choose your weapon...

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

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...