was inevitable and in all probability, doomed from the first e-mail, or comment, or skype meeting. Of course, it happens in the offline world too, but seems to me that the consequences are more meaningful. That the loss of a friendship hurts a little more, and matters a little more. That even if you know its simply because you’re busy with changing priorities or moved on to a different lifestyle altogether, it still creeps under your skin, and you take a minute to realize the impact that individual had on your life, even if it was only for a week or two. Even if it was only for a minute. But here, with the easy typing and convenient access, there is no remorse. There is no appreciation. Just as fast as they came, just as fast as you care about them… they don’t care anymore, and leave. So you convince yourself to let it go. You convince yourself that’s how it always happens, and concede to an online world without that person in it. I find it strange how I hide behind the tense of “you” or “person” when the subject matter is innately personal. When what I mean to say is… “I care about them.” Gone now, for whatever reason, I want those people (if they ever stumble across this entry) to know who they are, and know that however fleeting, you all still matter to me and always will, even if I’ve been tossed aside and forgotten. I’m here, a real person on the other side of this screen… and I’ll remember enough for the both of us.

sad... but true

"Ladies, I have decided to become a douche bag. You may now flock to me."

Monday, November 2, 2009

"Sanity is the playground for the unimaginative."

Sunday, November 1, 2009

“I prefer credulity to cynicism... for there is more promise in almost anything than in nothing at all.”

-Ralph B. Perry

Friday, October 30, 2009

I wish you could hear,
The secrets that I keep
On sleepless nights
They don't feel right
To say out loud
Not now.

Sunday, October 25, 2009

"We don't see things as they are, we see them as we are."
-Anais Nin


How very fitting it turns out to be that Mnemosyne, daughter of Earth, granddaughter of Chaos, mother to the muses, lover of Zeus, and the creator of memory and reason… is nearly forgotten. Whispered in the writings of Greek legends, it is she who first gave us designation, recognition, recollection, acknowledgment and imagination. There are very few written accounts of her legends, and I think I like it that way.  "Please assume ... that there is in our souls a block of wax, in one case larger, in another smaller, in one case the wax is purer, in another more impure and harder, in some cases softer, and in some of proper quality...Let us, then, say that this is the gift of Memory, the mother of the Muses, and that whenever we wish to remember anything we see or hear or think of in our own minds, we hold this wax under the perceptions and thoughts and imprint them upon it, just as we make impressions from seal rings; and whatever is imprinted we remember and know as long as its image lasts, but whatever is rubbed out or cannot be imprinted we forget and do not know."

(Socrates to Theaetetus. Plato, Theaetetus 191d).

is ignorance bliss?

When I was a child I thought casually. I considered ideas and perceptions and all matters of my swirling mind to simply be… white noise. The background music to the movie of my life. I lived in the moment as it was happening, enthralled by my environment alone and dancing to a tune no one could hear. I could run and jump and play and swim and fall and laugh and cry, somehow immersed in it all without succumbing to empathetic fixation on the hardships I couldn’t change, or didn’t understand. I sought adventure and joy within my actions, not my thoughts. I believed going for a walk could change the world. But it can’t. As I grew up, I understood that my world, was not the only one. I tore myself from the little farmville fantasy, left the rural cabin, pigs, chickens, greenhouses and bonfires behind… to be slapped in the face with the real world. Where everything was rushed and sincerity faded into little corners that become harder to find everyday. Lines were thick and crossing them meant social exile. A deathly consequence by the scale of others. A book I loved enough to read three times describes all the negativity, all the devils on shoulders, the doubts setting simple thoughts into complicated darkness, and the author gives it a name that slithers fear into me. He called it The Other. The one provoking you to hesitate, to lash out, to judge without mercy or compassion, to hate, to distrust, and to harm others. The Other in my life, wasn’t powerful until the others around me decided to force social, habitual, irrelevant customs into my personality. Within in a few months I realized I had to give up and give in, or be forced into the previous world I loved. The world no longer considered good enough. The others fed my Other until it couldn’t eat anymore, and took over. I learned the names of all the Spice Girls, I bragged about boys that liked me, I abused other little girls who were considered “uncool” despite the inner nudge that reminded me what it felt like when that was me being ridiculed. I lied with no purpose but self gain. I decided I was too good for the company of losers. I desired trivial objects and toys so much that it consumed me completely within days. I tossed aside those same toys just as quickly, and desired new ones. I considered the activities I had once coveted, to be secrets. I hid most of who I really was, convincing myself that it was better to be who they wanted me to be. Some days I wish more then anything, that there wasn’t so much fluff in life. That we all weren’t forced into this fishbowl. Everyone looking in with importance, and us looking out with insignificance. Go away others, and take my Other with you. It's not welcome here anymore.

dream within a dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow–
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if Hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.
I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand–
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep–while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

By Edgar Allan Poe
callipygian [kal-uh-pij-ee-uhn] –adjective
"having well-shaped buttocks."

Saturday, October 17, 2009

Love gives nothing but love, and takes nothing but love.
Love doesn’t possesses and cannot be possessed;
For love is sufficient unto love.
Don’t think you can direct the course of love
For love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.
It has no other desire but to fulfill itself.
But if you love and must have desires, let these be your desires:
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart
And give thanks for another day of loving;
To return home at night... and meditate love's ecstasy.

Culture Qualms

I drift through a seasonless world. Building up immunities to the heat wave trails, day long traffic attacks, sweat soaked road sweepers and street beggers. I laugh, but not all my laughter. I cry, but not all my tears. I smile. I nod politely. I have mastered the inherent art of avoiding eye contact. I hate avoiding eye contact. I hate polite nods. I want to laugh until I cry, and stand still for a minute. “But it’s different here.” What a twisted excuse. It’s different everywhere. What is it about “culture” that makes us swell up with pride? Some traditions are irrelevant. Only accepted because we humans are persistent animals intent on hoarding the familiar. Separating ourselves. Creating herds, packs, groups. Inventing the word ‘exclusive.’ Eye contact. Fuck. How important do you really think that tradition is? It’s not even “eye contact” at all. It’s just looking at someone’s eyes. We all have tedious customs drilled into our very natures, and I suppose a few different people decided looking at someone’s eyes must have a deeper cause behind it.. or two.. or five.. or ten. Then they categorized us. By location. Oh yes. Find true meaning in your physical point on the crust of the Earths surface. It’s not interesting, it’s meaningless and I will not concede to indifference or acceptance of these habitual conformities. I will, however, admit I am not brave enough to try and boldly look at the eyes of those who don’t think like I do. I don’t have the patience to try and explain this theory to everyone I meet or the ability to actually care about the endless stream of argument and misinterpretation that comes after. But it’s bullshit. Deep down you know the little things like that are just pure, steaming, heaped in piles of sweaty smelly dirty bullshit. Hiding in the corner under the tradition table. And most of us have been living on that table for so long, we can’t even smell the shit anymore.

Thursday, October 15, 2009

"Darling, as I write, the rain is falling.
Reminds me of our long walks on the sand.
It grieves me so, you're there alone
But it won't be long til I come home,
And for us, the war will be over."

letter game

Okay, get a word document, or knockoff notepad open. Right now. Load up a blank page and (off the top of your head - no bullshit thesaurus searches) list the first ten adjectives that come to mind beginning with the first letter of your name. (Like HEATHER = H = HAPPY… and for those of you who needed that extra hint, go away. Don’t do this. I don’t care what you have to say. They don’t have to be about you, just write em as they come, and post in the comments!

1. Happy
2. Hasty
3. Hip
4. Hot
5. Horny
6. Hostile
7. Hopeful
8. Heartfelt
9. Heroic
10. Horrible

For no reason at all. This has no point. I’m just a kitty who gets curious about nothing.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

exculpate \EK-skuhl-payt; ek-SKUHL-payt\, transitive verb:
To clear from alleged fault or guilt; to prove to be guiltless; to relieve of blame; to acquit.

Friday, October 9, 2009

100% of non-smokers die before they want to.

Thursday, October 8, 2009

and I saw overwhelming things.

On the earth the angels of happiness were struggling with the demons of unhappiness. Standing among them I saw Man, torn apart. Sometimes by hope, sometimes by despair. I saw love and hate playing with the heart of man, love hiding from him his guilt and intoxicating him with the wine of submission, adoration and flattery, while hate incited him to defiance, stopped his ears, and made his eyes blind to the truth.

titivate \TIT-uh-vayt\, transitive and intransitive verb:

1. To make decorative additions to; spruce.

intransitive verb:
1. To make oneself smart or spruce.

Wednesday, October 7, 2009


I’m sexist. Reverse sexist. And my youtube channel too. Because 92% of my subscribers have penises. Impressive. Or pathetic maybe. But if I cared enough to calculate it, I’d say 92% of my offline friends have penises too. I prefer male company. Not because of the penises themselves (okay, so not ALWAYS about the penises) but because, boys are so easy. Men tend to get a little more complicated with age, and a higher quality of selection will emerge, but I’d say all women, are at least 92 times more complicated then 92% of men. Wait, I need to clarify. Straight men. I’m not even gonna get into gay guys. Those motherfuckers have issues.
(Holy shit. You CANT call gay guys motherfuckers. Because they could just be like.. Actually… no. We don’t DO vagina.)

I’ve spent a lot of time around straight men as the “friend,” and you’re free to interpret those quotations to mean whatever you want. But…the best lesson I’ve ever learned, comes from right in here in the Philippines.

So listen up 8%.
If you find yourself in a failing relationship where you just cannot get that motherfucker to listen to anything you say, or treat you the way you want to be treated, I have the answer. You won’t like it, but I have it.

The next time you’re bitching to your man about whatever the fuck it is you bitch about, stop what your doing, make or order him some good food, get him a beer, or ten, have sex with him… and THEN, instead of bitching, tell him what you want. Don’t ask. Tell. It’s like training a dog. He will associate what you just told him, to the feeling of satisfaction, and be 92 percent more inclined to actually listen. Now, I realize many of you have the system backwards. You think the man should only get what he wants, AFTER he’s done what you want, but you see.. that’s exactly what he’s thinking too. And it’s not about giving in, it’s about winning. If we are the ones to stop the vicious cycle, we are also the ones that end up looking so damn good, the men are left trying to catch up.

Don’t you WANT to be the girlfriend a guy can brag about to his buddies?

Come on girls. Just... suck up your pride (literally) and give in to the process I forever deem, the blow and tell. 92 times more effective then bitching, since the beginning of time.

Of course it’s not all about sex, but think of it this way… all your other fantastic qualities will be recognized, appreciated and rewarded to a much more satisfying degree, if your man himself… is satisfied.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

finding fate?

The three fortune cookies I ate today, rewarded me with something beautiful.
'Fortune favors the brave.'
'Your talents will be recognized and suitably rewarded.'
'Anything worth doing can be done.'

Sunday, October 4, 2009


So, after reading John Greens books, I became overwhelmed with highschool lovestory ideas of my own, but try as I might, could not get started. Over and over again I wrote the first chapter, realizing every female character I tried to make into the protagonist, turned into some slightly more appealing version of myself. And so.. I've decided to do the unthinkable, and write from the perspective of a guy - very much like John Green has done - who is falling for the version of myself I choose to write. So far, it has impressed me much more then my first efforts, and while I'm only on chapter two, and the devil only knows it all still needs a lot of work, I figured Id post the first little paragraph anyways. I have no working title, so bare with me, and jump right in.

"The flick of my adolescent life’s very first domino happened in ninth grade when my historically crumbling high school decided locker partners would be the simplest way to deal with the sudden surge in student enrollment. Assigned locker partners. “Shoji…you’re with Lindsey,” my teacher called out as I summoned a rare moment of bravery and allowed myself one fleeting glance. The gorgeous creature that was Lindsey Swan swirled out of her chair and, although I had every intention of playing it cool, this particular girl had perfected the art of inherent seduction. I stared helplessly as she swung her perfect legs to one side of the desk, threw me a polite smile and in one majestic movement, swept up and plucked a lock from the cardboard box near the door. I was busy thanking God for both springtime and miniskirts when I realized she was looking at me. Oh yeah… Shoji Katō. That was me. I paused for another moment to curse my overly proud Japanese father for not giving me a normal name, stumbled awkwardly out of my chair and then out the door. In the thirteen steps it took me to reach the locker, I ripped apart my brain trying to plan the perfect thing to say."

If it helps, Lindsay Swann is NOT who he falls in love with. Stay tuned, I may just be prompted to divulge more as it comes along.
Some boys take a beautiful girl
Only to hide her away from the rest of the world
Not me, I want to be the one in the sun
Girls they want to have fun
ǝɥɔɐ ʇɹɐǝɥ ʎɯ ǝʞɐɯ noʎ pɐǝɥ ɹnoʎ uo ƃuıpuɐʇs uǝʌǝ

Saturday, October 3, 2009


my mom told me this joke...

Why do some women have bruises around their bellybuttons?
Cuz there's blonde men out there too.

Friday, October 2, 2009

the TRUE 7 sins

1. Wealth without work
2. Pleasure without conscience
3. Knowledge without character
4. Commerce without morality
5. Science without humanity
6. Worship without sacrifice
7. Politics without principle

—Mahatma Gandhi
When you decide to make your mark in the world, watch out for people with erasers.

Thursday, October 1, 2009

I have a broken disposition
I’m a liar who thirsts for the truth
And while I ache for faith to hold me
I need to feel the scars and see the proof

blanket sweater circle.

Heather: blankets are infinitely better then clothing
Kyle: oh yes, because its harder to invite someone into your sweater than it is to invite them into your blanket
Heather: if someone invited me into their sweater.. i would have so much fun in the attempt
Kyle: it would stretch it all out, but then that stretched sweater would be such an awesome memory
Heather: it would almost be more like a blanket...
Kyle: and we'd be back to blissful point A

Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Its still a little tense and a lot lonely... but the more I realize I'm really leaving, the more I know I'll miss all this when it's gone.

Monday, September 28, 2009

Oh don't worry, those are just my firefly fears...
...twinkling in the distance.

a nightmare.

I have a reoccurring dream that pops up every so often. It came to me again last night. One of the first nightmares I can remember having as a little girl, and it’s always exactly the same. Nothing changes. Not even the clothes I’m wearing, or the time of day or my reaction when I wake up. I’m 8 years old in my dream, or at least I look around that age, and I’m watching myself. I’m in my old log cabin in northern Canada, and I’m watching myself... frozen. A little blonde girl stuck in a moment that everyone else around her isn’t trapped in. I watch myself watch my little sister as she crawls into my wood burning fireplace, and I don’t stop her. I scream at myself, I wonder why I’m not moving. I try to reach out and save my little sister from the flames, but nothing happens. My beloved childhood dog appears after a few minutes, growling at me, and jumps in the fire to save my sister. She gets out, seemingly unhurt, but my dog never returns, and I watch myself cry. One tear runs down my cheek, and I watch myself watch it drop to the ground. Then with one barely audible little splash, I wake up. It’s always the same, and no matter how many books I read, documentary's I pour over, again and again, or how completely obsessed I am with manipulating my own dream-states... I cannot get myself to move.

Friday, September 25, 2009

oh lookie what i got!

Fuck yeah. Looking for meaning in your life? Just find Calvin. Find Hobbes.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

"Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself. I am large. I contain multitudes."
–– Walt Whitman

nightclub narcissism

I hate nightclubs. I fuckin hate nightclubs.It’s such a petty, useless way to spend time. People will take three hours trying to turn themselves into bitchdick magnets, preen up like peacocks to go dance in a giant circle hoping to attract a mate, however hopeless they truly are. So they go, they drink, they dance, they sit, they drink more, they dance more… then they go home. With or without a potential sex toy. Maybe or maybe not picked up right there in that very bar. Fuck. What are the standards? “Oh well, He’s hot!” says Malibu Barbie while standing in a black room, in a black dress, with black lights, seizure inducing strobe globes and laser shows, all of which could, in some humble opinions, be considered fucking obstructions to the unbelievably tipped scale of hot. Oh… did I forget to mention the fully formed beer goggles? Do I even need to? Fuck. “He is SO funny!” (Insert high pitched giggle here) she says while laughing at something he yelled in her ear that slightly resembled the pitch of a punch line, although the excruciating, repetitive beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beat beat of the deafening techno music drowns out any chance for real conversation. That’s okay for her though, she hates having to think.FuckFuck fuck fuck. I can’t seem to write anything else. The whole concept makes me want to smash things. And by things I mean people. Don’t even fool yourself by saying you only go for the dancing… but know full well you can dance whenever the fuck you want, wherever the fuck you want, as long as you have music and space. So park your car, invite some friends, blast your stereo, and fuckin dance! Dance with people you care about, dance in trashy pubs with hoe down music, dance in the street, dance in your dreams, dance on your bed… but for the love of all things sincere and genuinely validated…


They are just nests of hormone driven bad judgment. The meeting place for the meaningless to thrive. The excuse to do something, or someone, and concede to a level of bullshit that no-one with any substance at all would ever do if they really thought about it.

Monday, September 21, 2009

uncrossed lines.

I tried to upload a half naked picture, with a well placed black CENSORED bar on it, onto Dailybooth a few minutes ago, (with the intended purpose of... showing off my wicked, equally well places tattoos) and so cleverly titled "Crossing the line." Then I deleted it. Within a few minutes. I'm such a chicken.

fuck it.

Fuck what's acceptable by any of your standards. I'm diving in, writhing forward, bouncing around and screaming inside. I can't stop the dirty dirty thoughts. They're everywhere, in everything I touch or smell or hear. I'm like that 7 year old girl in the back of the second grade classroom drawing penises all day. THIS is unacceptable. And no, it's not that I'm picky. I just have a very cleverly designed selection process. I want what I want... and when I want it enough, I’ll do anything I can to get it, and keep it. Yeah yeah, whatever. Sounds like a suitable mantra, but it’s all bullshit. It's getting to the "enough" stage that has provided you with this (doomed to be regretted) admission of pure, seething, splintering sexual frustration. Porn becomes habit. The necessary motions in your empty bed sizzle and die as fast as they started, and it all begins and ends in the exact same way. It’s so infuriating… and so exciting, to be so arrogantly captivated by my own immoral code. To wait, until enough is “enough” and I unleash all this pent up fury on some unsuspecting stranger.

Saturday, September 19, 2009

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

The Crew Letter*

*Edited for your pleasure.
So some loyal crew members of Michael Bay bitched about Megan Fox and I posted the long, childish message here, deciding to take it down and write my own version instead.
Dear Megan Fox,
It must be nice, to be you. I bet some of your wildest dreams have just been handed to you lately. Fame, riches, power. Hollywood's next Angelina Jolie. A sex icon around the world. A fantasy to millions. And now, a bitch with an ungrateful, unprofessional reputation. It's one thing to be honest, and another to be stupid. I bet Michael Bay has friends, and I bet you knew that before you decided that comparing him to Hitler on record would be a damn good idea. It's your own future your fucking with, not his. There are millions of beautiful girls in the world and the movie industry doesn't waste time recycling out the bad ones.Be a bitch if that's who you are, but at least be good at it, and know when being a bitch, is just code for fucking yourself over.
Heather Maria

Actually, while I'm at it...
Dear Olivia Wilde,
I'd take you over Megan any day, any time, any where.
All my love,
Heather Maria

The difference between a man and a boy?

One loves eating pussy, the other will tolerate it if he’s told.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

lost and found.

We all exist completely in the world we’ve created for ourselves. The simple ability to comprehend who we are, and grasp at the strings of our own consciousness, has forever crippled our ability to be completely unbiased. It is impossible to be sincerely objective. Everything that we do, or say, or think is a product of what we have experienced. Even what would be considered typically objective decision making, rests entirely on your definition of the word. We all take the time to analyze our own truth, finding relevance when the right buttons are pushed, finding meaning when the clock strikes midnight, finding what you want to find, even when it’s not what you thought you were looking for.


He shatters my disassembled pieces,
Throws them to the night.
Laughs at the game I lost to win.
Stolen as the Reaper takes flight.
He strangled my ignorance,
Disarmed the perfect illusion.
Now I see the truth in lies,
I see sane delusions,
Here begins my conclusion...

Pray to the devil,
Cage up the doves,
It’s war for peace,
It’s blood for love.
lucubration \loo-kyoo-BRAY-shun; loo-kuh-\, noun:
The act of studying by candlelight; nocturnal study; meditation.

Monday, September 14, 2009

"On with the dance! Let joy be unconfined;
No sleep till morn, when youth and pleasure meet
To chase the glowing hours with flying feet."

-George Gordon

Saturday, September 12, 2009

The strangest sense of delight washes over me when I realize I played some small, but perhaps important role in provoking strangers around the globe to get together and throw words passionately at each other... coming to the beautiful conclusion that even when we vehemently disagree, it's okay to end it all with an "I love you."
"A critic is a bundle of biases held loosely together by a sense of

- Whitney Balliett

Thursday, September 10, 2009

be offensive. be inappropriate. be vulgar.

My blog has been officially fucked. She is a spam virgin no more and has lost her sweet sweet e-cherry pie. As it turns out, she also happens to have released a dirty whore from somewhere deep down inside herself. She got fucked again, and again, and again. Someone opened up a whole box of spam and dished it out from all angles. And someone did it all with unbelievable persistence. And someone did it all in Japanese. Someone who I am guessing is named...熟女サークル. I'm a curious little kitty, and enlisted the help of Daichen who has confirmed it is indeed useless to me, and posted only with the hope of recruiting prostitutes. So... I'm sitting here thinking there must be a hidden meaning somewhere. Maybe this is my calling. To have Asian men pay me loads of cash for sex. Or Asian women. Are there muff munching hookers? I bet in Japan there is. Japan has everything, including some porn I would very much like to have seared out of my brain. Girl on girl prostitution needs to be explored further.... deeper. Instead of condoms, you bring dildos. It's perfect. Vulgarity breeds creativity. So "stay creative." And sub to krumbine because he gets off on it, and that's his line. Check out this post to see the overload of japanaction.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

PAPER TOWNS by john green

I must admit, I have a new found deep rooted respect for vlogbrother John Green and his female protagonist in this book. Margo Roth. Even her first and middle name sound dangerous, mysterious, dramatic. And she is most definitely all those things. The girl that turns everyone into a yes man. Undeniable and unabashed, she is endearing and imperfect in a perfect way. I'm a little bit in love with Ben and his honeybunny addiction, as well as Radars hacking abilities. The journey started to drag out at some point along the way though. While I like anticipation as much as the next person, it was lacking side plot for the last few chapters. I suppose that's just an inner validation when the truth is I just wanted to see more of Margo. I wanted her to show up in the middle of his adventure and help him solve the mystery, or lead him to a new, even more exciting mystery that they could solve together. Of course that would never work. The whole point of Margo was that she needed to run off and get away from all the triviality that bored her existence into a little rabbit hole. She needed to dig and keep digging, far from the paper town and paper people she had come to resent. Maybe it's because I associated myself so strongly with her that I became so tired of Quentin's journey. I resolved myself halfway through that even if he did find her and she wasn't dead, I knew there would be no happily ever after. That wasn't Margo. And so I was doomed to feel a little put off and couldn't enjoy the end of this book. I liked it. I really liked it even - but 3 stars is all I have to offer. 5 for Margo, minus 2 because of all the pages she wasn't there.

UCLA study

A study conducted by UCLA's Department of Psychiatry has revealed that the kind of face a woman finds attractive on a man can differ depending on where she is in her menstrual cycle. For example: If she is ovulating, she is attracted to men with rugged and masculine features. However, if she is menstruating or menopausal, she tends to be more attracted to a man with duct tape over his mouth and a spear lodged in his chest while he is on fire.


Smart smart lady. And I mean killer-smart... not I-think-I'm-smart-so-please-like-me (and killer-sexy too). Make a photo for her and I'll love you forever. Come on. All the cool kids are doin it. Her youtube is here, and her blog is here. I follow both perpetually. I would very much recommend that you do too. We also share a deep DEEP rooted Obsession with this man.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Someone told me once that God had blessed me with these boobs... and I said,
"No. That's the devil's work."

Sunday, September 6, 2009

"To him whose elastic and vigorous thought keeps pace with the sun, the day is a perpetual morning."
-Henry David Thoreau

me.. trouble? never!

they're SUPPOSED to bounce like that!

Fake tits ruin the grading curve for the rest of us embracing what we got. God damn beauty magazines and plastic surgeons fucking shit up all over the place. "78% of all chicks that have fake tits involved in boating accidents do not drown." - Poolhall Junkies (2002) Click HERE to test your boob knowledge of real vs fake. I got 90%. I enjoy this post coming right after the oh so serious one.


I bought a bible a few months ago. A simple black covered bible that I probably could have just as easily stolen from a hotel room, and with it, an equally unadorned copy “Of the Imitation of Christ.” It came as a set and until today I had set the latter aside, knowing the New Testament would be a great wall to climb in itself. I have had a few steps up that wall but I certainly don’t imagine I’ll be arriving on the other side anytime soon. The bible is not one of those books you can ever “finish” reading. Every story can be read hundreds, if not thousands of times and interpreted very differently. As with any book that challenges perception of yourself, or your world. I’ve read chapters of Carlos Castenada’s Journey to Ixtland over and over again, and walked away feeling like I still understood very little. The bible can do that to me too, although as much as I try to read without prejudice, I see each page, each word, and with it an endless pool of injustice, and tyranny carried out in the name of those same words. How many people before me have read these sentences, and interpreted them to suit their own meaningless purpose? How many have done evil things in proclamation of the Lord, spewing power from the pages of a book and the impressionable minds of the common people, seeking answers when there weren’t any, aching for something to believe in. Something to explain the unexplainable. If only we hadn’t been so quick to diminish and trivialize the very meaning of faith. Had we been a little more careful with those words, a little more open to those who were different, a little less power starved and a little less greedy. A pack of wolves working together, or an ant colony with a co-ordinated system of seeming chaos. Instead, a few shepherds got together and said perfect! This is what we need. A tool for obedience. A tool for deep loyalty. A tool that very much resembled sheep food, or perhaps sheepnip. And those shepherds laughed themselves rich and fat and drunk, while the rest of the world struggled with the us/them attitude force-fed into their beliefs. God is a beautiful thing to believe in. It is man, and man made traditions and firmly held personal prejudices, and motivation behind the church, and every connotation behind what man will say, or do, or even think "in the name of the Lord" that we need to start questioning a little more.
A lot more.

Beware lest any man spoil you through philosophy and vain deceit, after the tradition of men, after the rudiments of the world, and not after Christ.
St. Paul
Colossians 2:8

Jesus never said "I'm a Christian." Buddha never said "I'm a Buddhist." Muhammad never said, "I'm a Muslim." People came along later to write stories and categorized them. Maybe hoping to unite those who believed in the same God or God's, but in doing so, infinitely dividing them forever. Is it fair to call yourself a "community" with pride, if what you are doing is simply excluding those who are different? I dream that one day, going to church will be simply a location, with people of all religions, gathering to think, or pray to whoever they choose. Whenever they feel the need. To talk and learn amongst each other. To respect the beliefs of others, without feeling insecure or habitual about their own faith. To say with conviction that you love God, or Allah, or no-one in particular, but do so without disregarding that the rest of the world... is not you. Outspoken atheists bother me for this very reason. You don't have to believe in a God of any kind, that's your prerogative, but you cannot hope to disprove his existence for others. Atheists involve themselves in debates and discussions with only the purpose of demeaning the beliefs of others. Not supporting their own. Because there is no belief to support. There is a non belief. A negative within the very definition. The doctrine or belief that there is NO God. Or DISbelief in the existence of a supreme being or beings. If you dont believe in even the possibility of a God, then what else could you be trying to accomplish by arguing with those who do? It is just as wrong to push your lack of faith onto others, as it is for them to push their excess of faith onto you. I dream of a world that may never be able to exist, but still, if I can dream of it, perhaps others can too.

Friday, September 4, 2009

I AM a unique little snowflake! Assholes.

flight of the spirit.

Many, many years ago, before Civilization had a word associated with it, a man looked at the sky overcome with jealousy as the birds drifted above. Flying and singing, flapping their wings, going up, coming down, swirling around. And the man started to flap his arms as if they were wings of his own. The day passed, and afternoon with it. The night came and his arms were too tired to lift anymore. The next day, he repeated the ridiculous tast, and he did this for several days until he could not bare the pain any longer, both psychically and mentally. He sat there for a moment, crying. Soaked in desolation and frustration, thinking: ”How is possible for others to play in the eternity of that endless sky while I am trapped to walk or crawl forever?" A few days past and the man’s arms nor spirits were getting any better, and so he journeyed to the home of the oldest man of the region. When he reached him, and explained his ailments, the old man simply smiled as he looked on helplessly and said, ‘I want to be able to fly but my arms do not know how. All I feel now is pain, because I tried for days and nights but it did not happen. I did not rise at all. My arms seem like old branches pointing to the ground. But my dream was set on the sky. What can I do?” And the wise man said “come and sit with me here, outside in the sun. Let’s see how those birds play. Give your arms some rest and I will teach you how to fly. “ The two sat in a beautiful valley, and watched as the old man spoke. “Focus on nothing and everything all at once. Open your heart to the sky, and you will feel no distance between you and those birds. The truth is young man, you are already flying.”
When we walk to the edge of all the light we have and take the step into the darkness of the unknown, we must believe that one of two things will happen. There will be something solid for us to stand on or we will be taught to fly.

-Patrick Overton

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Desire to know why, and how -- curiosity, which is a lust of the mind, that a perseverance of delight in the continued and indefatigable generation of knowledge -- exceedeth the short vehemence of any carnal pleasure.

-Thomas Hobbes

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

RANT: an oral biography

Never ever, in all my life, have I read a chapter so marvelously dedicated to used tampons and condoms. It makes me cringe with giddy embarrassment and avert my eyes from the page, just for a second, so I can convince myself... I'm an adult now. I can handle vivid descriptions of the waste products no one ever seems to talk about it. I can handle this. I can. Really. Okay... keep reading. LATER: I hit the words 'pussy plug', and my eyes do the same thing again. I can't control it. My brain just seems convinced these pages are simple too dirty and tainted and crude and ridiculously imaginative to read all at once. So instead, I’ll write this play by play of the book that makes me feel like a little innocent farm girl again… a farm girl that has picked up a Hustler for the first time. Not even a Hustler. But the anal-fetish-orgy edition of Hustler. I need a cigarette. EVEN LATER: So I'm done. I've finished the book that reads like a roller coaster on mushrooms. And acid. Pushing the boundaries... no... eliminating the boundaries between what is morally acceptable in society, and the harsh, nose wrinkling, wide eyed realities of Rant's world. I literally gasped a few hundred times along the way, always wondering what the hell one of these crazy people would talk about next. Palahnuik writes with furious humour. Or what I suppose was meant to be furiously humourous, but after all the residual shock finally wore off, I was almost too perturbed to laugh about. I can't believe I actually spelled perturbed right. 5 stars for getting into my head and making me unbelievably uncomfortable with just a few words. Minus one for the ending.

shakespeare: merchant of venice

I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions; fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is? If you prick us do we not bleed? If you tickle us do we not laugh? If you poison us do we not die? And if you wrong us shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction.

if you happen to be a billionaire...