Monday, March 27, 2006



















3:30 am.
talking to corey-
feeling inspired

Sunday, March 26, 2006

before the trees hath given forth fruit

this spring break has included:

a trip to atlanta
a 9 page paper
4 interviews for a job
recording a song for the first time
getting a new guitar
finding out scott is going to iraq
a trip back to new york
st. patrick's day insanity in Brooklyn
isolation
watching varied Richard III movies
a couple ex-boyfriend redezvous
a bus to boston
partying at Harvard
visiting my dear high school friend Vaughn
a gravity bong party(yes, they exist)
a couple particularly memorable dinners with friends
a bus back to new york
animal collective concert
sleeping on multiple couches
living out of a backpack
riding many many many trains

now it's over- i have a 20 pg paper on shakespeare in film due on Thursday,
i'm broke as hell, i have tech week for my show which goes up friday, and i'm excited to sink back into the cracked out, overly exhausted mental state that school continuously and generously offers for a month and 1/2 more before i graduate.

Sunday, March 19, 2006

disembodied buttocks

it's been a good minute here since i've updated.
been to the dirty and back.
interviewed for the teaching position.
it went very very well and things are looking positive as of now.
in all, i interviewed with 4 individuals- the asst. director of fine arts, the director of fine arts, the middle school principle, and the headmaster.
following all of the interviews, i was told by the asst. director of fine arts that were it up to him, he would hire me. i think that's a positive sign.

back in new york.
st. patrick's day proved to be entertaining and i consumed far too much alcohol
which proved to be rather debilitating the following day.
hung out with some BADA kids though, which is always a lovely, reminiscent time.

i got a new guitar!!!!!!!!!!
a taylor- she's my new little bean- a pride and joy, though not directly from the womb.

trying to finish up a 20 pg paper on shakespeare in film(namely richard III) so i can get up to boston on wednesday.

someone quick- tell me why people put shoes on their dogs. evil evil evil.

more later when procrastination ensues.

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

oOoOoOoOo

another dream.
they've been getting weirder and weirder
i guess my subconscious has just been really dark lately, so wake up with these
images transfixed behind my eyelids.
last night i had a dream that was graced by the presence of scotty b.
i don't really what happened in that segment of the dream other than a
lovely kiss between us.
then i was in my old school(the one i will hopefully be teaching at).
my old theatre director's mother had just died (in reality his father just died)
and he was storing her body in a casket in the room which would later become my office.
we walked into the room and it smelled of death.
the dark dingy stench of rotting flesh
he opened the casket from the side and said, "this is my mother"
an old woman was on her side, face towards us
her hair was a bushel of grey matter on top of her head
and her mouth was agape, the onset of disentigration bearing her
skeletal teeth.
she was made up as if she were going to a sock hop
but death and old age had stolen any beauty she once had
and her open eyelashes encased marble eyeballs
probably rock hard, like her gaze.

"how long will you keep her here," i asked.
"until this becomes your office," he replied.

Saturday, March 04, 2006

a universe

wow. last night/this morning were amazing.
i went down to columbia last night to see my friend matt's show: the lesson by ionesco.
his parents took us out to an incredible dinner- (mohitos are my new favourite drink)
then we went to some bar on the upper west side
we then went back to columbia and proceeded to drink til dawn in an apartment overlooking the city.
this morning i had to teach at 11 so i woke up at 8:30(after an hour of sleep) and put myself on the 1 train, then the 7- the people who wake up at 8:30 on saturdays are anal retentive and in general, quite irritating. maybe it was just the two girls talking about wearing thermal socks with cute shoes.
Then to the metronorth where i proceeded to fall asleep and completely miss my stop.
in scarsdale, i had to pee
i went into the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror(the haggard hungover teacher that is supposedly setting an example for the youth- also already 20 minutes late and not anywhere near school) and decided to splash some water on my face, forgetting i was wearing mascara the night before. next thing i know, i look like a racoon. i get soap in my eyes trying to wash it off. then with my face awkwardly positioned underneath one of those automatic hand dryers, i decide this morning is one great morning.
back on the train, barelling in the opposite direction.
kids and retards demanding attention from parents and passengers. A retarded man in his late 40's says to the surrounding public when he gets on the train..."Have a good weekend. (no reply).......I SAID, HAVE A GOOD WEEKEND!!!!!!!! (the masses reply with a half frightened, apprehensive "...have a good weekend..." i can't help but smile.
when i get off at my stop, i try to hail a cab- it will be 15 minutes, they say.
i walk through the snow frantically stopping for a second to glance out over the overpass into the highway vision of cars gliding on wheels and dreams- everyone going somewhere.
show up at class an hour late, still in the clothes from last night and with marker all over my arms because i had drawn on myself.
it was a good class.
just went to see "pullman car:Hiawatha"
tonight i am throwing a vegan class party for my animal rights class.
hung over still and exhausted, but life is good.

Thursday, March 02, 2006

every night i fall asleep holding hot drinks to my chest




















the snow is falling again
it is the winter of our discontent.
skipping class to finish a paper.
procrastinating in the meantime, as usual.
i had a dream about medea last night.
i think i was going to see a production of it.
candlelight is an interesting concept in dreams.
i didn't think rapid light fluctuation was possible in dreams.
i proved 'em wrong.


camden town, London
carrie, michael, me, dave

Wednesday, March 01, 2006

adding a picture fucked up my last post.

the last night of february feels like the last night of youth- spun in akward musings time tripping outward through windowpanes into the night scattering on pavement and rolling down into the next town seperated by an overpass or an underpass or a homeless guy rubbing his mitts together wishing. wishes account for most of life if they are your only window into your only soul you know nothing if you haven't dreamed it shivering in the darkness clutching your own kneecaps hoping that someone comes to save you. i plan on seeing dawn this day- a new awakening winter light splattered in gold hues and undertones of short bodied saturdays finding shapes inside tree branches contemplating breakfast and praying for snowdays- some wishes aren't for keeps. i have often wondered if i already know my soulmate- and soulmating is in perpetual happening with battleflags that resemble lips (how do souls mate?) i think like tumbleweeds and windy summer storms. i know darkness and devouring death heart attacks, asphyxiation, lime disease, matricide, animal f(at)lesh, diamond paper cuts. and to be satisfied is to stop trying and to ache is poetry limitless and tragic like some euripidean character finding out the cosmos is counterclockwise and stinging wounds with wine red and sour like the blood of butchered children as she leaves town. but time's still told in backhands and violence tears and gratitude servitude sexuality and glamour insideout wombs and tombs and bombs and lucid dreams and demeter's contract signed in a soiled heart beneath the ground french kissing some smelly dead dude. waiting is another word for beginning and it's all beginning now. february's out the door white rabbit white rabbit march early morning too awake with goosepimples and intellect typing fragments of the life that i see before i lay myself in a dark concoction of mixed senses warm and wet lifting the corners of my mouth like the driver of a bus making a turn too narrow with passengers toppling to one side like a stack of papers blowing off a picnic table into the wind

protozoans unite!

the last night of february feels like the last night of youth-
spun in akward musings time tripping outward through windowpanes into the night
scattering on pavement and rolling down into the next town seperated by an overpass or an underpass or a homeless guy rubbing his mitts together wishing.
wishes account for most of life if they are your only window into your only soul
you know nothing if you haven't dreamed it
shivering in the darkness clutching your own kneecaps
hoping that someone comes to save you.
i plan on seeing dawn this day- a new awakening
winter light splattered in gold hues and undertones of short bodied saturdays
finding shapes inside tree branches
contemplating breakfast
and praying for snowdays-
some wishes aren't for keeps.
i have often wondered if i already know my soulmate-
and soulmating is in perpetual happening with battleflags that resemble lips
(how do souls mate?) i think like tumbleweeds and windy summer storms.
i know darkness and devouring death
heart attacks, asphyxiation, lime disease, matricide, animal f(at)lesh,
diamond paper cuts.
and to be satisfied is to stop trying
and to ache is poetry limitless and tragic
like some euripidean character finding out the cosmos
is counterclockwise and stinging wounds with wine red and sour like the blood of
butchered children as she
leaves town.
but time's still told in backhands and violence
tears and gratitude
servitude sexuality and glamour
insideout wombs and tombs and bombs
and lucid dreams
and demeter's contract signed in a soiled
heart beneath the ground french kissing some smelly dead dude.
waiting is another word for beginning
and it's all beginning now.
february's out the door
white rabbit white rabbit
march early morning too awake

with goosepimples
and intellect
typing fragments of the life that i see
before i lay myself in a dark concoction of mixed senses
warm and wet
lifting the corners of my mouth
like the driver of a bus making a turn too narrow
with passengers toppling to one side
like a stack of papers blowing off a picnic table into the wind