i hope you actually look at the links i post, otherwise i'd feel stupid.

http://noonebelongsheremorethanyou.com/

THINGS i find annoying (a list)

"pet peeve"
Popsicle biters
long toe nails
dirt under fingernails
people trying to imitate english accents
rich starving artists
fall out boy
slow internet
bread crust
being sticky
using textural allusions incorrectly
interpreting things incorrectly
the illusion of safety
people at my school
buffalo aaron
people at the mall
malls
american idol
people at the tridant
old people
girls
boys
people in general
"time magazine"
socratic seminars
math
my LA class
my film lit class
school
fashion for compassion
my art teacher
the family
not having bus fare
missing the bus
homework
french
chemistry
asthma
allergies
weeding
dusting
Darfur
iraq
politics
the panic attacks i get when i think about(in this order):
A) college
B) global warming
C) going deaf/blind
D) car crashes resulting in death/ permanent dis figuration
E) the SATs
denver
the news
rap, country
neo hippies
republicans (Reagan and bush, respectively)
teenagers
bad writers
the davinci code


no respect!


this list could go on for a while so i'll stop now.

"life is an optical illusion, like other optical illusions".

every time there is a death from suicide or drunk driving the students of East Wood high have group therapy sessions in their English classes. the school councilors think that this will help students cope, and the smokers in the parking lot think that its a big joke.
"i remember that she liked to go swimming and her hair would always smell like chlorine" Suzy says, clutching the wrist of the nervous girl with highlights next to her. the new age teachers make their students sit in large circles on the floor and hold hands, sometimes there are even scented candles in the middle.
"good, good". says Mrs. Randy, trying to encourage the students who role their eyes. Mrs. Randy is menopausal and in her "goddess phase". she often recommends yoga and wears big beaded necklaces.
this has been the third suicide of the school year, and many think that it was a copycat of the first two. it was only October, and the parents and teachers were wondering what had gotten into their precious sons and daughters.
by now the students had become accustomed to death, and there was no longer that heavy feeling in the halls during passing period.
she had mostly gone unnoticed by the student body, she had transferred from ohio at the start of september.
"i guess she just felt like her life was in shreds". one of the boys said.
in truth no one knew her well enough to really be upset about it. sure it was tragic and all that, but the students didnt feel guilty for being secretly happy that they werent going to check the math homework they blew off the night before.


she was just a trick of the light.

Taos is for artists

http://www.coolhunting.com/archives/2007/03/jonathan_harris.php

afterthought

it isnt important how, or where, or when, just that it happened, and every time i smell bubble gum or talcum powder i see your feet after a bath and the bubbles you popped too loudly in the movie theater. how you bit your nails with that silly expression on your face, your eyebrows in a knot looking as serious as a politician. you bit pens to, leaving tiny teeth marks, little dents that reminded me of the dime-sized ones ladies pumps left in linolium tiled floors. i try not to think of you then, when teen age girls laugh and smell the way you did-your shampoo and too sweet bubble gum. your breaths that would go in and out of being light and heavy. sighing, like you did, when Marlon Brando came on screen, and grabbing my hand with a sweaty palm underneath the velvet seat that was rough with all the other bodies. you were a feeling too strong to hold on to, dream-like, and i'm forgetting you. the places where freckles were, or the long slow line of your colar bone. soon you'll be a cancelled tv show, fuzzy images i'll only remember when reminded by something else. again your laugh. whether fast or slow, loud or soft, it always came from deep inside and you'd open your red mouth big and wide, we'd catch glimpses of your silver capped molar at dinner parties.

inspired by recent events

Every Thursday during lunch we would watch them from the library windows as they went to smoke pot in the trees down by the lake.
Even on the day of the arrest.
Even in the winter, which caused them to develop 3 month long coughs that started from the bottoms of their chests and ripped through their lungs. They would come back just in time for science shaking there unwashed hair (which was the waxy texture of a bar of soap) and stomping the snow off their shoes with hazy looks in their eyes (that were not their eyes).
We sometimes talked to the less intimidating ones in our math classes, gathering details that would latter be pieced together as clues.
The nicer one, Laura, we had all seen her out smoking cigarettes in the morning and during breaks, had dark red hair. We had all read the headlines of the day before, the mystery of her mothers death and how her stoner boyfriend was arrested.it was on one of those Thursdays when they arrested her, took her into custody just after history. The local paper made it clear that no one really knew about anything that was going on. The state bureau of investigation had gotten involved, and clips of their interviews with the neighbors had been leaked, saying that neither Mrs. Roberts or Mr. Sawer had seen the mother for weeks, and the cigarette butts kept gathering on the front lawn. The paper made Laura and her steady boyfriend of five months to be rowdy and disconcerted youth.
Laura never particularly interested us, we just talked to her in a futile attempt to understand why her and her friends were so determined to distract themselves. we knew and had experienced their desperate attempt to escape suburban reality, but the excess of their apathy for one another always made us wonder if we were the same way but didn't know it yet.
we watched them, jaded and emotionally detached, like a television show. our friends were not our friends, and the ups and downs of their reality tv never really affected us. we only realized our lack of empathy after the murder. as the news articles became smaller and moved from the front page slowly to the back, and then disappeared completely, so did our interest in the girl who laughed heavily at Mr. Lawson, the English teachers, bad jokes.

renewed

jacket weather

they walked home the same way but tried not to make eye contact. she would stop every now and then to crack the ice in the gutters and he had to slow himself down to keep behind her.
sometimes she got a ride to school with her friends. they would pass him walking through the park crushing frost covered grass.

she was shy like bruised knees from slipping on the ice [violet and ash]. the chill of winter wind pulled back her scarf and therw her hair in her face, stricking it limply. to get to school she had to walk through a group of snow dead trees with long and crooked limbs exposed without their leaves.

everyday after school she would fall asleep on the vinyl couch with missing buttons to a patric swayze movie. she stretched on the couch and changed the channel until she found "dirty dancing". she would play with her unwashed hair and try to bite the dirt out from underneath her fingernails. picking at her dry skin and biting her cheek. when she would wake up the screen flickered out as she left to take advil.
occasionally they would be on the same bus going downtown. she would watch his reflection in the window. he would run his hand over his chin and tuge slightly on the skin above his adams apple, feeling his acne and ingrown stubble.
other days when she took the bus alone, when the only other people were homeless and old women with grocery bags, she would watch blue light hit flat buildings.

they pretended not to notice each other and became interested in minor personal flaws when crossing paths. they understood the pain of winter, and how it felt when it hit your bones. how that cough comes in november and stayes in the hollows of your ribs until march.














Disclamer:
i realize i could (and have) done better. but i need a story for ellipses and this is the only idea i have. frustrating, i know. believe me, i would ditch it if i had something better. maybe in march?

it was his deep voice that did her in. we watched her rise and fall like a breath in a yoga pose.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hm0g5trWV9c&eurl=

air

"We knew the pain of winter wind rushing up your skirt, and the ache of keeping your knees together in class, and how drab and infuriating it was to jump rope while the boys played baseball...We felt the imprisonment of being a girl, the way it made your mind active and dreamy, and how you ended up knowing which colors went together." --The Virgin Suicides

comptine d'un autre ete: l'apres midi

as of now you have lost me to apathy.

i live in constant fear of having a double chin.

January is the cruelest month

i need to clear my head. i cant seem to get anything done.

the first thing i've written all year. kind of.

the lungs filled like air bags when the boy blew into them at the nine news health fair, showing the effects of smoking.
she had ditched gym and it was the only place to go. her socks had ridden down and the elastic was slack around her ankles, making her three year old sneakers uncomfortable.
she felt dumb in her dirty p.e shorts and avoided eye contact with him on the bleachers.
apparently he had skipped as well and decided against going to the library in sport clothes, just like her.
he came down anyway skipping every other step and took a written test on drunk driving next to her. they were both just doing it for the lolly pop.



he rubbed his eyes because his contacts were bothering him. he put his finger to the iris, trying to adjust it. she shivered and looked down at her chipping nail polish.
where the hell is this going? no where. lets try again.

can you tell how hard i am trying to be edgy yet?

"

anything on this earth is bound to have some evil mixed in with it. the white man isnt really together with his own people - to think so is overestimating his power. people who want freedom should consider the white mans weakness. he's insane! he rapes and kills his own, robs his own banks, cheats his own system, ignores his sick and helpless and old. they throw each other into ovens and make lampshades and upholstery from their own hides.

then they lie about these things to each other in their newspapers.


"

charles mingus 'beneath the underdog'

art brut (not the band)

http://www.artbrut.ch/index.cfm?Show=Oeuvres&ArtisteID=85

i dont want to think about it

http://www.exxonsecrets.org/


is there hope?
http://www.foe.co.uk/campaigns/climate/case_studies/index.html

denver in the summer