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25 June 2006 @ 02:36 am
i am thinking that the half bottle of mango rum wasn't a good idea.
...(" he remained quite annoyed with himself until he realized that not knowing what he wanted was actually quite natural. we can never know what we want; living only one life, we can neither compare it with our previous lives nor perfect it in our lives to come...was it better to be with tereza or to remain alone?...we live everything as it comes, like as actor going on cold. and what can life be worth if the first rehearsal for life is life itself? that is why life is always like a sketch. no, "sketch" is not quite the word, because a sketch is an outline of something, the groundwork for a picture, whereas the sketch that is our life is a sketch for nothing, an outline with no picture. einmal ist keinmal, says tomas to himself. what happens but once, says the german adage, might as well not have happened at all. if we have only one life to live, we might as well not have lived at all.")...

i am listening to the fizzy hum of carbonated water three inches right of my right hand and wondering how long it will take me to knock it onto everything that's not supposed to get wet but will.
("loves are like empires; when the idea they are founded on crumbles, they too, fade away...")

i am pondering the people that have resurfaced in the past week and how long things will stay the way they came back to me but knowing the impossiblity of this for me and them.
i am trying to dissolve the flashbacks my annoyingly persistent brain dances through with bad booze.
i am contemplating whether or not to start a fire in the middle of my room with all the shit i can't look at anymore because it has become, in the words of a once-loved professor of semiotics, a "broken symbol."
i spilled an entire ice coffee in my sandal yesterday. causing my brain to crack just a little.
i walked home in the furious, pouring rain last night, slowly. it was not liberating, or depressing, or exciting, or annoying. it was very wet. it made me think of those toy creatures that puff and expand when you put them in water and how they were always a disappointment, every time.

(...the whole of the human plight: human time does not turn in a circle; it runs ahead in a straight line.this is why we cannot be happy; happiness is the longing for repetition...)

i am thinking about the next time i will get laid.
i wish i could start a fire in my brain, but only to burn away all the images, thoughts, associations that are causing me such mental illness right now. kind of like that movie we all watched and loved with jim carrey and that annoyingly sixth-grade-pretentious poetry title. eternal sunshine of..blah blah blah.

(" horror is a shock, a time of utter blindness. horror lacks every hint of beauty. all we see is the piercing light of an unknown event awaiting us. sadness, on the other hand, assumes we are in the know.")

i read that there is a documented case of a person trying to commit suicide by injecting peanut butter into their veins. another chose mayo. a case of drowning in a vat of beer. (which immediately conjures the image of homer simpson accidently going) now, freud conjectured that suicide attempts are actually representations of sexual wish fulfillments. oh, yes, now i see...aha!

there is nothing anyone can ever say or has ever said that makes a broken heart less broken. the best approach is not to glorify or pity the broken-hearted, but to somehow translate the truth of the experience into something as poignant as the truth of the love itself.

( on monday, he was hit with a weight the likes of he had never known. for there is nothing heavier than compassion. not even one's own pain weighs so heavy as the pain one feels with someone, for someone, a pain intensified by the imagination and prolonged by a hundred echoes.)

it is past five in the morning and i can hear the neighbors puking through the wall beside my bed. i am not tired, despite the rum i chugged several hours ago in hopes it would push me into unconsciousness.
i have no idea what to do with myself.
Current Mood: fuck this mood
Current Music: fuck music
I taste you on my lips,
as silently as birds fly.
There is no solace in remembering or forgetting.

I love you, liquid
smooth and drunk,
sweet as carvings in the dark.
Current Music: rhapsody of internal stimuli
18 May 2006 @ 11:16 pm
I really can’t fucking stand bars. Complete static sub-reality. Blah, but smellier, louder and awkward. Once in a while, yes, they are a blast, with the right people, enough money and on the right night. I am pretty sure that i have not genuinely enjoyed a bar experience in months or maybe much more. actually, the most treasured bar experiences--when going to a bar was an experience-- were years ago when i was 18 in canada and it was both exceptionally legal and exceptional--- or at other times when i was hoping or anticipating an event, a happening, an experience, that could delightfully evolve, and more rapidly so, with the introduction of alcohol and music too loud for the complexities of human connection. once a person enters a bar, they become a bar-person. bodies and drinks and sweat. equal opportunity in all attempts to do that thing with that person.
conclusion being--the presence of a thrill, a risk, the tingling, sloppy challenge of somehow connecting makes a bar worth going to. all of this is crap now. silly, silly, crap.

now, when i walk into a bar, i get the feeling thati am in a place where something was supposed to happen, but never did and was subsequently forgotten about--yet people stayed and endured the stale air for lack of a planned-out alternative.
collective shrug? celebrated mediocrity?
ehh, maybe, that's the point. a dance floor of maybes.

i suppose i sound jaded or old or lame or something else.
maybe some other time i will celebrate and revel in the bar experience...maybe i will even write about it.
give me a bottle. i might drink it, most of it.

but alcohol is still the most boring drug.
and ziggy still isn't funny.
Current Music: ulf lohmann
i have had an ongoing dispute with my ex-landlord. and because i have a livejournal, i can rant about whatever i wish to without necessarily requiring an audience.

this ...man-beast-landlord BILL CAMPBELL... is withholding my security deposit, and has been for a month and a half. i know, i know, i've read all the legal details and deadlines for return of the security deposit. unfortunately, he has not.
about 10 days ago, i sent a letter printed off from the pine tree legal website created for negligent landlords who have not paid back the security deposit or sent a letter stating why they have not paid the security deposit. i wait. wait. and i waited.for a letter. a response. maybe...a check.
today, i call him ( at king real estate- how putrid-hollywood of a name is that?) and leave a scathing, yet professional message requesting that he returns my call so that we can "work this matter out before i have to bring it to court."
he returns my call.
and tells me that 1.we had back rent and 2.damages and 3.that we violated our lease. and that 4. he sent a written statement detailing all of these.

1.yes ($130. subtracted from 850)

2.no. the motherfucker did the inspection himself and was seemingly impressed because the place was steam-cleaned and "looked really good." and...when we moved in, there was a dead bird hung from the bathroom skylight window. and some funky, homemade bowls (as in...smoking the weed) in the dusty kitchen shelves.

3.no. i lived at that place for almost 3 years. after the first year, they neglected to create a second lease, even after we asked repeatedly. they told us it would be "no problem" to go month-to-month. now i know it is "no problem" to avoid important legal issues is writing.
there was no lease to violate! i actually had several lengthy phone calls with the landlord eplaining that there was no lease,when we put in our 30 day notice to move, and he lied and lied, blatantly and pathetically, over the phone, telling me he "Had it in his hands and was looking at it" and we would owe three months of rent if we violated "it"-- and then suddenly he remembered that they had been audited in the fall and found out they had never done a lease for our unit. huh.that was after i told him i wanted him to read it over the phone and send a copy in the mail.

so there i was, on the phone today, in the med room at work, shooing clients away as i furiously explained-again- all of these details that he refuses to absorb, and the motherfuckingbastardsonofabitchchristlypieceofdeathlydogshit hung up on me.

i left a message with pine tree legal, and i hope they call me back soon. i called portland fair housing office and explained my predicament, and they told me there was nothing they could do because this was a civil matter.

so my next step is to sue him in small claims court.

i am very angry. very little of this money would actually go to me, but at this point, it is the principle, and no motherfucking sleazy, police-thick moustache assmonkey will get away with this. if it comes down to throwing cans of soda at his head and chucking water-filled balloons at his ass as he walks away, so be it.

rant complete. for now.
24 April 2006 @ 04:00 am
here i am. here we are.
i have a new home, a new bedroom and even two litte rooms to call my own.it is like an apartment within a greater apartment and if it wasn't for these silly gas leaks...that keep leaking...i would consider my self dandier than dandy..and very gloatingly lucky for a portland two-bedroom for 725.
i have a new frustation added to the old frustration of a car that is mosty useless. it involves no place to put it and grumbly trips around me med. area craning my neck around the dirty spots on my windshield for a space that will, maybe accept my car for the complete time i want to keep it there.

oh, and. purple, or is it lilac powder in my nose (in my nossseee) along with a thrilling ring of faux-orange.lah lah lah. dee dah. my sweet roommate has filled in the empty spots and spaces with a green-grey comfort, which expands within my lungs and neatly wanders back and up into the world when it finishes with me. hmm.

today was intense. i have been working full-time for four months or so and i am certainly more seasoned that i thought i might be at this point. come on. this is mental health we're talking about.how the hell can you ever really get it quite right? but today, as the only staff member on, i sat with a girl alone in her bedroom as she clenched two large broken pieces of glass from a figurine she threw against the wall. it had exploded into the smallest twinkling of glassy bits, but also broke into several lethally-jagged geometric wonder tools. perfect for slicing into skin.
she sat in the dark (mosty dark except for her alien-blipping-and-flashing stereo) clutching a ready piece in each hand, head buried between knees, telling me shw was going to slice into herself, and there was nothing that would change this. "once you leave the room, i'm going to cut." so i didn't leave the room. i sat and i waited silently. i waited and i talked about the true things that shoud be said for anyone in this situation. i talked because i was this girl so easily and so truthfully for years. i waited and i knew and i talked because i am still that girl only now i have moved to the left and i am looking at another pair of denim legs pulled tighty into another moaning torso. and inside, i did not argue, but agreed with her as she stated again and again, exasperated, that this was the only way she was going to get the hurt out.and it had nothing to do with wanting to die. it had everything to do with the sensation of life lived and the pain of life exhaled.
eventually i got her to drop the clutched, sweaty thick pieces of glass and we went downstairs into the office. she wrapped hersef completely in a fleecy horse-print blanket and buried her neck and her head into her shoulders and under thick layers of hair and fabric. but her yells carried through the layers. and she yelled. about her mother who called her today to remind her that she was a mistake and caused all the problems in the family. that she was the worst failure and never shoud have happened. and then images hijacked the last fluid bits of her mind, and she wailed, and rocked on her scrunched feet and bent legs, as these images took her. "my mom made me suck her tits in front of boyfriends. and she watched, and said nothing as she sat still in her chair while i was fucked and i sucked cock for her money. and then she told me to get the fuck out...this hurts, they hurt me!" she moaned she screamed.
so we pretended to be at the beach. we felt the coarse damp sand and the overcooked-spaghetti texture of drenched seaweed on our calves.and we looked up at the whiter clouds and the endless sky and clapped our hands above our heads to sprinkle and dribble salty foamy ocean on our shoulders. wow, this worked so anazingly well. for both of us. almost a cliche of a grounding/coping exercise, but never underestimate the hunger and curiousity of the imagination when threatened by something much less than novel.
i hear so many of these disclosures, these stories, these private, eternal curses printed in block headlines in the charts and histories and treatment plans of so many, all of our clients. but today, today it was me and this girl. and no one else. and i feel like i actually met her in a place she so desperately needed a connection both in and out of.
of course, because i was the only staff member on, and it was med time, i was forced to do other things and she did what she was going to do. and she went upstairs and sliced and sliced and sliced and sliced as i dropped seroquel and phenobarbital and xanax and lipitor and lamictal and trazadone. and milk of mag into a tidy miniature measuring device. and tiny white paper cups were offered and taken and crumpled into the black trash bag behind the door. they do not share their pretty pills. and i can never even whisper and wink, "one for the client... one for the doctor." this is still disappointing.
she wanted to show me her arms later, afterwards. it took her forever to pull away her kiwi-melon scented blanket and lay down her pink and red-striped arm. i offered her the square bandaids. and the long, traditional tan strips. there was no scooby-doo, or glow-in-the-dark flinstones. we joked about this. because there is hardly anything more accepting and transcendental than humor and laughter.
and she named her big, goofy black stuffed animal, some doggish-moose-panther silly thing, "megan". i think that was the sweetest thing today, tonight, in so many days and nights.
this was an intense night, and it was tougher than many of my interactions. it was not as ugly or dangerous, there was no frothy, foaming mouth and hating eyes or squirming for the cop's gun in his holster, no cracked-out dark eye-holes and mouth-hole demanding that they be let in the door.or out the door, to leave them the fuck alone, to let them die and drink and disappear and fuck the world the way they do best. but i think i had one of the most meaningful and honest connections with a client today.
and, motherfucker, if i hadn't been one of the most screwed up (ok, still am) creatures i would have responded all the wrong ways.
Current Mood: hickory dickory dock...
Current Music: think, thank, thunk of a grumpy heater
05 March 2006 @ 09:30 pm
i am moving soon. maybe that means i should update.

there are many apartments in portland. they are all small. i have been spoiled by this condo-y living. two floors and a parking lot.and a dishwasher, skylights...
most of the apartments we have looked at (mel makes it a "we") are two bedrooms and another room. and then slices of bathroom and a kitchen "unit" (huh huh..unit). it reminds me of being 15 and transitioning from camp to camp because my parents were in the process of building a new house. one living space separated by cardboardy/wood-esque walls. you could hear pages of someone's book crackling as they turned in the next room.
i was so angry, and that was when i saw sandra the psychotherapist.

but camp houses were easy to sneak out of, kind of. i remember forcing my body through my bedroom window- it was one that pushed out at, maybe, a 45-degree angle. there were heated moments of panicky, compromised survival where my legs would be out, dangling against the side of the house, and my stubborn torso and arms would be awkwardly mashed between inside-space(parental oppression) and outside-space (freedom and boy-lovin, walking down dark dirt roads to find "that party"). aren't these the teen-cliche memories that justify themselves for the rest of my life?

i think that a couple of the landlords showing us places thought we were lesbians. lezzies. lesbos. asking if we wanted to see the one-bedroom. i haven't really been categorized as lesbian since high school. people thought i was a lesbian then because i was weird. high school represents that vicious-conservative underbelly of the adolescent group dynamic; slap-a-label dichotomy of the chosen good vs the reprehensible bad.

later, i tried to be gay, but it just wouldn't stick. guess i'm a boring old straighty afterall.

i really, really want to live in-town. preferably the west end, but the east end has an endearing ghetto-y sensibilty that might work. i want to be part of the energy of portland. there is one, especially in the more favorable seasons, and i'm pretty sure i would be more interesting, to self and others, if i was outside in the movement, discovering people and places and things(..and adjectives and adverbs and..)not inside on my days off, huddled over this laptop or reading/downloading movies all the time in this little, cluttered bedroom.

i smoked two puffs of a cigarette last night, and my throat is scratchy and vulnerable today. not sure how this could be; i smoke a lot of pot...man. i forget that a non-smoker can really buzz from nicotine. makes me reminisce about covert smoking under the deck after school when i was in junior high. i stole cigarettes from my grandmother. i would get so light-headed and high...i think this specific activity, this first realization of chemical-altering-possibility, planted a special seed for later drug use. not to fear, though, all the drugs i do now are good for me...
i wrote a DARE essay in 6th grade, and was picked to read it at the graduation ceremony. i really wish i still had it.
man, i was such a teacher's pet. i used to win all the excellent behavior awards in elementary school. not in day-care though. i lost my temper and yelled at other kids, and had to spend a lot of time out. there was one boy who tried to convince me he had this hideous slimy-green growth on his thumb- eww, i can still see it so clearly- a giant wort-like formation. tried to rub it all over girls. i hope i called him the worst names and pushed him over.
the daughter of the woman in charge of the day-care flashed me once. i remember that vividly, too. i had never seen teenage-girl-boobs, and i thought they were so weird, almost deformed. sprouty. i never told anyone about tihs incident; not until last year when i went to nyc with my mom. she was really bothered by it, she kept asking if i remembered "anything else." i don't, not yet, at least. ehh.
i went through such an alvin and the chipmunks phase- it was intense. i really, really wanted to be one of the girl chipmunks, i forget which one. i would think about it all the time. she was so cool. i wanted high-heeled shoes, too, but my mom wouldn't let me. so i wore the ones for dress-up, all day long.
i was so bad-ass in day-care.

i'm not sure of the direction of this journal entry. but i do know that i am hungry, and it is time to find food.
Current Music: ladytron...destroy everything you touch...
09 December 2005 @ 09:44 pm
my new client is a former male prostitute and a sex addict...this should be fun. no, really...

and it's a snow day! this hardly carries the meaning it once did when i could get out of doing stuff honestly, but it did mean that i got paid five hours overtime for working three--and by working,i mean playing on the internet, drinking coffee and watching tv with clients. it's a snow day, who needs a mental health crisis--and now i have an excuse to not leave my house until tomorrow. i have become a proud hermit when there is the chance to be.
chrisbarr will come to my house and we will have a fun slumber party that includes but is never limited to:
white powdery stuff in and out of the house (heh heh, cryptic)
toast with honey-roasted peanut butter mark found(i live an exciting life)
watching silly things on my computer
watching mitties flirt with mark and stick her enormous ass upward in the air expectantly when he's near--only with mark will she do this--
playing steamroller until exhaustion
maybe an outdoor adventure
perhaps slurping the toe-warming, happy-belly booze of choice

i was looking up paraphilias again today...found some i had never known of. pretty neat-o.
--acrotomophilia--sexual attraction to/arousal from amputees
--dacryphilia--sexual attraction to/ arousal from eliciting tears (self and/or others)
--emetophilia--sexual attraction to/arousal from vomit
--galactophila-- human milk/lactacting women ("righteous mamms")
--vorephilia-- being eaten or eating another
--klismephilia- enemas
--mysophilia-- foul/decaying material
--amaurophilia-- sexual arousal by a partner whom one is unable to see due to artificial means, such as being blindfolded or having sex in total darkness.
-- apotemnophilia: sexual arousal from having an appendage (limb, digit, or male genitals) amputated (differs from acrotophilia, where the amputeed state already exists)
-- aquaphilia: arousal from water and/or in watery environments, including swimming pools
-- arachnophilia: several types of spider-themed erotic role-playing (aeon flux, anyone)
-- aretifism: sexual attraction to people who are without footwear, in contrast to retifism
-- crush fetishism: sexual arousal from seeing small creatures being crushed by members of the opposite sex, or being crushed oneself
--teratophilia-- sexual attraction to monstrous or deformed persons

and there are all sorts of established fetishes, like balloon fetishism, spandex fetishism, robot fetishism....

and "autogynephilia"--"love of oneself as a woman" man's paraphilic tendency to be sexually aroused by the thought or image of himself as a woman. this is an argued paraphilia because it's more of a transexualism thing, but it struck me because of that episode of the simpsons where homer contemplates what life would be like without marge and his thought bubble appears...he's standing in front of the mirror with marge hair and necklace caressing himself...and he says delightfully to himself, "yes, i would do just fine" or something.
because the simpsons teach too.

i'm going to do something else now.
Current Mood: chittery
Current Music: echo and the bunnymen
07 December 2005 @ 07:27 pm
i worked on my first treatment plan today! big deal for me, who would think that i would end up on this side of the couch...although, i've hardly even begun this job and my heart already cracks open a little bit on a daily basis. the horror stories are real, but not in the pervasive, insistent way the small details are....

the way a client dribbles coffee on his beard from his mouth and doesn't notice because he's so incapacitated with anxiety, even as he's asking for his 3rd ativan of the day and it's only noon...

the carefully folded yellow sticky notes and saved quarter-rolls of mints in the top bureau drawer as i search through with double-gloved hands for weapons...single socks pressed together on top of rolled-up matching ones.

the grape hiding behind a faux-underwater plant slowly contaminating the fish tank-- from a client who used to scoop the fish out and pet them before we had to move the tank upstairs. fish do not crave the human hand like dogs, nope. i caught him with his hand in the tank one day and asked what he was doing. "just exploring." this was the same client who said, out of the blue, "i'll eat an earth-worm for ten dollars." because he needed money for cigarettes. ahh, the streets, they make you creative.

a bedroom with a fan on feels and sounds just like any other bedroom with a fan. secretive and content.

bare feet sticking out from underneath a pink blanket when i do house checks in the morning. the immediate urge to tickle them even though i know this would be entirely inappropriate. belonging to an almost-untouchable client who lived for 15 years on portland streets and oklahoma streets. a client who saw angels bowing with crossed swords clearing a path for him as he walked down the street. when the color of every car was symbolic of his mood. sitting in breaking new grounds and watching the walls swirl paisley just for him, and the music playing was pulled from the most intimate place inside his mind.

playing mad libs with a schizophrenic. "the insulator-installer cried 'remember!'as he sat upon greenish fingernails..."

chronicles of narnia collection on top of the bureau of a client who's mother had sex with dirty vietnam vets in front of him and who's father and step-father both died of heroin overdoses by the time he was a teenager.

the most radiant, affecting smile with a single tooth visible underneath. (staff member who got this client a toothbrush and fumbled her way through, "here's a toothbrush so you can brush your...tooth.")

finding random pills hidden around the house. a depakote in a muffin tin. benadryl crammed behind a couch cushion.

priapism in the smoking room and pretending not to notice (terrible side-effect of antipsychotics and no sex)

notebooks left from previous clients. one who was absolutely nuts. he was paranoid schizophrenic and thought he was part of the "east side mafia", he had so many elaborate notes about all the money corporations owed him, what accounts he should keep it in. calculations about the money he was making... the paper shredder in our office was used for clients.
one day the phone rang and it was will from the secret service on the other end. this client had threatened to shred g.w.bush up, and he had voiced this to texan real-estate companies (who knows why he called them).
i wasnt there at the time. i really wish i was. the client was eventually asked to leave because he asked a staff member to climb in bed with him so he could lick her pussy. far more unacceptable than abush-shredding.

the tinny blare from the radio one of our client's visitors wears clipped to his pocket. he sleeps in the woods next to the program.(now that it's winter, he's attempting to make it to florida. florida has warm weather and public bathrooms with showers. the cleanest homeless people in the country, he says)
he tried to wash his tent in the washing machine and contaminated it with smeared, burnt black rubber.

a comment from a girl when she was being assessed at the beginning of her stay. "i might be pregnant.i had sex a few weeks ago and the guy came inside of me. that's so rude."
she had an appealing logic.
Current Music: pete yorn
31 October 2005 @ 06:08 pm
welp, just finished polishing my resume and applying to spring harbor...arm-chewing crisis patients, here i come...
my future is in whirly-twirly revision right now. i love my current job and i'm seriously considering shifting from sociology to social work/clinical psychology as my area of study for grad school. i always wrinkled my nose at social work--mostly because of its notorious burn-out potential and because i thought that a reclusive position in the back rooms of research institutes or university offices was more my style. turns out that real-life interaction with real-live people is really, really neat and engaging. and challenging. it's...like, the real thing...
also turns out that sociology degrees lead you into the fascinating world of retail and food service. there is no hell like the hell of mindless servitude at the sub-minimum wage level, with thoughts of ketchup refills and dressing-on-the-side faithfully and consistently bleaching any and all of my academic achievements..oh, and my soul, to a sickly imperceptible blur of gray and dirty-white on the peripheral of a one-dimensional existence...well, that was the impression i got.

"hard grizzly bear hot dick"--yeahhh, bear porn in my inbox recently.
Current Music: Mono
18 October 2005 @ 07:57 pm
I just had one of the ..strangest...phone calls. My dad called, and gave me the number of a girl he knows at his gym who works at platinum plus. so she could help me get a job there--as a waitress--(as a WAITRESS).
holy crap.
my dad is giving me a reference for employment at a strip club.
ehh, at least i won't have to have the awkward "so have you found a new job yet?" conversation.

i'm going to go now.
Current Mood: stunned
15 October 2005 @ 02:18 am
my other job--

i work with homeless people, people who have experienced poverty and desperation from a perspective that defies and obliterates my own comprehension of being poor. i am aware of this but i still have no understanding of the details, the countless daily moments and thoughts and struggles that shape a wholly separate understanding of self and living...
i was talking to one client tonight about the book i was reading, "nickel and dimed"- about a journalist/phd student who decided to trade in her intellectual/middle class lifestyle and experience a year of minimum wage occupations--to "see" how much she could "get by"---this was predominantly inspired by the rhetoric of welfare reform, the promise that anyone can survive as long as they are employed full-time.

i scoffed when i first saw the book--it figures, in order to publicize the issue of poverty and the tyranny of minimum wage, a well-educated middle-class woman with the right resources would have to "glimpse the marxist light" before it could become an issue popular enough to become a best seller...
this was a woman who chose to make a lifestyle change, and proved what millions of poor american workers already know--minimum wage is not a livable wage, and being poor is tantamount with desperation,few to no opportunities, and the snowballing ugliness of physical, mental and economic depression and exhaustion.

this was a woman who didn't suffer the long-term, cumulative effects of poverty...who had the choice to escape...but she was well-aware of all of these crucial variables, and the limits to her study..so beyond all the criticisms..
i explained the background and the annoyingly-obvious thesis of this woman's work to my client, and the look of disbelieving disgust on his face..
and then as an afterthought to his experiences, he commented on how much it sucks when you are so hungry you scrape your fingernails for remnants of food..
and he wasn't saying this for effect, he was sharing a piece of his own experiences...and these are the details, the ugly and understood realities of being homeless and poor...that i could never comprehend on my own, i could never understand being that destitute because something like that is so foreign to my conception of being poor and hungry. a moment so striking and hopeless and conrete--this is what theory can never touch.
these are the truths of poverty, just as inescapable as the broader sociological implications and statistics. but i've never understood the way, maybe, it might feel to be one of the 1/5 of homeless adults in america who work full or part-time...and to be so hungry you scrape the residue and crud from your fingernails.
Current Music: splatting rain
14 October 2005 @ 02:31 pm
i can't resist sharing my porn spam.

"cocks attack mom holes"
"horny blonde fucks and gets sperm on roof"
'girls love sperm the most" (yes...this is one the fundamental tenets i hold on to through difficult times)
Current Mood: still grrrrr
Current Music: sleepytime gorilla museum
oh crap
i applied for a personal loan today. the prospect of more debt means little to me when i have a negative balance checking account and my rent is three weeks late. yes, that's right, i'm miserably destitute. at this point, i can only grovel and beg for mercy using my professional voice to an apathetic fellow named aaron who handles personal loans for people with bad credit. if this doesn't work i will let go of all social facade and grovel tearfully to my parents. snot-filled nose and all. i do not want to do this.
and in the meantime, i will turn my head and play myopic and as oblivious as possible until reality explodes in slimy gobs all over me.
(ewww, slimy gobs)
so..who wants to pay me money for being so awesome?

until then, i will dream of defecating in my former manager's ear and setting the whole miserable tgi friday's hierarchy of flair-filled misery and oppression on fire.

the sweetest violation of an intimate, delicate crevice must involve poop.
my god, i'm gross.
Current Mood: grrrrrrr
Current Music: mitties licking herself
14 October 2005 @ 02:19 am
so, i got fired from the unoffical homestate of the devil...generic corporation arbitrarynumber eleven...or threeve...

i've never been fired before. unexpectantly. it's a lot like hating. and laughing. and hating. and feeling, more than anything, more than the sting and the hard swallow of future (and present) debt--- relief. a genuine sense of liberation.
is this the only liberation possible? liberation attained through the give and surrender of employment, sacrifice my thoughts-and-time- for a tentative suggestion of income, of 'payin'the bills" for an eventual rejection that shoves me back to the original, the true thouht of possibility...and music...

it's good to be drunk, to slur in the exclusive present, and to believe in the constant of friends and non-monetary promises..
at least until i wake up in the morning.

but when else am i so appreciative of the present?
Current Music: beatles-abbey road
listening to tortoise's album "Standard"--you should too.

"Christian charity sends film about Jesus to all primary schools in Britain after little boy asks why Mary and Joseph named their kid after a swear word."
one of today's better fark headlines
Current Mood: pre-work blues
Current Music: already told you
05 October 2005 @ 10:36 pm
I can't help but share with my fine readers some of today's more colorful porn spam.

"dad teaches his daughter how to fuck properly"
"lacey duvalle being destroyed by white boys"
"horny boy fucks sleeping granny" (i'm really not making the granny ones up)
"college cutie fucks her hairbrush" (this is my favorite)
"dad is good at fucking his daughter"
...and the winner is...
"dead drunk chicks hunting for strippers' dicks"

and as usual, i have my "facefucked asian/black moms with dildo" selection, but i don't want to bore any readers.

is this typical? does everyone get horrifically disturbing, misogynistic or just plain wacky incest porn as spam? are these the real interests of the porn audience, and i'm just "out of the loop?"
do i not know what's sexually "in" these days as far as internet porn goes? is shock-value porn necessary for today's "seen-it-all" internet culture?

gasp...am i too..reserved?

i've always been partial to a nice anais nin reading myself...call me old-fashioned...
Current Mood: naive? confused?
Current Music: Massive Attack and Portishead- Dewdrop
04 October 2005 @ 06:47 pm
i was reading at caso bay books this afternoon and i ran into an old friend i worked with at borders. it was a really comfortable meeting--he's one of those people who doesn't simply wait for the other person to stop speaking so he can. a genuine listener. this is terribly rare...one of the main reasons i find most conversations with most people frustrating and unfulfilling. he's a traveling man, someone who is most content with only a sleeping bag and maybe a tent as his belongings...someone i am not, and quite intriguing partly because of that.

oh, and yes, i should be studying for the GRE's, but instead i have found all sorts of other things to do...like eat toast and umm, light incense and play on the internet...and look, it's a shiny thing..oohh..

ok, i'm going to study now.
yes, goodbye.
Current Music: harvest- neil young
04 October 2005 @ 02:56 am
1. megan
2. megs
3. garcy-warcy (damn you, matt gagne)

1. umm, megan
2. laugh_scream
3. hottsexxx4u (well, no)

1. curvacious clavicle
2. neck
3. my hot rack

1. thighs
2. sides of stomach (i'm such a girl)
3. arms

1. irish
2. french
3. vile temptress from below

1. the dark
2. snakes
3. teenage girls

1. coffee
2. alone-time
3. laughter

1. glazed expression
2. striped pirate underwear
2. whoopie pie crumbs

1. morcheeba
2. phillip glass
3. portishead

1. closing- phillip glass
2. anything by lovage
3. pixies- cactus

1. endless intellectual and emotional connection
2. silliness and laughter
3. mutual respect for each other's solitude (thanks, Rilke)

TWO TRUTHS AND A LIE (in no particular order):
1. i love video games
2. i've eaten pet animals before
3. one of my first crushes was michaelangelo (the ninja turtle)

1. long, slender physique
2. eyes
3. hands

1. wandering around the old port
2. writing
3. playing staring contest with my cat

1. have enough money to pay my bills and not mooch off of my roommate anymore. sorry, mark
2. get accepted into Draper's grad program at NYU
3. hang out with daise and drink with the penguin...like old times.


1. professor
2. social researcher
3. sex worker in amsterdam

1. Czech Republic
2. Vienna
3. Paris
4. southeast asia (i cheated)

1. megan jr.
2. i dunno, i don't think about these things

1. get paid to write
2. live outside of the country (and canada)
3. act in a film (not that kind of film)

1. i have mega-fits of insecurity in front of the mirror
2. i love lots of shiny, jingly jewelry
3. i talk idiotically in a high-pitched voice to animals

1. i find beavis and butthead jokes funny- still.
2. i brag about masturbating
3. i think/make lewd comments about most hot females around me at any given moment
Current Mood: heart-thumping good time
Current Music: monide- zeitpunkt
04 October 2005 @ 02:30 am
so a student goes to his master one morning, quite distressed. "master, i keep having nightmares about a demon chasing me," he complained. "next time you have this dream, visualize yourself drawing a big red X on the demon," master suggested.
that night the student had the same nightmare. he imagined himself drawing an X on the demon. the next morning, he woke up, only to look down and see a large red X drawn on his stomach.

...and then the demon jumped throught the window, roaring, and ate him up in a single greedy gulp!

umm, i thought it needed something else, like a violent, existential-futility kind of ending. yes,i know, it's no longer a koan. but bad-ass, it is...

ok, back to pretending that i am actually getting somewhere with grad school applications...so scary. this i what i want to do, it's one of the only things i can imagine that would make me feel good about myself at this point in my life...but how i procrastinate...and how i doubt myself. and the ugly GRE monster makes me hate...stupid glorified SATs. i get so nervous even when i'm studying, alone, doing practice tests that aren't scored or timed....yack and blarg.

i think i'll be a rodeo clown instead.
Current Mood: goofballed
Current Music: Ivilion- Sartinal
03 October 2005 @ 04:32 pm
"fat black mega mom raunchy butt fuck"
"hot classy blond fucked and facialized" (clever)
"asian space girl fucked by alien machines"
"fat mom gets her big ass bent over and fucked hard"
"beauty black babe gets pussy fucked hard"

ohhh yeah...moms and minorities...
and aliens...
i know what i'm doing for the rest of the afternoon.