dearestmcadams

i just don't know, but he does it for me

Mon, 23 Apr 2007 15:36:09 GMT

Bleed the pot
When you're hot you're hot
And when enough is enough
Do the fakers drop out?
Promise me
You will always be
Too awake to be famous
Too wired to be safe
But all you really wanted
Was everything
Plus everything
And the truth
I only poured you
Half a line

Carry on
It's a marathon
Take me off the list
I don't want to be missed
Carrion
Its what we all become
From small minds and tall trees
Away from the action
But all you ever wanted
Was everything
And everything
Plus the truth
I only poured you
Half alive
Half alive

I only poured you half a lie

-----------------------------------------------

god damn. i have nothing to say.
here: ''''[[[[[[[[[[[[[[|||||++++++++_---_+_+_+__-__-_______-_---__---__-""""''''',,,,,,,,,'.........}}}}}}}}}\\\\---____'''...,.

punk rock tomes an biodomes

Wed, 18 Apr 2007 08:33:16 GMT

i have to write this research paper. it's a big research paper. it's also literary vomit so far. a mess a mess a mess. BUT the key ingredient to this tasty debocle is that i get exposure to great artists. who likes the adverts? i do, mister, i do.

-also a side effect to the plastic research writing performance is an insatiable desire to rock and be rocked.

-my head is okay for now. who knows what tomorrow brings. i like to think i'm healing, or being healed.

alsoihadadreamthatidatedstephenmalkmusanditwascoolandwekissedbutthenhemorphedintoanotherbeingbutwhateverwetotallyhititoff

go go go

Sat, 14 Apr 2007 09:54:36 GMT

A few questions:

who makes the nazis?-the fall

where is my mind?-the pixies

how can i love you if you won't lie down?-the silver jews (this song is very neo-countryish interested Beware!)

was it you?-spoon

-------------------------------------------

my itunes library is currently providing my inspiration. I came across a playlist the danny (rodriguez) made for my first night back in SD after Boston. I remember mack, jenny, efrem, fay, danny and i were all drunk off wine and i was excited about all the new music i had accumulated on this "porn machine" that was new at the time. I was pretty jazzed about such things as Wolf Parade, Cat Power, Regina Spektor, The Silver Jews and most of all fucking Pavement. And really that's all I can say about Pavement these days. That it needs a mighty and smiling profanity to do it justice. And even then it doesn't communicate the extraordinary magnificence...fuck, no not even magnificence, this isn't grandiose, this isn't classically appealing, this is fucking ART. Beautiful with a zillion facets, a giant prism reigning pristine over the soundscape. I recall Trevor, my fateful carpool confidant, putting in what he said was a cassette tape from ninth grade, and hearing "conduit for sale!" and having spiral (2nd disk of slanted, so stephen's not doing the tryin, if i remember correctly) in my head for hours. I liked it alot, and i probably asked him what it was and vowed to remember, but, naturally, i forgot and stephen, spiral, bob, steve and mark were awash in my slushy brain. And so they sat, untouched, and while i crammed my head with electronic counterpoint and obtuse and friendly rhythms, the enticing musical constructs of dearest Pavement were forgotten. Forgotten until a fateful day when, chuffeuring still my game, i stopped by San Diego's finest, m-theory records, for Danny to shop for his brother's birthday. He picked up Pavement's Terror Twilight album. I took notice, and a few days later, reinvigorated with Pavement cravings, I went searching. Terror Twilight was all I could find, so I bought it. I enjoyed it thoroughly, but there was something missing. It was the band apart from Stephen Malkmus, even though he is a gem, he forgot that there were others involved in the musical musings. Terror Twilight is Stephen's record, and it's good, but his solo career is supposed to come later. So I meet Max Cohen, Pavement enthusiast, and endearing jew. He reunites me with Slanted and Enchanted, and the rest is history.

borderline

Wed, 11 Apr 2007 07:32:53 GMT

some words:

-i have been hibernating
-i want to hurt myself, or i want someone to hurt me
-i have been expressing myself in punctuation because i feel there is no alternative
-i think i'm losing it
-i write mindless songs to displace my feelings and attitudes
-i am headed for....?

the last one is no innuendo. simply an ambiguity. am i headed for destruction? chaos? liberation? consumption (tee hee)?

i miss max dietrich cohen, man of my heart, child of my soul, human entropy extraordinaire.

G,F,E,C. (notes)

it's the way i see it

Tue, 10 Apr 2007 05:29:18 GMT

The world attacks; I attack back, rather half-heartedly, but nonetheless it is reciprocated. I attack; I cannot attack myself? Can I? I cannot attack my past, naturally. I cannot...can I?

"I won't write my poem until I'm in my right mind"

And if yr always in the right mind to write poetry, there is certainly something dire and consequential happening. So write. So absorb. So go on and on and on and on. Lost in mixed-up confusion and sex and inebriation and plans and expectations and severe disappointment.

All I'm sayin pretty baby, la la love you don't mean maybe

Wed, 04 Apr 2007 05:36:05 GMT

I like the Pixies:

Scotch and Penicillin

Mon, 02 Apr 2007 21:21:44 GMT

My kingdom for a crown.

------------------------------------------------------
Back then I had a Buckingham rabbit.
I'd been lonely since she found Christ.
Now is the time to depend on the law:
the nights of my professional life.

I was living in a very young city.
Grand piano, great lakes, good-bye.
If you ask me my name, it's high-low-jack in the game.
I can track a single bee to the hive.

Every single game was a blowout.
And the Nascar blurred into porn.
Scenic this, scenic that,
don't fall for the traps of the man who was never born.

And so the rent became whiskey,
and then my life became risky:
shattered dogs on the rocks.

At the back of the bar there's a couch
where the lonely people go and lie.
They talk to the honky tonk psychiatrist
into the wee hours of the night.

The factories on muscle relaxers.
The pine perfume of hilltown floors.
The lover, the thinker, the talker, the singer
won't be lucid for her anymore.

(chorus)

When you know how I feel I feel better
When you're 15 you want to look poor.
Do unto others, and run like a mother
I don't want to look poor anymore

Jesus in a runaway shelter,
said "The deaf have pictures of you."
From the digital fountains to the analog mountains,
let the mirrow express the room.
------------------------------------------------------

Emerson is a haven for inebriated leftist nazis who have no shred of human decency. Yes, the war needs to end immediately, but don't shit on my face, cause I'm doing all that I can. I also do not have a pocket Moleskin notebook in which to check off indie bands I've seen live. Call me crazy but usually I just get that tatooed right onto the ol' ass. Teach me some Art, or Aart or Faart, oh please! Oh please! Ladies and sods of the professional persuasion! Which is what I assume you are when I so coyly and astutely address you as "Professor". A couple are spared, but these, lesbians and gentlemen, are evasive and limited in number. And so in an attempt to distract from the desolate, I'll consume things that likely shouldn't be consumed, at least not so regularly. An addiction is a drag. Kind of like when yr swimming and you taste the chlorine. You know it'll turn yr hair green.

cymbal rush

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 15:27:48 GMT

Well! It seems as though the previous amorous (practically...right? hell i'm rather sexually infiltrated right now, what with society, gossip, music, and all the otherb arts that would provoke such ideas) was a bit incoherent. So i understand that (ps a nod to cummings, although i feel proper grammar/capitalization is occasionally appropriate, take it straight...wow undecipherable, right?...weeooo) the previous entry was a bit misspelled and illogical. I am going to attempt to reiterate in a more eloquent fashion, hopefully with a bit more intellectual integrity. This is, naturally, dedicated to my female friends (the few) whom i feel transgress the futile and somewhat unfortunate reputation of our sex and proceed to make my existence (despite intentions) a relatively acceptable one. I am going to do this in numbers, as do the most respectable children's television programs, in no, and i mean ABSOLUTELY NO, particular sequence...

Jessica Priestly: someone i met somewhat recently, through someone i consider one of my dearest and best friends (señor izzo), and someone who understands the female condition so well it's almost misogynistic. Jessie you are a person who allows me to live, all of these femme fatales (a label i find most appropriate and fitting, as well as complimentary...as much as it may see negative, it is a tremendous applause and suggestion at superior intelligence, tee-hee) adhere to certain basic ideals and you are one, if not the premier, damsel-in-distress/wondrous perfection who introduced me to the women-as-power/worth-something genre. Marge piercy has climbed to the top of my most respected and revered poets, and, as far as the female category goes, it is worth mentioning that the only other female poet i consider a true, un-adulterated poet is sylvia plath. I mean, parker and the other modernists (woolf was not exactly a poet, in typical form, now was she) simply do NOT hold up. You are forever associated with dearest Marge, whom I feel captures the essence and differentiation of women vs. men, while sustaining a complete and utter devotion to absolute art. I thank you indefinetely for introducing me to this dear woman. Any-who you have indeed had a profound impact on my life, whether you know it or not, and i will continue to cherish and anticipate the few and sparse intellectual exchanges we shall no doubt have. What we touch upon in conversation gives me faith in the female section of humanity. The coherence and consistency of this prose is lacking, i'm sure, but understand that I do really love you, and what you've done for me. You may interpret it as a small and trivial part of your or my existence, but in truth you are an enormous part of the woman, that's right, woman and not girl or child, i am today. You are intelligent beyond all reason and I honestly adore you. The conversations, whether technological or otherwise, are invaluable to my development and myself. I cannot thank you enough for what you provide me with through rather consistent e-mails, few-and-far-between phone conversation, and even sparser woman-to-woman coffee-talks (ignore snl pun.. mike myers for the love of god..). I admire and devotedely revere you. You are remarkable, and Trevor, as much as he is admirable and amazing as well, (although this is a strictly female livejournal entry) he is the one of the luckiest men in the entire world to have such a goddamn wonderful and fucking damn-ass lovely person as a part of his life. I love you, honestly, and trevor as well, and i sincerly wish for us to remain friends and confidants (relely) for as long as possible. Je adore. PS ever since i saw you at steele canyon's...lets see must have been 2004/5 graduation/ when you stopped on the side of the road when danny fucked up my car, i thought you were one of the most adorable, beautiful and unique people i have ever seen. You are a devastatingly attractive human being (strange wording/brashness, i understand but hell) and i wish i had yr beauty and all-around alt/grunge/punk/indie/experimental(?) perfection.

Kaylee: I barely know you, i understand. The fact that we have spoken face-to-face likely less thatn 5-6 times does not deter me from articulating that you are a part of the coveted (teehee,slightly) group of women that i can stand and appreciate. I always found you beautiful and intelligent. Remember when there were two kaylees in elap? You were the hot one. Now... I know yr likely straight, and i have a darling boyfriend, but i really do think yr a very Very beautiful creature (it's funny how i, and humanity in general, find the need to make excuses in order to dissuade the populace of romantic interest...I don't even know im slightly intoxicated and have always felt that if you were in the realm of possibility i would undoubtedly be infatuated..sorry..weird). I hope this does not frighten you from my company, because i also happen to find you very smart and interesting. I definitely appreciate yr physically intoxicating qualities as well as yr wonderful conversationalist contributions. I know, i know; we barely know each other, but the thing is, i basically despise women, although they are who i am and associate with, and i do NOT by any means, despise you. There is a strange and ellusive history between us, and i think we can capitalize (try to ignore the connotations of the word) on that. Smart, Interesting, Alterative in the acceptable and honest way, terribly and sweetly beautiful, you are a woman i can stand and would like to get to know better. I do not know exactly what yr aspirations are, but i feel like you have the dedication, passion and drive to achieve whatever you'd like. For whatever reason (i think it may have to do with an eavesdropped conversation at the egyptian tea room) i feel like it involves french. You are rock, good luck.

Lucy Barber: Well peach, i know we only met in 2006 but i feel like you belong with me, and in any and every group of devoted and poignancy-centered group of girl-friends i will, or may ever, mention. You know how i feel bout you, and i understand that you feel, for the most part, the same way. I must admit that Emerson College kind of sucks large disfigured malaysian cock, but you (and max i suppose) are the only person(s) that I feel comfortable and at home enough with to actually act accordingly. Emerson College, save a very select few, is filled with abstracts and facades that serve the purpose of either impressing peers or suggesting an image of grandeur. I do not know how much sense this is making exactly, but I know that you and max, whom i have brought into this estrogen-fueled inebriation inadvertently, are the only people her whom i feel connected to in the slightest. I only wish I found you sooner before i fell partially into the shallows of social disgrace. I find you to be one of the most divinely intelligent and respectable people I have ever met, whether shrouded by the curtain of "education" or not, and someone I will never EVER be able to replace. You remind me of the comfort and honesty of home, something which I VERY rarely experience or encounter here, and for that I am so thankful, and, in fact, I am perplexed by it. You are the PB to my J here, as silly, juvenile, or cliché as it sounds. I find myself on this continuous and rather circuitous rant devoted to yr angelic and saviour-esque (strange, i know; i am at a loss for adjectives...ha) existence, yet it is nothing if not perfectly and hermeticly (is it even an adverb? no se..) fitting. No woman, and no person, truthfully, has the weight here that you do with me. I cannot even begin to decribe or define what yr influence or support has done for me here. Nobody knows the distress or odd digressions i have esperienced here as you do. I trust you indefinitely and you are invaluable (naturally) to me. I love you so much, despite the brief period that dictates our relationship. You are one of the three reasons I remain alive and (somewhat) well. I cannot fathom my endeveours at this here institution without yr assistance and honest (which is so horribly rare here, unfortunately) consideration. I consider you and Max my absolute and tireless devoted Best Friends here. I hope the label doesn't scare you off...labels are ridiculous anyways and so damn inconclusive in truth. I can only hope that you understand how much you mean to me and how, completely, utterly and wholly, i appreciate you and your role in my fractured life. I really do adore, love, and wholly treasure you. Thank you endlessly. Yr the picture of sanity in this here Emerson swamp of despair. Well, there you are,dear, compliments galore.

JENNY: That is correct. You recieve utmost gratitude manifested in capital letters. I need you more than anyone. I love you more than anyone. In fact I considered you the one person whom I loved unconditionally in this god-forsaken world of crap and devastation. I love you so much, I feel like you and I might as well be joined at the dysfunctional hip. We are a remarkable pair of seamless confidants, perfection, and all other words that fail to express my absolute devotion to you. I need you so much. You ar me, you are who I am, there is nothing else to it. I feel no need to express my devotion to you in a hideously long harangue, for you know, completely, how much you mean to me, and how much you complete me. I miss you something awful, wish you well, and try desperately to continue on in a world of deterrents while i struggle day by day to get on without you. I need you with me, in me, for there is no one NO ONE who could ever hold a candle, replace, or even imitate you. Yr one of a kind, you are my only family in this disgusting space of judgement and misfortune. I loveyouloveyouloveyou. It's nothing to express in measly words. Just know you are what keeps me up and going.

My amphetamines are running low, i must exit this internet town and hit the books. TA my ladies of wisdom, ladies of grace, and ladies to whom I owe indistinguishable gratitude. I adore you all.

I tried to spell-check, but the impatience of partial inebriation and a superiority complex got the best of me... I hope you can ignore the mistakes and simply bask in the multitude of mediocre grammar and parenthetical interjections (which for some reason decided to breed incessantly to the point that the author is considering a one-parentheses policy which would include throwing any excess parentheses into the river of xiang...Okay...I know.. my jokes blow obscenely and terribly hard. This is a recent epiphany. Be sympathetic.) Adoration for those mentioned, apathy for those not,

Danielle Louise McAdams

Do you believe in art?

Thu, 25 Jan 2007 02:12:35 GMT

Maybe. But not even art can save us now. Status: Danielle is terrified of life, love, and her boyfriend. She's helpless and worrysome. What happened to that characteristic confidence and optimism? What happened to "Yeah, man, Yeah!" ? Why can't she get herself straight? Why can't she make herself tick? Where is art now? Where is it now?

I'll let D.H. Lawrence make the case:

(The pain of loving you
Is almost more than I can bear.

I walk in fear of you.
The darkness starts up where
You stand, and the night comes through
Your eyes when you look at me.

Ah never before did I see
The shadows that live in the sun!

Now every tall glad tree
Turns round its back to the sun
And looks down on the ground, to see
The shadow it used to shun.

At the foot of each glowing thing
A night lies looking up.

Oh, and I want to sing
And dance, but I can't lift up
My eyes from the shadows: dark
They lie spilt around the cup.

What is it?–Hark
The faint fine seethe in the air!

Like the seething sound in a shell!
It is death still seething where
The wild-flower shakes its bell
And the skylark twinkles blue–

The pain of loving you
Is almost more than I can bear.)

.............................................................................................................

(Woe, woe to the world!
For we're all self-consciously aware of ourselves
yet not sufficiently conscious to be able to forget ourselves
and be whimsically at home in ourselves.

So everybody makes an assertion of himself,
and every self-assertion clashes on every other.)

and she practically verbally beat him in the face

Tue, 19 Dec 2006 01:48:46 GMT

I know a boy named Jimmy. I like him. He quotes nietzsche, because he's really disarming. His charm is known throughout all the lands of the world. He has the prettiest face one could ever imagine, like a princess. He is the best penguin that ever lived. So I do him. Es de Mexico.

I know a boy named Roberto. He has a voice like an angel, or the first snowflake of the season. We have some good times, and we have some bad times. But through it all, we have times. He's a misogynist, and I wouldn't have it any other way.

I know a boy named Max. He's lovely. He is the best guitar player in the entire world. Ever. Sometimes he drinks, sometimes he drinks. Sometimes we travel to the moon.

I know some girls named Bridget and Lucy, they are like roses in a bed of rainbows. Lucy is the indie-cool queen. Bridget has a heart that is gold plated emotion and sugar and tits of steel. They are the most beautiful women in the world.

And Now....Play Witness to my Downfall

Wed, 11 Oct 2006 16:32:49 GMT

I now am a member of the slobbering battalion of college kids who are on facebook. I know, I myself could puke as well. Oh, well. I guess it's just another form of communication right? Nothing wrong with that....I am not too big of a fan of technology though, it's a loveless and cold regime. Alright anyway there are some pictures of me and my friends from Emerson on there and some of New York City. I like them and would like to share them. Indulge me.

A Day At The University.

Tue, 19 Sep 2006 00:10:57 GMT

Hello, my name is Danielle McAdams and I enjoy sleeping through class. I also enjoy foul liquor, and vomiting in trash cans. Occasionally I enjoy walking into the wrong classroom during a lecture, garnering incredulous stares, and referencing uninteresting trivia. At times I enjoy not completing assignments, having weird hair, falling on my face and being indifferent. I am not smart, interesting, attractive or unique. I like to witness the remorse of my professors when I enter a classroom, and the glee which they display at my departure. Their puzzled expressions at my allusions and "insight" also do the trick. Additionally, I am particularly fond of perpetual fatigue.

And How Is Your University?

Emerson College

Tue, 12 Sep 2006 02:48:39 GMT

I have several pending dates with Montaigne, Hume, Woolf, Descartes, Shelley, Plato and Nietzsche. With a little Euripides thrown in. Cheers.

Also, there's a new leprologist on the block (he just doesn't know it yet). His name is Trevor Izzo, and he's on Wikipedia.

Anybody who's anybody should strike up a conversation with anybody.
You'd be surprised. I'm just saying.

Afoot and Afield

Wed, 19 Jul 2006 19:44:44 GMT

I have a one-way ticket to Boston Massachusetts. I have multiple philosophy classes. I get to read poetry and taste the fruits of the minds of numerous professors. I might be living in a dormitory specifically designed for writers and other literary kids. I am planning visits for the (few) important people in my life. And best of all: I no longer am the victim of my parent's complaints, dogma, restrictions, power trips, and other aspects of suburban totalitarianism. Fucking. Hell. Yes.

Do you remember when
We used to sing
SHA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA LA DEE DA?

HE'S BACK! (and so am I)

Wed, 10 May 2006 00:58:13 GMT

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.

I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

helter skelter

Fri, 31 Mar 2006 05:44:38 GMT

the elders must choke.
the elders must choke.
the elders must choke.

so I may go on living

Norman Rockwell's Fact-File

Wed, 15 Mar 2006 02:53:23 GMT

It's great being able to live on your own and to live more fully because of it.

I went to LA for three days for a seminar on "writing for stage, page and screen." If anyone's ever seen Adaptation, I went to the class that Donald Kaufman goes to and then convinces Charlie to go along. This McKee cat's a fucking gem. What passion! What insight! What ennui wrapped in the arms of sarcastic bitching and profanity! And somehow he managed to put a lot of the aspects of life in humbling perspective for many of his students. A delightful man to say the least.

On another note, I read Candide by Voltaire and found it a magnificent satire. Anything dripping with that much coincidence, absurdity and anti-structure to comment on this ethos-deprived beast we call humanity is my kind of read.

And to close: If libraries were not the gracious and docile institutions of complacent old ladies, their army would have me stretched and quartered due to extraordinary fines. Good thing the blue-hairs are their ruling class. Cheers.

Clearly, it's the most practical and efficient solution to improve the New England transit system

Tue, 07 Mar 2006 05:34:49 GMT

When a cat is dropped, it always lands on its feet, and when toast is
dropped, it always lands buttered side down. It was proposed to strap
giant slabs of hot buttered toast to the back of a hundred tethered cats;
the two opposing forces will cause the cats to hover, spinning
inches above the ground. Using the giant buttered toast/cat array, a
high-speed monorail could easily link New York with Chicago.

Tue, 28 Feb 2006 05:57:57 GMT

Have you ever seen someone so overcome with sadness that they cannot function? I mean not just melancholy, but honestly shaking and in such a state of despair that they cannot really walk or breathe or talk or do virtually anything at all? I have, and it is absolutely one of the most horrifying things to experience. It's intensity is heightened significantly when you are the cause of the pain. I wish to impose no more pain unto others, and instead am reveling in the sunshine of my recent endeavor.

How exciting is the wind when it blows your way!

PS (which, I have found, stands for Post Script) I love All in G. I recently read a poem called Aether (ether) documenting his otherwise nonexistent consciousness when under the influence of the drug. Impassioned and exciting. Lovely life.

The Song forever in the memory of The Night

Mon, 20 Feb 2006 22:53:35 GMT

I'm the singer, I'm the singer in the band
You're the loser, I won't dismiss you out of hand
Cause you've got a beautiful face
It will take you places

You kept running
You've got money, you've got fame
Every morning I see your picture from the train
Now you're an actress!
So says your resume
You're made of card
You couldn't act your way out of a paper bag

You got lucky, you ain't talking to me now
Little Miss Plucky
Pluck your eyebrows for the crowd
Get on the airplane
You give me stomach pain
I wish that you were here
We would have had a lot to talk about

We had a deal there
We nearly signed it with our blood!
An understanding
I thought that you would keep your word
I'm disappointed
I'm aggravated
It's a fault I have, I know
When things don't go my way I have to

Blow up in the face of my rivals
I swear and I rant, I make quite an arrival
The men are surprised by the language
They act so discreet, they are hypocrites so fuck them too!

I always loved you
You always had a lot of style
I'd hate to see you on the pile
Of "nearly-made-it's"
You've got the essence, dear
If I could have a second skin
I'd probably dress up in you

You're a star now, I am fixing people's nails
I'm knitting jumpers, I'm working after hours
I've got a boyfriend, I've got a feeling that he's seeing someone else
He always had a thing for you as well

Blow up in the face of my rivals
I swear and I rant, I make quite an arrival
The men are surprised by the language
They act so discreet, they are hypocrites forget them
So fuck them too!

Some doesn't apply. And I am still lost, so fucking lost. All I know is that when she brought up that tree...I couldn't stand it.

A Few (relatively acceptable) Ideas

Sun, 19 Feb 2006 01:45:03 GMT

So Joel always talks about the fucking scene he is going to write entitled "A Few Good Ideas." So I stole his shit. Word. He never shuts up about that scene though. Hey Joel, shut up about your scene. Okay, now, Word.

I had the most peculiar onrush of maternal instincts in my TOK class on Friday. It was so strange. It kind of just reverberated inside my body for a while as Mayfield spewed his spit on "What Can We Really Know About History?" (on a side note, the lesson went something like this: (after a Genghis Khan reference) Efrem: "You say there's no true historical fact, but yet you're using historical facts to justify your points..." Mayfield:"Yeah, there is evil in the world right? Yeah!" Efrem:(looks at Danielle, whispers) "What...I?!")

So I think this feeling has something to do with a dream I had in which I was pregnant and at an Old West theme park. I was worried everyone would be weird/mad/sad about it, but SURPRISE they were all really happy for me. Trevor Danny and Chris said: "Oh look it's Danielle ooooooooh how far along is she? oooh 6 months yeah, that's great." How feminine of them.Precious.

Efrem Carlin is a wonderful kid. We spent Friday hunting down poetry, but turns out the venue was under construction due to its being dilapidated. So we tried to play chess at Claire de Lune, but unfortunately it went a little something like this: me: (makes move) Efrem: "Rooks don't jump Danielle" me: "oh. damn." We also went downtown and talked about robots, violence and shakespeare. We concluded our party with the first line and/or verses of just about every Dylan song of the sixties. Too bad the second verses are so damn fleeting. I have to read a lot of books to catch up to that one. I need to live some more and catch up to that one.

In other news, I am in creative writing now, and I "shared" on Friday and realized that reading my own poetry aloud is just about the most nerve wracking experience ever. I think my face went red and my voice was shaking. Funny how I can run around talking about being held at "pencil point" and screaming Carly Simon songs onstage but reading something in class is just too much. Very logical, universe, thanks baby.
A girl in the class said what I read that day was her favorite thing she had heard in the class so far, and a couple of other kids were asking me questions about its symbolism and meaning. Isn't that nice? It made my day.

I wrote this thinking I would be covering more days than simply Friday. Seems I thought wrong judging on the presence of the "on Friday"s that lurk around every corner. Whatever.

Whatever is the most ambiguous and appropriate word in the world, dammit. People need to stop abusing it.

How Does St Nicholas Arrive in Holland?

Fri, 03 Feb 2006 06:00:57 GMT

On St Nicholas Eve, December 5th, a boat sails into Amsterdam carrying St Nicholas and his servant Black Peter. Good children get presents, but Black Peter chases the bad ones with his stick! Santa Claus comes from Sankt Klaus, which was the Dutch name for St Nicholas.

And Now....

Mon, 30 Jan 2006 00:03:03 GMT

Thursday. A day of opportunity! A day of love! Lovely day Thursday, if I don't say, which I do say, of course, seeing as to what I've said! Mexico. O Mexico how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

Friday. Absolutely adore Friday! You tasty pasty you! How magnificent is the Friday, the day of innocence! O perfect precious morsel of the calender! Juliana and I out and about at Balboa. We went to Sipz, where vegans can consume it all! Well, not it all, I suppose perhaps not the benches or cutlery, oh no, silly silly, couldn't be. I don't think even a carnivorous human could consume those... perhaps with a bit of salt...oh no no no...I dare say how crude!

Saturday. Oh dear, dear precious boys and girls! What a night, what a night. What a spacepad. A bit thick I and the girls were. It was undeniably nice nice nice until somewhere around the end there. I understand Trevor and Danny feared the worst. Apologies are in order, I think, to every party involved! So sorry to those I punched, kicked, beat up, insulted, befuddled, irritated, perturbed or did something lewd in front of. Thank you to everyone for quite the memorable evening, including those two kind souls who cared for, helped, hoisted, caught, held hair, drove and made sure no one died. No one died, and it was a good night.

The Importance of Being Earnest

Thu, 26 Jan 2006 05:10:11 GMT

Sometimes people just have an urge to speak their minds, and its perfectly understandable. What's a bit crude is labeling people. It's silly even for those who know who they're labeling, can you even fathom how fruitless and negligent it could be for those who do not? But humanity is strange in their games and style. These cats have some fucking style.

From this day forward I will be ending each entry with the following statement:
I am unattractive.

Thanks for stopping by

There is somebody here.

Sat, 21 Jan 2006 23:21:41 GMT

When yer head gets twisted and yer mind grows numb
When you think you're too old, too young, too smart or too dumb
When yer laggin' behind an' losin' yer pace
In a slow-motion crawl of life's busy race
No matter what yer doing if you start givin' up
If the wine don't come to the top of yer cup
If the wind's got you sideways with with one hand holdin' on
And the other starts slipping and the feeling is gone
And yer train engine fire needs a new spark to catch it
And the wood's easy findin' but yer lazy to fetch it
And yer sidewalk starts curlin' and the street gets too long
And you start walkin' backwards though you know its wrong
And lonesome comes up as down goes the day
And tomorrow's mornin' seems so far away
And you feel the reins from yer pony are slippin'
And yer rope is a-slidin' 'cause yer hands are a-drippin'
And yer sun-decked desert and evergreen valleys
Turn to broken down slums and trash-can alleys
And yer sky cries water and yer drain pipe's a-pourin'
And the lightnin's a-flashing and the thunder's a-crashin'
And the windows are rattlin' and breakin' and the roof tops a-shakin'
And yer whole world's a-slammin' and bangin'
And yer minutes of sun turn to hours of storm
And to yourself you sometimes say
"I never knew it was gonna be this way
Why didn't they tell me the day I was born"
And you start gettin' chills and yer jumping from sweat
And you're lookin' for somethin' you ain't quite found yet
And yer knee-deep in the dark water with yer hands in the air
And the whole world's a-watchin' with a window peek stare
And yer good gal leaves and she's long gone a-flying
And yer heart feels sick like fish when they're fryin'
And yer jackhammer falls from yer hand to yer feet
And you need it badly but it lays on the street
And yer bell's bangin' loudly but you can't hear its beat
And you think yer ears might a been hurt
Or yer eyes've turned filthy from the sight-blindin' dirt
And you figured you failed in yesterdays rush
When you were faked out an' fooled white facing a four flush
And all the time you were holdin' three queens
And it's makin you mad, it's makin' you mean
Like in the middle of Life magazine
Bouncin' around a pinball machine
And there's something on yer mind you wanna be saying
That somebody someplace oughta be hearin'
But it's trapped on yer tongue and sealed in yer head
And it bothers you badly when your layin' in bed
And no matter how you try you just can't say it
And yer scared to yer soul you just might forget it
And yer eyes get swimmy from the tears in yer head
And yer pillows of feathers turn to blankets of lead
And the lion's mouth opens and yer staring at his teeth
And his jaws start closin with you underneath
And yer flat on your belly with yer hands tied behind
And you wish you'd never taken that last detour sign
And you say to yourself just what am I doin'
On this road I'm walkin', on this trail I'm turnin'
On this curve I'm hanging
On this pathway I'm strolling, in the space I'm taking
In this air I'm inhaling
Am I mixed up too much, am I mixed up too hard
Why am I walking, where am I running
What am I saying, what am I knowing
On this guitar I'm playing, on this banjo I'm frailin'
On this mandolin I'm strummin', in the song I'm singin'
In the tune I'm hummin', in the words I'm writin'
In the words that I'm thinkin'
In this ocean of hours I'm all the time drinkin'
Who am I helping, what am I breaking
What am I giving, what am I taking
But you try with your whole soul best
Never to think these thoughts and never to let
Them kind of thoughts gain ground
Or make yer heart pound
But then again you know why they're around
Just waiting for a chance to slip and drop down
"Cause sometimes you hear'em when the night times comes creeping
And you fear that they might catch you a-sleeping
And you jump from yer bed, from yer last chapter of dreamin'
And you can't remember for the best of yer thinking
If that was you in the dream that was screaming
And you know that it's something special you're needin'
And you know that there's no drug that'll do for the healin'
And no liquor in the land to stop yer brain from bleeding
And you need something special
Yeah, you need something special all right
You need a fast flyin' train on a tornado track
To shoot you someplace and shoot you back
You need a cyclone wind on a stream engine howler
That's been banging and booming and blowing forever
That knows yer troubles a hundred times over
You need a Greyhound bus that don't bar no race
That won't laugh at yer looks
Your voice or your face
And by any number of bets in the book
Will be rollin' long after the bubblegum craze
You need something to open up a new door
To show you something you seen before
But overlooked a hundred times or more
You need something to open your eyes
You need something to make it known
That it's you and no one else that owns
That spot that yer standing, that space that you're sitting
That the world ain't got you beat
That it ain't got you licked
It can't get you crazy no matter how many
Times you might get kicked
You need something special all right
You need something special to give you hope
But hope's just a word
That maybe you said or maybe you heard
On some windy corner 'round a wide-angled curve

But that's what you need man, and you need it bad
And yer trouble is you know it too good
"Cause you look an' you start getting the chills

"Cause you can't find it on a dollar bill
And it ain't on Macy's window sill
And it ain't on no rich kid's road map
And it ain't in no fat kid's fraternity house
And it ain't made in no Hollywood wheat germ
And it ain't on that dimlit stage
With that half-wit comedian on it
Ranting and raving and taking yer money
And you thinks it's funny
No you can't find it in no night club or no yacht club
And it ain't in the seats of a supper club
And sure as hell you're bound to tell
That no matter how hard you rub
You just ain't a-gonna find it on yer ticket stub
No, and it ain't in the rumors people're tellin' you
And it ain't in the pimple-lotion people are sellin' you
And it ain't in no cardboard-box house
Or down any movie star's blouse
And you can't find it on the golf course
And Uncle Remus can't tell you and neither can Santa Claus
And it ain't in the cream puff hair-do or cotton candy clothes
And it ain't in the dime store dummies or bubblegum goons
And it ain't in the marshmallow noises of the chocolate cake voices
That come knockin' and tappin' in Christmas wrappin'
Sayin' ain't I pretty and ain't I cute and look at my skin
Look at my skin shine, look at my skin glow
Look at my skin laugh, look at my skin cry
When you can't even sense if they got any insides
These people so pretty in their ribbons and bows
No you'll not now or no other day
Find it on the doorsteps made out-a paper mache´
And inside it the people made of molasses
That every other day buy a new pair of sunglasses
And it ain't in the fifty-star generals and flipped-out phonies
Who'd turn yuh in for a tenth of a penny
Who breathe and burp and bend and crack
And before you can count from one to ten
Do it all over again but this time behind yer back
My friend
The ones that wheel and deal and whirl and twirl
And play games with each other in their sand-box world
And you can't find it either in the no-talent fools
That run around gallant
And make all rules for the ones that got talent
And it ain't in the ones that ain't got any talent but think they do
And think they're foolin' you
The ones who jump on the wagon
Just for a while 'cause they know it's in style
To get their kicks, get out of it quick
And make all kinds of money and chicks
And you yell to yourself and you throw down yer hat
Sayin', "Christ do I gotta be like that
Ain't there no one here that knows where I'm at
Ain't there no one here that knows how I feel
Good God Almighty
THAT STUFF AIN'T REAL"

No but that ain't yer game, it ain't even yer race
You can't hear yer name, you can't see yer face
You gotta look some other place
And where do you look for this hope that yer seekin'
Where do you look for this lamp that's a-burnin'
Where do you look for this oil well gushin'
Where do you look for this candle that's glowin'
Where do you look for this hope that you know is there
And out there somewhere
And your feet can only walk down two kinds of roads
Your eyes can only look through two kinds of windows
Your nose can only smell two kinds of hallways
You can touch and twist
And turn two kinds of doorknobs
You can either go to the church of your choice
Or you can go to Brooklyn State Hospital
You'll find God in the church of your choice
You'll find Woody Guthrie in Brooklyn State Hospital

And though it's only my opinion
I may be right or wrong
You'll find them both
In the Grand Canyon
At sundown