just to reiterate

being gay is COOL biznatches!


you know what else is cool?


rachel mcadams, that's what i'm gonna revamp my walls with. hmmm. no i'll do chezza who am i kidding i love her more than r-mac! let's be real here. 


also, the golden girls are pretty damn cool as well.

all is peaceful and serene and well.
fucking snow/ice day tomorrow! totally would never have seen that shit coming. hell yes!
AND i have a new love interest, yes that's right my friend who i'm getting over will be THRILLED to hear that i'm SURE. 
it's really promising actually...i mean, i guess we'll see.
not getting my hopes up.
but who the fuck cares right now!? 
FUN NIGHT TONIGHT AND ALL DAY TOMORROW!!!!!!!!
FUCK YES!


it's impossible to sound articulate right now.

i'd much prefer to have people detest me than be ambivalent toward me, because that way i know they still care.

one hot biatch who SPEAKS THE TRUTH!

"Being gay is cool. I just wish gay kids realized that earlier in their lives. I've often been told I'm a gay man in a woman's body."

- Mila Kunis to The Advocate

HELL YES! BEING GAY IS INDEED COOL!

The Basilisk and the Owl 

A basilisk rests upon the thorns

A nuisance, above all else

Howling shrilly at the moon

A facade of a coyote 

Limpid eyes in limp, then electrified mind 

Frost fades into sequins

Glimmering, rising, like the bleak horizon

Colorless and bland, a mystical drought

One eye, a slit executes emotions 

Owl drifting below like a buoy in the vast ocean

Concerns itself with grains for winter

Sleek blankets undulate

Burning clean the trees

I let out a cry only strained ears can discern 

The bird floats in the stillness, pitter-pattering soundlessly

Sealed shut like saran wrap violently tugging at every end around a lucent box

It treads lightly, averting the ground's splattering dewdrops and crackling crispness

The basilisk weeps at the moon from the treetops

Scorching in the rising heat, like a bonfire ceaselessly lit

Matches tossed in one after another, like logs emerged from a lake

It conceals its scales, the owl would yelp

An indignant blend of shame and pride 

The owl peers up with a solitary eyeball

A priggish pebble of the pond 

Wedged beneath the rest of the colorful brood

Gazes blankly at the scales, flits its eyes from head to tail

Heavy head flops to one side, like a flogging forcing weight 

Discontent and disappointment drip from every orifice 

The owl grunts none too meekly, a disgruntled being of Mother

Aches from every feather

Nearly imploding as churned butter sputters like saliva in the center of a circular wad of smooth wood

As unvoiced as death

Of crimson flesh

Salty, damp metal droppings, dripping like pools of icicles

Its eyelids droop down like curtains

Then shoot skyward, blinds bounding

It flutters like flipping flapjacks

The recoiling, non-threatening entity does not feel human

all along the western front 
people line up to receive
she got the power in her hands 
to shock you like you won't believe 
saw her in the amazon 
with the voltage running through her skin 
standing there with nothing on 
she's gonna teach me how to swim 

ooh girl 
shock me like an electric eel 
baby girl 
turn me on with your electric feel 

ooh girl 
shock me like an electric eel 
baby girl 
turn me on with your electric feel 

all along the eastern shore 
put your circuits in the sea 
this is what the world is for 
making electricity 
you can feel it in your mind 
oh you can do it all the time 
plug it in and change the world 
you are my electric girl. 

ooh girl 
shock me like an electric eel 
baby girl 
turn me on with your electric feel 

ooh girl 
shock me like an electric eel 
baby girl 
turn me on with your electric feel 

do what you feel now 
electric feel now 
do what you feel now 
electric feel now 
do what you feel now 
electric feel now 
do what you feel now 
electric feel now 
do what you feel now 
electric feel now

i probably posted this already but whatev! my poem about sylvia plath!

Kaleidoscope Mind Pt. I

I hear through metal cans secured to string

You were a pacer too

Yet stamps severed the string 

As you plummeted to the pits

What happened to your wonderful mind? 

I still hear its ceaseless chime

Remnants remain inside of me 

Like acidic drink trickling

Slogging like a snail

Softened then hardened like its shell

I feel the path carving like a figure eight

Paul D touched Beloved

As you have touched me here

In prodding sort of ways, I feel it like I'm bare

Yearning is aroused, it’s a sputtering pot of burns

What could have made you happy? 

You balanced on the brink for endless hours

Butter chunks edged into toast crevices

Tossed onto a chipped, wooden table

Tarnished like your mindset

Icy paleness in moist glasses

As frosted and blackened as your quivering palms

Most only saw the pillars

That quickly turned to towers

Pyramids rising in the distance

The opulence of your streams

Gleamed and glittered like fine crystals

Excavated from your quarry

It would not suffice

We know not what could have been

I will see you there

So like a crash of lightning in your bulbs

You paced the bright, clawed beams

carl sandburg

You will come one day in a waver of love,
Tender as dew, impetuous as rain,
The tan of the sun will be on your skin,
The purr of the breeze in your murmuring speech,
You will pose with a hill-flower grace.

You will come, with your slim, expressive arms,
A poise of the head no sculptor has caught
And nuances spoken with shoulder and neck,
Your face in a pass-and-repass of moods
As many as skies in delicate change
Of cloud and blue and flimmering sun.

Yet,
You may not come, O girl of a dream,
We may but pass as the world goes by
And take from a look of eyes into e yes,
A film of hope and a memoried day.

a dream within a dream---poe

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?

A friend is someone, who upon seeing another friend in immense pain, would rather be the one experiencing the pain than to have to watch their friend suffer.


---Amanda Grier 






A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway.


---Fr. Jerome Cummings

More brutally unfinished shit...

Strumming shifts through the slits
A vagabond grazes grains that rise against
Ever so lightly a tranquil gust unearthed
Redundant sounds resound 
With drenched rows of fabric
Bunched and bundled
Clumps of violet---we ingest
The excess 'til illness augments
Within each pore
Pressure mounts its lowly steed
A grim sight for Young Lass
She crumbles like a rancid loaf
Stored atop the towering shelves






Mucus merges into hollowed, clotted whites
As firm as thigh, as round as discs
The contortionist arrives, tangled in unyielding havoc
Twisting like a deadened fig in the summer breeze
Flopping upon the desolate shore, yearning for life
Bubbling solace halted like a stone scraping the bottom of the ocean
Spewing melancholy gusts as the wind claws down 
Upon the frail limbs flattened to the 
Knitted underbelly
Suns secrete as daylight encroaches
Moons penetrate, darkness scathes
Dimming bleariness
Coiled webs One carves into
A saw piercing chipping paint
Falling freely, staggered lines of powder
Grains as fine as dust
Nostril to brown etchings
Churning sweetly in ecstasy 
Predetermined pleasures
Soak up potential predators
Well-oiled well---evaporating into transparencies  

CLASSIC...LEGEND

I cry every time I watch this

DONE WITH THIS POEM like 2-3 weeks ahead of time.
one of the best, most meaningful, passionate things i've ever written.

IT'S PARTY TIME BITCHES! TIME TO GET SCHWASTY!

this is the monologue i am dying to do for the vag monologues

this is perfect for me. plus, i get to be a streetwalker!

I love vaginas. I love women. I do not see them as separate things. Women pay me to dominate them, to excite them, to make them come. I did not start out like this. No, to the contrary: I started out as a lawyer, but in my late thirties, I became obsessed with making women happy. There were so many unfulfilled women. So many women who had no access to their sexual happiness. It began as a mission of sorts, but then I got involved in it. I got very good at it, kind of brilliant. It was my art. I started getting paid for it. It was as if I had found my calling. I wore outrageous outfits when I dominated women--lace and silk and leather--and I used props: whips, handcuffs, rope, dildoes. There was nothing like this in tax law. There were no props, no excitement, and I hated those blue corporate suits, although I wear them now from time to time in my new line of work and they serve quite nicely. Context is all. There were no props in corporate law. There was no wetness. There was no dark mysterious foreplay. There were no erect nipples. There were no delicious mouths, but mainly there was no moaning. Not the kind I'm talking about anyway. This was the key, I see now; moaning was the thing that ultimately seduced me and got me addicted to making women happy. When I was a little girl and I would see women in the movies making love, making strange orgasmic moaning noises, I used to laugh. I got strangely hysterical. I couldn't believe that big, outrageous, ungoverned sounds like that came out of women. I longed to moan. I practiced in front of my mirror, on a tape recorder, moaning in various keys, various tones, but always when I played it back, it sounded fake. It was fake. It wasn't rooted in anything sexual really, only in my desire to be sexual. But then when I was 10 I had to pee really badly once. On a car trip. It went on for almost an hour and when I finally got to pee in this dirty little gas station, it was so exciting, I moaned. I moaned as I peed. I couldn't believe it, me moaning in a Texaco station in the middle of Louisiana. I realized right then that moans are connected with not getting what you want right away, with putting things off. I realized moans were best when they caught you by surprise, they came out of this hidden mysterious part of you that was speaking its own language. I realized that moans were, in fact, that language. I became a moaner. It made most men anxious. Frankly, it terrified them. I was loud and they couldn't concentrate on what they were doing. They'd lose focus. Then they'd lose everything. We couldn't make love in people's homes. The walls were too thin. I got a reputation in my building and people stared at me with contempt in the elevator. Men thought I was too intense, some called me insane. I began to feel bad about moaning. I got quiet and polite. I made noise into a pillow. I learned to choke my moan, hold it back like a sneeze. I began to get headaches and stress-related disorders. I was becoming hopeless when I discovered women. I discovered that most women loved my moaning, but more importantly I discovered how deeply excited I got when other women moaned, when I could make other women moan. I made love to quiet women and I found this place inside them and they shocked themselves in their moaning. I made love to moaners and they found a deeper, more penetrating moan. It was a kind of surgery, a kind of delicate science, finding the tempo, the exact location or home of the moan. That's what I called it. Sometimes I found it over a woman's jeans. Sometimes I snuck up on it, off the record, quietly disarming the surrounding alarms and moving in. Sometimes I used force, but not violent, oppressing force, more like dominating, "I'm going to take you some place, don't worry, lay back and enjoy the ride" kind of force. Sometimes it was simply mundane. I found the moan before things even started, while we were eating salad or chicken just casual just right there, with my fingers. "Here it is like that," real simple, in the kitchen, all mixed in with the balsamic vinegar. Sometimes I used props--I loved props-- sometimes I made the woman find her own moan in front of me. I waited, stuck it out until she opened herself. I wasn't fooled by the minor, more obvious moans. No, I pushed her further all the way into her power moan. There's the clit moan, (a soft in-the-mouth sound), the vaginal moan, (a deep in-the-throat sound), the combo, clit-vaginal moan. There's the pre-moan, (a hint of sound), the almost moan (a circling sound), the right on it moan (a deeper definite sound), the elegant moan (a sophisticated laughing sound), the Grace Slick moan (a rock singing sound), the WASP moan (no sound), the semi-religious moan (a Muslim chanting sound), the mountaintop moan (yodeling sound), the baby moan (googie googie googie goo sound), the doggy moan (a panting sound), the birthday moan (a wild party sound), the uninhibited militant bisexual moan (a deep, aggressive, pounding sound), the machine-gun moan, the tortured Zen moan (a twisted hungry sound), the Diva moan (a high operatic note), the twisted-toe-orgasm moan, and finally, the surprise triple orgasm moan (intense, multifaceted climactic moan).

got my meds. it feels like a kind of security, a guarantee i won't slip into the depths of despair or anxiety or envy or all of those dreadful things.


ugh night class...kill me now. i need a snack first. 


then maybe working out...jersey shore. reading. lots of it kinda...fuck. then make a damn bucket list. hmmm i have one up on here somewhere i believe.


I LOVE BEING BACK TO MY NORMAL SELF AND EVERYONE ELSE IS VERY RELIEVED AND DELIGHTED AS WELL I THINK.


it passed quicker than i thought.


it was a living hell, but i did it. and i feel so much stronger from it. and i came out of it with such a positive attitude and so much more willpower.




PS this poem is THE SHIT.


i just need a few more paragraphs. 

Current biggest celebrity crush

BLANCHE. GOLDEN GIRLS.
'NUFF SAID. HOT PIECE OF ASS. FOR A MATURE OLDER WOMAN =P


I WOULD SO DO HER!

THE POEM I AM WRITING FOR YOU IS GENIUS.
BRILLIANT. YOU WILL BE BLOWN AWAY!


obviously it's note a love poem. i've channeled that shit to strictly platonic love, very profound platonic love


i still need to think of a title though. i'm not done though. almost though. maybe a few more stanzas. three or four. 

WHAT I ADORE ABOUT ART. NAMELY LITERATURE.

It can seamlessly, effortlessly be connected to any piece of your life. 
I have a whole new appreciation for Wordsworth's "Tintern Abbey". My God, can I connect it to my life.


It's about finding comfort, solace, and inner peace essentially. Primarily through nature, but I am pegging nature as metaphorical when intertwined with my life. This is why we find such healing powers in art. 


And from all of my ashes, a phoenix will rise. It has been for quite a while, but there has been countless hitches, undeniably. 


I am praying now for no more disruptions, discontentment, and just pure nirvana.


I need that more than ever. Especially if I'm going to be successful with my writing. 


I am so ambitious with it. I just need to find people who have the time to offer opinions. I value everyone's opinions. At the moment, especially YOURS.

"GET OUTTA HEA'!"

I'm making great strides.
Great leaps! 
Some days will be harder than others but I AM indeed back to normal.
GETTING MY MEDS TOMORROW FROM WALGREEN'S, MY FRIEND'S TAKING ME.
And. . .hmmm what else was I gonna say?
Oh yeah MY APPETITE IS FULLY BACK. CAN YOU BELIEVE IT? Hopefully it stays. It's eerie being back to normal 'cuz it was well over a week where I did NOT feel normal. 
But the weight is so off. And it feels absolutely great.
And being optimistic is not THAT hard to be I've discovered.
Anyway, I better go attempt to do shit.
Homework? Maybe.
I have a poem to write though 
Laundry...either tomorrow night or Saturday.
Gah I hate getting my shit together! 
I don't even know what shit I have to do tonight that's due tomorrow
I'll check up on that.
And remember to expect the worst:
AKA Perhaps they will make plans to hang out tomorrow in class and study together and such. Then instantly start going steady and such.


Anyway, enough about that. I feel like going so crazy this weekend!!!! I need to let loooooose!

Sometimes I have more pangs of feelings than other times.


They come and go.


I cannot imagine the day in the future where I am NOT smitten with her.


I am SO smitten with you. I am getting over with it though.


I am hoping by Spring Break I will be fully over you. 


Then we can celebrate. And we'll be closer than ever. My anxiety will plummet like no other, I can tell you that much. 


Even when I'm over you I'm still going to find you absurdly beautiful and lovely and fabulously amazing.


Sometimes the pangs of feelings get so insanely exhausting.


And after this past Weekend from Hell, I have never been so fatigued. Last night I slept like a baby.


And tonight I know I will too. Dead tired.


I feel like I have more to say to you...SO MUCH more.
Like: it would make me feel so much better about The Entire Situation if I can give you little hugs whenever! And vice versa. And cuddle! I love doing that with anyone. I guess I'm not as tactically defensive as I thought. I love being touched, not in an inappropriate way obviously. 


I still yearn for her comfort. Whether she's speaking benevolent, complimentary, lovely words to me or if she embraces me, kicks me, lightly punches me, taps me, whatever...I will know our PLATONIC love is real.


I have platonic love with all of my friends. It's the most important kind of love.  Being sexual and all is only a tiny bit of it. 


It helps me feel better about myself that we have deepened ourselves in this way. 


Are you happy that I'm back to my normal self? And so positive? And even reached the point where I'm asking about him? 


The thing I'm still grappling with is that he's in your class once a week. Ironically when I have night class too. I don't know what to expect out of this.


I guess to prepare myself:
-They will study together.
-Do lots of projects together.
-If there are field trips or whatever they will stick together throughout that.
-Will all lead to much more.

SILVER LININGS GALORE!

If she and him date then...HOT DAMN! I get a guy friend! Swell silver lining, quite frankly because he does seem pretty cool. I'm solely basing it on what I know though...his clothes, major, etc. 


But if, let's say they hang out like...once or twice or whatever, then yeah, maybe no guy friend for me. 


I wonder if he's all that religious...


I feel kind of bad for writing about these things on my blog...if you want me to stop tell me! 


But honestly, this is cathartic and healing for me. It helps me maintain a positive attitude. Which for the past two days, I've been shockingly amazing at!


And my appetite is coming back!


Feelin' good!!!!!!!!