I made friends with a girl named Christie.
She's really nice and she doesn't do any drugs. I like that because Naomi liked to take drugs.
Anyway, we have a lot in common. She wants to major in journalism and I sort want to too. It's either that or become a really sexy business woman.
A teacher from my school wants to be my friend on facebook. He doesn't work there anymore but I think that's kind of weird considering I barely even knew him.
Mr. Mac, the assistant principal, said I'm his favorite student!
That made my day.
Today I raced an old asian couple and lost. It was pretty thrilling.
And gas prices went way up!
Almost four dollars for premium. What is this?
I decided that when it starts to warm up a bit I'm going to ride my bike to school...or try to. I think it'd be good excercise.
It annoys me when my teacher calls on people to read and they butcher the text. It especially annoys me when in the middle of a sentence they say, "Ah! I can't read..." and continue. Oh man, it's terrible.
So, peace out home dogs. Stay fly mamacita and let that sunshine tan your skin. And if you don't get sunshine, well just remember that every cloud has a silver lining.
I'm out.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Monday, February 21, 2011
Marie
She sits silently with her head down, mashing her potatoes and peas together. She's careful to not scrape her fork against the ceramic too loud... She wouldnt want to interrupt his chewing. He nudges her shin with a broken toe nail he tried biting off just before dinner. She looks up from her plate and forces her lips to form a weak a smile, then she slowly looks down at her plate again. His chewing has gotten louder, "You like the dinner I made you, honey bee? I made it just for you! My little honey bee."
"Yes, dad. Thank you," she said, still looking down. She hasn't swallowed one bit of food sitting on her plate- She's never trusted her father's cooking.
He gets up to take their plates to the kitchen, where he sits them down in the sink for her to wash. From the kitchen he goes into to the living room and starts sewing. She gets up to go to her room. "Where do you think you're going? Do the dishes."
Obediently, she walks to the kitchen and rinses their dinner off the silverware. She neatly places them in the dishwasher and walks towards her room.
She turns on a light and climbs up on to her bed. She just sits there staring out the window with nothing to think about.
"Marie, come over here and wipe my ass!" Her father yelled at her from the bathroom, the door open with the smell of shit making an exit in to the rest of the house. She just sits there on her bed staring out the window.
"Marie, goddamnit!"
She continues to sit there, staring out the window.
Her father gets up from the toilet. His ass drips diarrhea, "I told you to wipe my ass!"
She sits and still stares.
He walks toward her room. Diarrhea drips from his ass.
He opens her door. Diarrhea dripping.
He walks up to her bed where she's sitting. Diarrhea is dripping on her carpet, but she continues to stare out her window.
He hands her a wad of toilet paper, "Wipe me... Nice and clean."
Marie turns her head away from the window and meets her gaze with her father's naked body, "You do it."
"Yes, dad. Thank you," she said, still looking down. She hasn't swallowed one bit of food sitting on her plate- She's never trusted her father's cooking.
He gets up to take their plates to the kitchen, where he sits them down in the sink for her to wash. From the kitchen he goes into to the living room and starts sewing. She gets up to go to her room. "Where do you think you're going? Do the dishes."
Obediently, she walks to the kitchen and rinses their dinner off the silverware. She neatly places them in the dishwasher and walks towards her room.
She turns on a light and climbs up on to her bed. She just sits there staring out the window with nothing to think about.
"Marie, come over here and wipe my ass!" Her father yelled at her from the bathroom, the door open with the smell of shit making an exit in to the rest of the house. She just sits there on her bed staring out the window.
"Marie, goddamnit!"
She continues to sit there, staring out the window.
Her father gets up from the toilet. His ass drips diarrhea, "I told you to wipe my ass!"
She sits and still stares.
He walks toward her room. Diarrhea drips from his ass.
He opens her door. Diarrhea dripping.
He walks up to her bed where she's sitting. Diarrhea is dripping on her carpet, but she continues to stare out her window.
He hands her a wad of toilet paper, "Wipe me... Nice and clean."
Marie turns her head away from the window and meets her gaze with her father's naked body, "You do it."
Monday, February 14, 2011
Curly Locks
I cut my hair on Thursday.
I went from this:
To very short:
I like it. But I have yet to see it curly...which kind of scares me.
I went from this:
To very short:
I like it. But I have yet to see it curly...which kind of scares me.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Mulberry
I'm all vague and indirect to conceal my sanity. Question it, am I really insane? Or do I just lead you on to think so?
I keep all my emotions to myself because no one- myself, you, or your friends- want to hear of my sadness. I just shove it all down deep inside my throat and try my hardest to swallow it up.
I'm a terrible friend. All I like to do is talk about myself and listen to everyone who mentions my name.
I want to kiss every boy I meet. I'm curious as to what kind of lover everyone is. There's a lot of different types of love and a lot of different types of persons who can give it.
Ya know what I mean? Uh-huh, Uh-huh.
I keep all my emotions to myself because no one- myself, you, or your friends- want to hear of my sadness. I just shove it all down deep inside my throat and try my hardest to swallow it up.
I'm a terrible friend. All I like to do is talk about myself and listen to everyone who mentions my name.
I want to kiss every boy I meet. I'm curious as to what kind of lover everyone is. There's a lot of different types of love and a lot of different types of persons who can give it.
Ya know what I mean? Uh-huh, Uh-huh.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Valentine
I wrote this last year for Valentines Day.
Open your mouth like the hippopotamus walking down the street swallowing every man he sees. Carry your arms like the monkey clinging to the tree on which he pees. Blow your nose, wipe your mouth, wash your hair because the date you dread most is coming. You prepare yourself for this time of year because you have a little person inside of you hoping for love or at least someone of some sort of significance to come your way. But when this day comes nearer and nearer, you soon start to realize that you are lonelier than you were last year. So you sit in your favorite chair and wonder about what you’re doing wrong and your mind wanders off into a jungle and you see hippos and monkeys eating and pissing on everyone you’ve hated in your life. This thought has comforted you because you know they deserve it.
But wait…you’ve just remembered this isn’t you. Not me. You have someone you have loved for nearly half of your life. And this thought, again, comforts you. You don’t see your typical fields of daisies and moonlight when you think of this lover. You think of this lover tenderly moving their car into your driveway and parking it there for a good three days. Then you are left speechless at the sight of a black oil stain seeping into the cracks of the pavement…you’ll never get that out now.
“I might have a girlfriend by tomorrow,” said the one with a ‘fro.
“Did you lose a bet?”
“No,” the one said, “I have been talking to her for a week and I think I’m going to ask her for her hand tomorrow.”
“Oh. Congratulations.”
“Very much thanks… don’t think you’ll be seeing much of me anymore. I’ve got a life of my own now. Good being friends with you.”
The one with a ‘fro found a new heavenly love and with no sympathy the one decided to overwhelm this new miss with his undivided love. I wonder if that miss knows that her ‘fro is an architect of destruction. She must be masochistic because I’d never love a man who misuses his hands. I have never seen this miss but I will assume she fits in the ‘fro’s pocket…’fro is very controlling but has no control of where the hips go…that is (unfortunately) not for love making.
“I’ll give you guys a thousand years.”
“Don’t humor me with your unedifying innocence- I can never live that long.”
***
This so called “day of love” hit my calendar and I reluctantly made love to my brother-incest. Its funny how this date came about, you see, there once was a saint (maybe even three) named Valentine. One day a man named Claudius decided to have them killed because they were married or something and married men can’t be tough. So before Valentine’s death he wrote to a lovely young lady and at the end of his letter he said “From your Valentine”. So I guess people admired his love-filled spirit and made a holiday out of it. How charming.
Open your mouth like the hippopotamus walking down the street swallowing every man he sees. Carry your arms like the monkey clinging to the tree on which he pees. Blow your nose, wipe your mouth, wash your hair because the date you dread most is coming. You prepare yourself for this time of year because you have a little person inside of you hoping for love or at least someone of some sort of significance to come your way. But when this day comes nearer and nearer, you soon start to realize that you are lonelier than you were last year. So you sit in your favorite chair and wonder about what you’re doing wrong and your mind wanders off into a jungle and you see hippos and monkeys eating and pissing on everyone you’ve hated in your life. This thought has comforted you because you know they deserve it.
But wait…you’ve just remembered this isn’t you. Not me. You have someone you have loved for nearly half of your life. And this thought, again, comforts you. You don’t see your typical fields of daisies and moonlight when you think of this lover. You think of this lover tenderly moving their car into your driveway and parking it there for a good three days. Then you are left speechless at the sight of a black oil stain seeping into the cracks of the pavement…you’ll never get that out now.
“I might have a girlfriend by tomorrow,” said the one with a ‘fro.
“Did you lose a bet?”
“No,” the one said, “I have been talking to her for a week and I think I’m going to ask her for her hand tomorrow.”
“Oh. Congratulations.”
“Very much thanks… don’t think you’ll be seeing much of me anymore. I’ve got a life of my own now. Good being friends with you.”
The one with a ‘fro found a new heavenly love and with no sympathy the one decided to overwhelm this new miss with his undivided love. I wonder if that miss knows that her ‘fro is an architect of destruction. She must be masochistic because I’d never love a man who misuses his hands. I have never seen this miss but I will assume she fits in the ‘fro’s pocket…’fro is very controlling but has no control of where the hips go…that is (unfortunately) not for love making.
“I’ll give you guys a thousand years.”
“Don’t humor me with your unedifying innocence- I can never live that long.”
***
This so called “day of love” hit my calendar and I reluctantly made love to my brother-incest. Its funny how this date came about, you see, there once was a saint (maybe even three) named Valentine. One day a man named Claudius decided to have them killed because they were married or something and married men can’t be tough. So before Valentine’s death he wrote to a lovely young lady and at the end of his letter he said “From your Valentine”. So I guess people admired his love-filled spirit and made a holiday out of it. How charming.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Slut.
I'm crashing... I'm burning.
I'm spiraling out of control and suddenly I hit the floor. My body lies flat and I don't care to move my limbs. I stare up at the moon and wonder what happened to me. Why do I treat my body as if it were a public place?
I'm promiscuous. I'm a sleaze. I'm wide open...I open up for anyone who wants to come in.
I'm everything my feministic mothers would look down upon.
I'm spiraling out of control and suddenly I hit the floor. My body lies flat and I don't care to move my limbs. I stare up at the moon and wonder what happened to me. Why do I treat my body as if it were a public place?
I'm promiscuous. I'm a sleaze. I'm wide open...I open up for anyone who wants to come in.
I'm everything my feministic mothers would look down upon.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Desperation
Naked, out in the open, I stand in the cold waiting for you to look back at me. My hands tremble from anxiety, my heart chokes on every breath I take because I can't seem to fall out of love with you. I think to myself, "Turn around, look at me. Just turn around and look at me." Then you pass by and I can see you watch me from the corner of your eye. I just stand there, cold and trembling, hoping you'd give me your full attention. But you don't. Instead you pick up pace and greet a girl with a pinch on her left breast and carry her books. Crying, now, I put my clothes back on and walk towards my car. I sit down and wonder about the way you looked at me. I put my key in the ignition and drive home.
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Santa Ana
Life on the Bang Bus.
Malcolm-Guitar/Vocals
Photo Credit: Fernando Garcia
Yesterday was the Santa Ana Art Walk. I went to check out the local art and to support a friend's band- Life on the Bang Bus. They have a unique style which any Indie/Punk/Rock lover can truly enjoy. I'd put them on my iPod if they had some recordings. But as of yet, they're just trying to get their name out there and they're doing a hell of a job doing it.
Greg- Drums
Daniel- Bass/Vocals
Malcolm-Guitar/Vocals
Photo Credit: Fernando Garcia
Yesterday was the Santa Ana Art Walk. I went to check out the local art and to support a friend's band- Life on the Bang Bus. They have a unique style which any Indie/Punk/Rock lover can truly enjoy. I'd put them on my iPod if they had some recordings. But as of yet, they're just trying to get their name out there and they're doing a hell of a job doing it.
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