the love of form is a love of endings

It'll just be a poem. Anne Sexton makes me cry.

Wanting to Die

Since you ask, most days I cannot remember.
I walk in my clothing, unmarked by that voyage.
Then the almost unnameable lust returns.

Even then I have nothing against life.
I know well the grass blades you mention,
the furniture you have placed under the sun.

But suicides have a special language.
Like carpenters they want to know which tools.
They never ask why build.

Twice I have so simply declared myself,
have possessed the enemy, eaten the enemy,
have taken on his craft, his magic.

In this way, heavy and thoughtful,
warmer than oil or water,
I have rested, drooling at the mouth-hole.

I did not think of my body at needle point.
Even the cornea and the leftover urine were gone.
Suicides have already betrayed the body.

Still-born, they don't always die,
but dazzled, they can't forget a drug so sweet
that even children would look on and smile.

To thrust all that life under your tongue!-
that, all by itself, becomes a passion.
Death's a sad bone; bruised, you'd say,

and yet she waits for me, year after year,
to so delicately undo an old wound,
to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet,
raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon,
leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,
leaving the page of the book carelessly open,
something unsaid, the phone off the hook
and the love, whatever it was, an infection.

i am sick of seeing bob marley's face.

(I really am.)

I've had a really irritating weekend. I used to always moan about the filth of Milwaukee but I've really realized this past weekend in Madison that the city annoys me. Self-consciously hip, maybe, is the best way to describe it. I like the authenticity of Milwaukee. The post-industrial-ness of it and the dirt-covered beauty is very unique. It is very emblematic of the Midwest. I am going to miss it next semester.

I have noticed that the homeless people in Milwaukee are getting more bold. It seems like the care less about getting money and are more just looking for conversation. On Friday, I was crossing the street after getting off the bus and a man darted across in front of traffic. There was a homeless man waving his arms wildly at him, and shouting, "What the fuck, man!" He looked at me and said, "That guy just crossed the street without looking! And he wasn't even wearing a coat." Honestly, I have no opinion on that. I have nothing to say and I could care less about this guy's wardrobe choices. Some other man is always at the bus stop in the morning and he is always telling me about his turkey sandwich. He seems terribly lonely, but I do not want to have a conversation about the ratio of mayonnaise to mustard in his turkey sandwich at ten in the morning. I've been avoiding that particular bus stop the past few weeks because of this, which is a bother, but I don't want to be confrontational.

The church people seem to be out in hoards as well. Three times this last week I got into arguments with Mormons and such. One guy handed me a pamphlet that told me I was going to Hell and asked me if I was a Christian. I said no and he continued to try and convince me to come to his side. Why would I become a Christian in five minutes? The argument they always use is, "If God doesn't exist then where did all this beauty come from?" I can appreciate beauty without seeing some sort of being behind it. For the sake of argument, if there is a God, he/she gave me the ability to intelligently question my place and meaning in the world, thus he/she would want me to look critically at religion. Besides, the label "God" is a human construct and automatically makes "God" finite. And how can a finite being (God) create other finite beings (humans)? It's not possible. Anyway, I was trying to say this to Elder Smith and he kept repeating that the burden of proof lies on the atheist, which is absolutely infuriating. I see no need to try and explain my lack of belief in any higher being because Christianity is one of the newest major religions and that leaves the burden of truth on them. Then he gave me some flier that showed a garbage can full of dead babies. Really persuasive. I really take to fear mongering.

Anyway, so excited for London.

my stomach feels small and there's a taste in my mouth and it's no taste at all.

It's been a strange week.

Strange and amazing things I've seen:
1. Ed Hardy sweatpants (less strange and more vomit-worthy)
2. Ed Hardy lighters (see above)
3. A squirrel in my apartment
4. Projectile vomit on my front porch going in an upwards direction (probably from Ed Hardy paraphernalia)
5. Happiness (ie "Sure son, I'll measure your penis for you. I already roofied and ass raped your 12 year old friend. Why not?!")
6. Homeless man standing in the middle of the street making up lyrics to Miles Davis
7. Recent price reduction of Snuggies. I am seriously considering getting a leopard print one. The new commercials with an anthropomorphized dog in a Snuggie reading a book about himself have swayed me.
8. Doug Martsch in a Kurt Vonnegut shirt

Overall, beyond the strangeness, I've been bouncing between incredibly irritable (cursing at my shoes, keys, phone, etc.) and joyful. It's fucking cold, but I found out that I'm going to FUCKING LONDON in three months. I'm so excited to be immersed in film and music for a few months. And cheese toasties. That's really it - cheese toasties.

I like jeans.

Jean Pierre Leaud, in particular.

my warm blood

I think bad things always happen around significant dates. My birthday falls on the inconvenient time right before school, so any sort of happiness is overshadowed by the stress of the upcoming semester and, as is the case this year, moving.

Also, I know it's a cliche, but I am also heartbroken. Today, I feel truly alone.

fleshy free and flowering

"We will take off our clothes and they'll be placing fingers in the notches of your spine"


Though they're probably about dissecting Jews' backbones, I think those words are so sexy.

so much beauty in dirt.

I think I've managed to stay away from the stupidity of celebrity news for the most part, but I will admit I've been finding it pathetically entertaining lately. I have taken more of an interest in it than I'd like to admit. First off, I am sick of America getting such glee out of this Jon and Kate affair. Despite the cuteness of the children and my slight admiration of Kate's brassiness, I am sick of it. E! did some ridiculous special called, "Jon and Kate: Twisted Fate" which basically exploited the fact that neither of these people seem very contented. Kate did some sort of media circuit apologizing for making her husband look bad and simultaneously calling him an idiot. Look lady, I think you're a pretty despicable person, but please just announce your impending divorce on your show. I would find it far more interesting than watching you berate your husband about a coupon. Anyway, the amount of time spent making said E! special is pretty annoying. The combination of five minute interviews with five year old neighbors and romantically fogged stills of their wedding was obviously meticulously thought out.

Well, now that I've proved myself to be completely inane and worthless, I'll transition to something more substantial. My boobs have gotten bigger and I am disconcerted. I haven't got many other things to worry about these last few weeks. Due to lack of job and apartment, I moved back home. Somehow, I thought the job market/economy was going to be slightly better here. Of course, I'm just has jobless here as anywhere else. My blob state has been surpassed by constantly horizontal state, as well as being coated in a thin layer of cheese dust from Whole Foods puffs. I wake up with mascara goo smeared all over my face and put on the same cheese-stained tank top, play the Sims 3 whilst eating Nutella with a spoon (repeat for about five hours) and then watch some horrendous VH1 celebrealty dating show. ("Daisy of Love" is a beautiful medley of hair extensions, eyeliner, venereal disease and corsets [and that is just the men].) Repeat. Really, I don't mean to sound like I'm complaining, because I actually enjoy this uselessness. It's a nice break from Milwaukee, I guess. Plus, Milwaukee gave me the fucking swine flu.

The Yahoo! headline today is "Lady Gaga's missing pants" and "Paris' fake bake". The internet is so enriching.

Also, I think my dog officially has cleaner hair than I do. I also share her prodigious and slightly sinister-looking eyebrows.

Currently listening to: Trigger Cut/Wounded-Kite at :17 - Pavement

fat old sun.

One of my favorite poems which also very much expresses how I am feeling right now:

An Asphodel

O dear sweet rosy
unattainable desire
...how sad, no way
to change the mad
cultivated asphodel, the
visible reality.

and skins appalling
petals--how inspired
to be so lying in the living
room drunk naked
and dreaming, in the absence
of electricity...
over and over eating the low root
of the asphodel
gray fate...

rolling in generation
on the flowery couch
as on a bank in Arden--
my only rose tonite's the treat
of my own nudity.

Allen Ginsberg

Currently listening to: Summer '68 - Pink Floyd

I am tired I am tired of running of having to carry my life like it was a basket of eggs.

I have a bent eyelash and it is annoying me a lot.

Anyway, my main preoccupation these days is the X Files. I am infatuated with Fox Mulder. My pattern with pop culture seems to be embedded in throwback. Does that make me a hipster? Possibly, but I'm totally guilty of good nineties throwback lately. shoegaze, X Files and plaid. I can see Urban Outfitters is jumping on that bandwagon, as their window displays are oversized flannel shirts hanging on waify mannequins (along with a teepee made of florescent plastic=vomit). It's bizarre that the decade I feel is "mine" is suddenly appropriate throwback. I think David Duchovny is always appropriate, however. Sorry, Tay.

So, I've had three PBRs and one grasshopper (so delicious). It reaffirms my light-weightness. I really need to be doing my several 10 page papers (one of which is due tomorrow on revolt and revolution in Eastern European cinema), but I decided drinking and Criminal Minds and intermittently trolling Facebook albums was far more appealing. I'm also taking some vapid quizzes that are telling me that if I was a kitchen appliance, I would be a microwave. This is probably because I could very well be cancerous. I don't know how, but somehow I always manage to pull my shit together (that was a terrible sentence, I am so sorry). In these circumstances, it feels like someone is sitting on my chest and force-feeding me sleeping pills. I just want to get drunk. Come on, responsibilities.

If I sprayed Rogain on my hands would I get ridiculously bushy hand-fuzz? Just wondering.

I probably shouldn't blog when I'm drunk.

Currently listening to: Souvlaki Space Station - Slowdive

Volume.

melting:
i am a
red cross, or a
psalm that is keeping
my mouth open
towards something
more
alive.

Vanishing Girl.

I hate freshly washed clothes. This may seem really out of context, but I was going to start this blog on a different topic, until I realized how fucking irritated I am with my jeans' waistband. I hate how stiff they are and I have to do calisthenics in them in order to be able to sit down. Though I am a very self-conscious person and would be mortified if it suddenly became the social norm to be nude, I would half-embrace it because I hate tight jeans. I should just stop being a hipster, probably.

Anyway, it's Wednesday. I skipped my oceanography class this morning because I was having a fascinating dream where I was living with the elephants in the zoo. My stress level is ridiculous these days. My psychiatrist gave me some incredible medication that takes my anxiety level down (/encourages muscle relaxation, which in turn causes me to be slack-jawed and incoherent). Despite, I am still hating the responsibility of being a functioning adult. It is also my first week not having some sort of infection, though my allergies have conveniently gotten significantly worse today. I am a female with a lot of immune system issues. I also need to find an apartment and a job. Again, I hate adulthood.

I love my boyfriend, though.

I've been noticing a significant decrease in Facebook application invitations. What's that all about? Do people think I don't want an eHug or a eWhiskey sour? Maybe I should Twitter about it. Haha, just kidding! I don't have a fucking Twitter.

I just wasn't made for these times.

WHAT.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_y5XRkGU6A

(Being that Sonic Youth and Pet Sounds have been the soundtrack to my day, the synthesis of the two is wondrous.)

LYFE SUX

I am on my fourth course of antibiotics in the last two months. Thanks, sinuses! Of course, the day I get back in Middleton for my hopefully enjoyable spring break, I contract a sinus infection (on top of my slowly dissipating bronchitis). Hence, most of my days have been spent hacking and chilling on Xanax. I also have two massive midterm papers due next week, which I'm conveniently ignoring. Bleh, I'm such a mess.

Anyway, I'm slightly embarrassed that my last two entries were so dramatic. Or, maybe more insipid. I can't help the fact that I cry whenever I read James Joyce, regardless of how horrifically nerdy/embarrassing it is. Whatever. I'm a woman with too many pretenses and stress and James (yeah, James) alleviates this (as does marijuana). Literature's primary purpose, in my opinion, is to be stirring (emotionally, that is). I am just as infatuated with descriptions of Elizabeth Bennet's gown as I am with Benji's psychotic ramblings.

On a more positive note, I went to Cost Co (or "the almighty", as Eleanor calls it) and it was just as magnificent as it always is. Being surrounded by ten pound bags of rice and forty packs of PBR is really thrilling to me. I actually think Taylor and I spent a good two hours wandering around there one afternoon. Middleton is really moving up in the world. The only disappointment of the afternoon was their lack of tofu. I asked some meat section attendant if they had any tofu. Her response?:
"What is toe-food? Is that in a burrito or something?"
Um, come on. I don't consider myself a vegetarian-superior, but at that point I felt slightly more cultured than her. But, I really wasn't aware that tofu was exotic. She had to ask about five managers if there was any, and all of them looked really confused at the prospect of a soybean meat replacement. And I was so fucking excited to see an enormous container of tofu, too. Very disappointing, Cost Co meat sample attendant. I eventually settled for 24 muffins and a jug of vanilla extract.

I had another dream where I was raped by a stranger. (I have rape dreams a lot.) I think my latent dream manifestations are really fucked up. I think there was an element of Facebook somewhere in the mix, as well. I hate having Facebook dreams. It makes me feel pathetic. Stop seeping into my subconscious internet fatuousness.

Old father, old artificer

The most beautiful words ever written in the English language:

"A girl stood before him in midstream: alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and softhued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.
She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to himin quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither: and a faint flame trembled on her cheek."


I love you, James(/Stephen Dedalus).

In Heaven, everything is fine.

Okay, I really hate the look of this blog. It looks like an Urban Outfitter's pillow. If I was at all technologically inclined slash wasn't ridiculously lazy, I would do something else with it. Someday I will, but today is not the day. Plus, I fucking hate Georgia font.

Laziness has sort of been my scene these days. I have been steeped in slothdom. Wisconsin is really great for blaming the weather on your own lack of productivity. I like to consider myself a motivated person with a good work ethic, but really, you know what? If there was some way that I could survive being perpetually horizontal, only eating peanut butter and cheese, while watching millions of hours of movies and television, I would probably do it. I would like to think that I am not that boring, but I think I am. *Sigh* I hope I'm not having another existential crisis. Last year, I spent three hours a day agonizing over the purpose of my existence. It was incredibly poetic of me, but also utterly pointless. (My existence crisis is mostly resolved: to forever own a cat. Unfortunately, it's not going very well.)

I also need to stop spending countless hours YouTubing Queen. Or David Duchovny in drag. (By the way, YouTubing is marked incorrect by spell check. I think that's an atrocity.)

There was an Anime film festival at the Union today. There was a plethora of weaselly looking kids wearing fox ears and floor-length capes. One of them complimented my hat. I'm not sure how to feel about that. I actually wish I had an interest that I was so committed to that I would subject myself to public mockery. Maybe at the David Lynch film festival I will be the Eraserhead baby.

a terrible beauty is born.

Probably what's in my head:









































It's tiresome. I think about twenty things at once, thus come to twenty epiphanies at once, thus forget all at once. I love conversation, but I am usually too distracted to be halfway polite about it. I think there's something called fantasy prone personality, which I undoubtedly have. I'm working on my eye contact aversion, however. Taylor calls it "my windows" - as in, the desktop of my mind has far too many things open at once, thus crashes.
It would be spectacular if my skull cap was opened and there was a gramophone (preferably playing "Oh Comely", because that would be perfect crackly and hollow).

I've been on my death bed for the past week. I probably had pneumonia. My fever made the walls look purple and yellow, while I was hacking up blood all night. I think the only bonus of it all was awesome narcotic cough syrup and missing school. However, missing an entire week of school has a slight downside - work. Instead of doing said work, I spent most of my week sprawled, half-conscious, on our couch, watching about five episodes of Twin Peaks a day. I'm pretty sure my counterproductive week will make me loose even more momentum in school than I already have. I'm well sick of school and winter.

I'm also sick of certain homeless people. Last night I went to the Union to see Let the Right One In (it was fabulous - I much prefer a 12-year-old lethargic Swedish vampire to Robert Pattinson. Sorry Molly) and on our way back Anna found some sort of advertisement box-outfit. It was great. She wore this bright yellow box on the bus back home and we ran into one of my least favorite homelessman - I call him "crazy bearded-man." I was convinced the box was going to get him riled up and he'd shout a lot, because things like the wind, cars driving by and a dog barking will cause him to shout inaneness for a half hour. Luckily, he muttered to himself and ran off. The lady that lurks by the Oriental Theater, however, is the only "homeless person" that genuinely frightens me. (I'm not actually convinced she's homeless. She always looks clean and wears clean clothes, hence I'm confused as to whoever is taking care of her would let her run around at night screaming at people.) She also seems like she would have the capability to get violent. Usually she is just ranting at people on street corners about God and how she's really a man, but I have had experiences with her where she will get right in your face and scream. Horrifying. Anyway, the crazy bearded-man was outside my window last night screaming about newspaper prices for an hour last night. I really miss Madison sometimes.

The high point of my week was that I finally have nailed down where I will be venturing off to next year: London. In the spring, I will be living with a family for about four months. I'm really ecstatic, but also relatively unsure if I'll be able to handle that homeless population. I have no doubt I can handle the drunk population, though. North Ave. bar time on a Friday night is an experience like no other. We'll see. Please come and visit me and we'll romp around Europe together.

Who would've thought?

http://uwmpost.com/article/53/19/4285-Transit-TVs-may-fade-to-black

Huzzah. Yesterday I saw my favorite quote:

"I am tired."
-Sir Something

What a useless siphon of my time.

TREAT THE WORLD LIKE A HEAD.

I was getting a little sick of Live Journal (not that blogging isn't any less obnoxious on different accounts). I've had about ten blogs since high school, and it's an interesting study on human development - especially the development of an over-stimulated female. Once I feel like I've outgrow one, I move on to another. Usually, when I read over the previous one, I gag. The LJ certainly sounds significantly less inane and angsty than my original high school blogs (which were filled with proclamations of quasi-alternativeism and The Used lyrics), but I have definitely outgrown my Live Journal. I don't know why I always try to validate my blogging. I don't really have a clear opinion on it - I just annoy myself sometimes. (I've also noticed my favorite punctuation mark changes. Right now, my favorites are hyphens and Oxford commas. I've always been a fan of parentheticals, however.)

I am back in Madison this weekend. It was a nice break from the dust which I sleep in every night. I rekindled my love for Twin Peaks and Midsomer Murders. My mother always provides me with ample viewing material when I'm home. Coming back to Middleton also provides a welcomed break from the fucking bus. I use "fucking" because it really pisses me off these days. Especially TransitTV. ESPECIALLY FUCKING TRANSITTV. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to show infomercials, mindless trivia and intermittent Spanish news bulletins on public transportation should be beaten. First off, the trivia looks like it's a product of Wikipedia searches of Roman emperors or some guy in a cube randomly pointing to words in thesaurus to find a synonym for "bankrupt." I think the most horrific trivia question I saw was, "What are ghosts known to haunt?" Answer: Houses. Also, if I see another ad for Snuggies or a Pediegg, I'm going to throw up. I totally agree with Chris's sentiment - it is an affront on humanity.

The only uplifting part of Snuggies is their distinct resemblance to Jedi cloaks or Draco Malfoy:

















I probably would get one if it included something other than a LED book light as the added bonus.

Um, I'm going to sell my hair, I think. I was mulling over whether I should be charitable and donate it, but then realized I am legitimately broke and have only been eating chips and mayonnaise for the last two weeks. I should be the receiver of charity. So, if anyone would like ten inches of shiny dark brown hair, let me know.