fold your hands, child.

notice:

Sun, 23 Oct 2005 20:28:45 GMT

my new username is : paramourr

sorry, i'm not paying 15 dollars to take care of this in a more efficient manner. do what you need to do though.

Sat, 09 Jul 2005 12:12:36 GMT

ben, can you ask your sister to ask milan's sister where she gets zither lessons from?

or can someone ask dan to ask milan?

Thu, 30 Jun 2005 02:17:45 GMT

oogie boogie boogie

Sun, 22 May 2005 00:19:47 GMT

How much do your LJ friends love you? by ladybugadria
username
age
choose one
loves you lots	candesvara
thinks of you as their best friend	candesvara
pretends to like you	candesvara
wants to move your relationship to the next level	candesvara
wants you in bed	candesvara
Loves your quirkiness	candesvara
desperately loves to read your journal	candesvara
Loves you more than you know	candesvara
thinks you are stange	candesvara

Quiz created with MemeGen!

trotting through the dust || cut&paste haiku.

Sat, 16 Apr 2005 00:58:07 GMT

his back towards her
limbs, with his head in his hands
the slow tenor that

slump into my bag
and inquire for some middle
ground but ideally

don't think about much
of anything anymore
vague recollections

red and rough and i
lost the directions you gave
me i tried to go

stalling and blocking
the road hello hi sorry
i'm the one playing dead

mis-shapes || on thinking and the damning of such.

Wed, 23 Mar 2005 04:06:04 GMT

there are a lot of things to be sad about. concrete things: broken keyboards, leaves and twigs all over the ground, papercuts, stale mornings, stagnant evenings. cars, television sets, people. and then there are the things you've created and stored in your mind. chopped up flashbacks of cold hands and blank parted mouths. theoretical situations-- now there are two kinds.

pleasant ones- they are wonderful things. but alas, they are not things at all. they are just thoughts that always seem to place themselves somewhere just above your reach. they are both inflating and deflating (first one and then the other). they will make you sad.

terrible ones- they are, as i named, terrible. they will make you feel uncomfortable. they will make you angry, upset, miserable. and now the reader will say to me, ah, but they are not things, they do not exist. this is correct. however, the mere possibility of such; the fact that they are real enough that i may imagine them-- that is reason enough to cry.

shivering fast boom bolivia: to nothing.

Sun, 20 Mar 2005 10:36:50 GMT

the movement and placement of all things in circles and squares, respectively. the image of a woman perched upon a windowsill still runs true. ((i'm still waiting), just whispering through the silk screen, to a different view.) stiff, smooth photographs.

they'll push you out and pull you in.

Thu, 10 Mar 2005 20:30:56 GMT

judgment and the calling forth of such. pointed poignant points and then-- the spitter splatter [anticlimax] of projection.

Thu, 03 Feb 2005 10:06:55 GMT

I’m thinking about splattered guts and blood everywhere. Staring down at the soiled undershirts and you just want so badly to gnaw on that bloodied finger.
Is she as sweet as she looks? Oh, i must have a taste! and then you dive and try and make a fucking run for it before anyone else gets their clumsy sausage hands on her.
(but yellow caution tape.) But navy suits that will hold you by the shoulders and to say, "Have you gone mad!?"
I’m thinking about kidneys and livers, glistening and spilling out into the streets. Crimes scenes without stupid shit like bloody handprints and notes that say, "oh god what have I done!"
You know he really loved his wife and the thought of anyone else even looking at her, no it was too much. "I killed her because I loved her!" He would say after 3 months in a stiff grey suit, mumbling, I didn’t do it I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me.
pale stout reporters will say, ha! give the man what he deserves! Death with death and the women in eyelet drab will moan, "ohh for Love, mercy on his soul!"
Then situating themselves in the cold of his cell: Pet his hair, coo softly in his ear even. Hummm an awful love song about softness and babies. (you wish he was yours)
I really loved her.. (I know…I know..)
they will weep and spit at the bathroom mirror, my husband would never kill me...--

and then there is she, battered and buried underground. If corpses could speak hers would say, he was a spineless bumbling fuck. I used to stare at him. Shake him by the shoulders. Is this thing on? Raise your voice for christ's sake,just fucking blink why don’t you? Are you alive, and now I’m the one playing dead (oh I suppose you think this is funny? i don’t believe in irony) He grabbed me by the wrist.
Harry, is that you?
He pushed me against the wall, he held me there by the neck.
Hold on, let me put on something lacey.
He pulled out a knife.
Wait, wait, something lacey!
He stabbed my right side.
Harold!
He stabbed my stomach, my arms, my chest (all those places he’d never touch). Over and over. All I could do was sigh.
the last 5 minutes I laid breathing, I never loved him more.

none of it's worth wasting paper anymore.

Sun, 31 Oct 2004 05:34:31 GMT

trouble. i have trouble with discerning between the words tiny and teeny. even as i type this, i mix the two up. direction. roaming the town at night, by way of foot, moaning and searching for home. reading textbooks. reading biographies. old letters. stale screened conversations. lentil limbs piled on top one another, papers sprawled on the floor. me, with lake rimmed eyes, poking furiously, punching, crunching all of this into a small calculating machine. yes, fucking reevaulating. fuck you. oh the streets, cherubic faces wrapped in those rainbow knits, paper thin lads plodding through the swelling puddles, oh high boots, oh, taped up sneakers, oh, bloating bags with arab straps. oh! i really do hate everyone!!

(it's good to be self-absorbed because nobody else will care. oh no, not angst dear father. simply concern, simply affection. pressing my body firmly against a wall, whispering secrets and lies that float up back from the plaster, sinking back into me.)
nevermind. just pretend i'm really drunk. i really dont like people. i mean really, truly. they're no good. sometimes they tell a decent joke or do a handstand, but they arent good for much else. lots of people are mean. it's not good to hang around these people, but you know that you do, because everyone has some friends, unless you're ugly. that's a whole other different problem with society, that i dont have the time or money to address or fix. anyway, so some of these people act like they're real nice, you got it? you meet and they tell you you look really nice or that your dad is really rich or whatever. and then you exchange numbers (uh, screennames i guess also work in this digital age we live in) and then maybe the next day or a few days later they contact you, oh you're so cool, come on, let's hang out. oh i know this great new restaurant or oh my friend's having this.. blah blah whatever, i'm already bored at this point and really starting to regret having ever met this guy, i mean, person. anyway, then you finally meet up after this really long drawn out, "oopsies, didn't get your number right", "oh, that's a zero in your screenname, i thought it was an o hahahahlolzzz." god and dont have anyone meet you at your house, for several reasons. half of the time, new friends turn out to be stalkers. now they don't really mean to, it just sort of turns out that way. you know you dont want to hang out with them anymore, and that would work out really great if they werent completely addicted to the scent of your hair. so anyway, right, other reasons, sorry. okay, so LIKE most people are really, LIKE, stupid. and you give them directions to your house but the fucking dopes still dont get it. so you're dressed and they're half an hour late you get a call, "oooh, in the neighborhood but i'm a little lost." this actually means, "i just left my house and i lost the directions you gave me, i tried to mapquest your address but i cant spell." so for 10-20 minutes you are trying to explain everything again, really slowly, and you have to repeat everything because they have cingular and cant get any reception within a 5000 mile radius, then they call you over and over again because, "gee, did you say catwell st or was that swell st?" oh...definitely NOT swell. so they finally get there and you open the door and theyre a lot stranger looking than you remembered(or in the case that you made the wise decision to meet them somewhere public, you're having problem spotting them out of the crowd). hey are you still fixed on that slip i made earlier? i'm talking in general: girls, boys, friends, family, they dont look they way you remembered and are strangely shorter and stouter somehow. anyway, you cant decide what to do because they asked you to hang out and made no plans(or worse, they made very grand, elaborate plans that fell through). so you walk around for 5 hours "talking" and "getting to know" one another. 5 minutes in you really want to go home and make some top ramen but you cant. you have to be polite. polite? you dont even know this girl! i mean, person. so anyway and then dan, i mean sue, i mean this person really starts to get on your nerves. at first you were bored but now you're really annoyed. you think to yourself, "when will this end?", "where are we going?", "why is his-- her-- that person's ankles so small?" yes, this is all very stressful. so you finally are able to go home. if you're lucky you get a ride but then you have to listen to their reggae or jam music all the way back. you bid your awkward partings, carefully to avoid alluding to any progressive tenses in sentences involving you and this other person. "i'm going to move far away" (good, good). "we should do this ag--"(ah, bad bad). so you think the feeling is mutual, we are just not compatible people, you said. we cannot be friends, we will not be lovers. this is okay. you go home. you make a sandwich. you go to bed. you wake up to the alarming ring that alerts you of a new phone text/im message: "great time last night. hope we can hang out again sometime this week =)!" no, no, no..

we'll kill the fatted calf tonight

Thu, 07 Oct 2004 23:38:55 GMT

my lips are stained some cheap tangerine like a dried up orange marker or the nectar that flows from my mother's carmelized apricots. even worse, they're peeling and cracking at the edges and all i can do is keep licking. my dress is worn and worn and torn along the threads that meet the wind to whisper softly before settling back against my skin. the sky is red and rough and i don't brush my hair anymore. and all of this is too bright or dark, too thick or thin, too strong or bland and i wish i had that grey mass to engulf myself in. we're vacillating back and forth between black and white.

groceries, jewelry, hairspray...

Thu, 26 Aug 2004 06:01:47 GMT

I’ve been here before, but I still can’t tell the difference and it’s hard to put my finger on it all and point it in one direction or the other. Should it be a want or a need? It’s all an aching feeling, but to be honest, I can’t discern between the two. And I want to just give it all up and get married, but I can’t because things like glitter in nail polish still fascinate me.

we ran out of instruments so i had to play the guitar case

Mon, 02 Aug 2004 22:18:01 GMT

Mi Lagarto Come Su Helado(My Lizard Ate Your Ice Cream)

Yo Quiero su tobillo(I want you ankle)
Yo tengo el novio (I have a boyfriend)
El tiene muchos huesos.(He has a lot of bones)
¡Yo Quiero mucho queso!(I want a lot of cheese!)

El tiene las patillas. (He has sideburns)
¡Yo quiero sus rodillas! (I want your knees!)
Eres una maravilla (You’re a wonder)
Yo robo sus pastillas. (I stole your pills)

Ellas comen la sopa. (They ate the soup)
Mi gato quierre tus ropas.(My cat wants your clothes)
Ella compra el sello. (She bought a stamp)
Yo peino su pelo (I comb your hair)

Mi madre compra la mantequilla.(My mother bought butter)
Yo lo vi en la ventanilla. (I saw you in the window)
Pero tu saliste. (But you left)
Porque yo estoy triste. (That’s why I’m sad).

good bye alex.

Sat, 31 Jul 2004 07:44:22 GMT

i left my digital camera at the restaurant. and of course, what night would be complete without all the contents of my bag falling on the street and into the gutter?

terrible time, thanks anyway.

Thu, 29 Jul 2004 02:50:15 GMT

exhaustion of all sorts and a general feeling of unhappiness. stained wine glasses, stale clothes, crumpled up letters and 4X5's. lists of plans to throw myself into: books, chewing gum, old records, cars, stuffed messenger bags, and furniture shopping. i've given up the ideal for the tangible, but now i still don't know what's real; and i'm so sick of guitars.
i want to go home, but i haven't decided what that is yet.

and what the hell is going on with all these goddamn flowers?

Sat, 24 Jul 2004 20:11:45 GMT

i don't think about much of anything anymore. vague recollections of a spoon, a knife, a rare shade of pink. cold drinks, warm skin. i like my friends, but they come and go. i wear my dresses, but they get old.

crumbs resting on the fold of my skirt. crumbs. and crumbs. and cru--
i told bishmer i was getting my life together.
i just don't know what to do with myself and today charlie told me i look like a bee.

this is no middleground.

Sat, 17 Jul 2004 10:19:24 GMT

It was long ago that I figured the trouble of young swelling girls; the decrepit paper bag women. Never mind the year of made, it’s all a stiff drink to me. They want the foaming beers in old frosted mugs, the rough hands, the smoke filled v-neck undershirts, the roaming eyes, the firm grasps that ring around their slender necks down to the small of their backs-inhale- and then up again, the skeleton at the edge of the bed with his back towards her limbs with his head in his hands, the slow tenor that whispers through the darkness, “baby, you don’t know where I’ve been.” They want the worn in leather, the smell of burnt rubber, the fast cars with jet-black polish and in those cars between the ashtrays, the beat up 8-tracks, they want their safety belts, their air conditioning, their cushioned chairs, their cup holders, and their fucking baby seats. Gas stove, embroidered aprons, pancakes for breakfast, cigarettes for dessert, candles in the bedroom, sleep on a flat floor mattress. They want the flowers, the unspeakable scars, electric razor, but stubble to the face, soft lips, crooked teeth, lipstick on his collar, all eyes on her, he won’t let no one touch you. Loves little children, father won’t speak to you. Diamond bracelet, bruised up cheek, pink bow, black lace. Knife in one hand, cake in the next. Butts put out on white picket fences, the holes burning through this crooked painting.

comakazi.

Tue, 06 Jul 2004 21:20:03 GMT

peering, ghoulish faces. unpunctual shopping bags and stiff limbs. they all whispered and echoed, "close your eyes and think about god. he will carry you and take you away quickly." her body trembled and her eyes slit shut. she shook her head with fervor, fever that resounded against the plaster walls. oh her small 10 year old body.

please help.

Sun, 20 Jun 2004 06:02:21 GMT

my body aches. i can't sleep. i'm hot. i'm cold. i throw up everything i eat. i'm dizzy. it's difficult to stay standing and take breaths. everything is painful. how long do stomach flus last?

and still a softer hand keeps extending itself. it's gone past my hand and towards my neck.

Sat, 12 Jun 2004 08:38:02 GMT

rotcetorptekcop: where will you be living ?
rotcetorptekcop: and can i live there too?
rotcetorptekcop: i want to be a girls choufer
rotcetorptekcop: and buy necklaces and such

a warm, nearly boiling, overcast of doting and loitering and on the other end of the spectrum a frigid grey void that engulfs you all the same. now, one can say he will settle for some middle ground, but ideally that's not settling at all. still, it's a large gap and you never seem find yourself in the right slot.

jon yeh doesn't want to hear me whine anymore. and so when i say pillow chat, i really mean to speak softly to my mattress. love songs and poems that arent written about you are stupid.

Tue, 01 Jun 2004 09:58:37 GMT

(i think that when we finally realize [and accept] that it's not supposed to be that way [it can't be] we'll be okay. but i still have the mix tapes and --)

diet soda. girls who love their boyfriends. hidden messages and apologies. plastic television and friends who wish they were dead. we all want the ivory fences, the metal guns that paralyze your skin-chilling euphoria, the rustling sheets that crumple to the floor before sunrise, the runaway cars, the stamped 4 by fives that read "wish you were here," and behind all the paintings and mix tapes and photographs nobody wants to be forgotten.

Sun, 23 May 2004 23:31:17 GMT

the sharp waves thrash against the sheets, whose thread count breathes a heavy heat. and the soot that forms from words of flith, that sway the thoughts that shake and tilt. the burning coals that smudge and char. oh convenience, how burdensome you are!

two at a time

Sat, 22 May 2004 21:12:03 GMT

♥Uyen and ♥Jowad younis

Likely to conceive four genius kids.
Wish to play all kinds of games for the foreseeable future.
Miss home.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Brodberg

Doing their best to have 2.4 malevolent kids.
Schedule times to read weekly.
Lucked out blind date.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Brod

Trying to have one pre-paid girl.
Enjoy opportunities to take long walks amicably.
Disappoint their fanbases by always staying together.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Chris taheri

Are rumoured to have conceived three related children.
Enjoy it when they kiss weekly.
Should invest now in crowd-controlling equipment.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Jon yeh

Will never conceive a handful of rockin' girls.
Enjoy opportunities to arm-wrestle exuberantly.
Have still not exactly determined who is more ticklish.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Kyesha

Secretly conceived no robot kids.
Can't stand to lovingly serenade each other amicably.
Dance terribly and have plenty of fun.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen h and ♥Kyle melton

Trying to conceive three Elven girls.
Are prone to whisper to each other amicably.
Disappoint their fanbases by always staying together.
Shall always be friends.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen hua and ♥Kyle melton

Secretly had four surrogate kids.
Choose not to whisper to each other occasionally.
Need chaperoning.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Kyle melton

Trying to adopt less than zero expensive children.
Choose not to cite romantic precedent weekly.
Are Hollywood's hottest couple.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen h. and ♥Jon y.

Secretly conceived twenty-eight thousand super-kids.
Are aspiring to write to each other after dark.
Buy lavish gifts for each other.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen h. and ♥Dan pedersen

Plan to conceive a pair of expensive children.
Intend to whisper to each other, except after meals, and after MacGyver.
Are the cutest couple that there ever will be.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen h. and ♥Dan p.

Trying to have three expensive children.
Crazy about being able to cite romantic precedent after dark.
Harbour intense love for each other.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Dan

May one day conceive four pre-paid kids.
Can't stand to whisper to each other sweetly.
Miss home.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Syrus

Are rumoured to have had all pre-paid kids.
Intend to watch television together after dark.
Together forever whatever the weather.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Syrus fotovat

Secretly adopted many demanding children.
Love to take long walks sweetly.
Defy the predictions and proclamations of any online toy.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Nicco ereso

Secretly conceived a handful of robot girls.
Love to share their hearts in private.
Would volunteer to be the two responsible for re-populating the planet.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Nick ereso

Will adopt many adult kids.
Can't stand to share their hearts far too often.
Follow their dreams.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Edmundster

Will never have four gruesome kids.
Pretend to lovingly serenade each other for the good of the free world.
Endure the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Anthony pena

Are rumoured to have had four related children.
Choose not to watch television together, it would seem.
Are now available on Disney DVD.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Chris preston

Trying to conceive 2.4 happy girls.
Love to slow dance sweetly.
Are metaphorically attached at the hip.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Benjamin

Will have no gruesome kids.
Resent having to listen to music together.
Should invest now in crowd-controlling equipment.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Scott

Will conceive no adult children.
Can't stand to actually see each other for the good of the free world.
Planning to build a home in Euphoria.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Gareth

Will conceive many evil children.
Elect to take long walks at the most inconvenient times.
Are the perfect match.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Richars byron

Might adopt a beautiful kid.
Like to watch television together nearly everywhere.
Demonstrate their affection with skywriting and embracing.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Charlie horse

Will conceive all evil children.
Schedule times to actually see each other when the time is right.
Believe in attraction at first sight.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Bob sutherland

Will have two evil kids.
Can't stand to almost elope as it mightn't lead to pregnancy
Are metaphorically attached at the hip.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

♥Uyen and ♥Kyle

Doing their best to have four surrogate girls.
Crazy about being able to hug each other exuberantly.
Would like to misspend their youth again.

Orchestrated by ianiceboy

like a dog with some plane to mark.

Thu, 20 May 2004 23:15:57 GMT

Pulphope: im reading a review of a xiu xiu show
Pulphope: This, of course, is far less annoying than the loud game of lesbian Marco Polo that five raucous patrons were playing by shouting "Dyke!" "Big Dyke!" "Alex Dyke!" "Dyke in the front!" "Dyke in the back" from various stations in the crowd, so that no matter where you were in the room, you had a loud, screaming idiot in your ear. One earnest fan is greeted with lots of ridicule and mocking when she tries to shush them, reminding me of an immature scene taken straight out of middle school.
-------

and if not some verbal dent or so mental slight then--

to put it plainly, nobody gets the song they want.

Fri, 14 May 2004 23:58:10 GMT

There are hawks and scavengers and little sparrows calling out to me from every end, and if the corners of your pursing lips are sweet enough to curl, you may be able to reply. But the winds are rapidly approaching and to drink and eat and bite and bite and bite away at the plowing harvests is to risk starvation in the next trimester. There was a soft echo that placed its vibration on the temples of my pulsating tryst and an even smoother palm that slid right past the ivory rope to slip this little piece into my drink.