Wednesday, December 29, 2010


Crossing fingers that Scott Alden and I will soon be co-workers! If I get this position, I will have a solid career. Which would also obviously mean I'd be staying. Maybe this is total Bristol Palin moving to Arizona and wanting to become town hee-haw (deputy.. and she's not, I made it up) of me to say, and is a total tooting of the horn (insert Gaby making fun of me to keep my ego in check) but gee golly howdy, this town needs me! No, they don't need the Karyn who acted like she knew everything and had a big mouth (HOLY SHIT LOOK I'M ADMITTING SOMETHING) - but she left the building weeks ago. Last night showcased the new me. Make everyone happy. smile. pleasantries are key! I cannot think badly of anyone. shit happens. things start anew. life goes on. Life is just too crazy to hold onto past regrets.

I admitted last night that cats are smarter than dogs, just in a completely different way. but when you want an attentive playmate, a dog wins. cats just like to watch you like you're a psychopath that needs to go to a mental hospital. aka - we probably look like doofy dogs.

It also occurred to me last night that I should just write in here more frequently about daily exploits... kind of like I did in livejournal to an extent. "I don't have facebook or any of those things. I do have two livejournals." - smug ass kid (yeah I'll call him kid) last night at the bar... then he admitted to being stuck in 1997 - and was wearing Doc Martens.. so we laughed our heads off. Because, where else am I going to get to tell the world that I got my happily drunk father and stepmother to play Apples to Apples with me, my brother, and his girlfriend.. on Christmas? (I walloped everyone :])

AND! Gaby and I want to do cartoon voiceovers. WE NEED TO FIND AN ANIMATOR. Also, I just need to hunker down and purchase a voice recorder and try to find my camera?

I think I got ran over by a train.

Monday, December 27, 2010

So this is the new year (or almost, at least.)

Here are some things that will be occurring:

Tea and vitamins taking place of alcohol,
(the consumption of beer will only
take place over healthy conversation)
Yoga and pilates will be routinely implemented,
Taking care of others = high priority
Eating less crap, the greener, the better
More booklearning, less tomfoolery
Downtime = creative endeavors
(More will be added as the New Year approaches)

Good gracious, the statements they hide behind...

Will not let the idiocy get to me. Stop it, self. and if you could just exnay on the sinuses and killer migrane so I could sleep properly, well that would be a nice added bonus, now - wouldn't it?

Sunday, December 26, 2010

Books during a blizzard.

Reading free online books is great fun, especially when the pages are actually scanned and flip like they should! For example, this one is full of enjoyable, relatable poems... like this one:


Upon the mystic wires I've sent
A message true, which straightway went
To it's intended goal--
A troubled friend in a far-off clime,
To him it went with help sublime--
That message from my soul.

The subtle thoughts that fill the air,
With silent powers are everywhere,
And as the ages roll,
Each is helping, soon or late,
To shape the world's predestined fate--
these flashes from the soul.

Saturday, December 25, 2010

I wish I had a river, I could skate away on...

I have a month to figure out where I'm going and what path I'm going to take. While my dad really wants me to go to Indiana, I wish I could find something on the east coast that was arguable enough for me to stay... that'd be wonderful. I really wish I could nomad for a while and pay my way through random work and 'dirty' deeds (done dirt cheap! yes, obviously I mean cleaning.) It'd give me something to write about at least. Why did my dad have to give me the "you're not getting any younger - you need to start a career" talk yesterday? Can I please travel for a little bit of my twenty somethings? Isn't this my time before being serious? If we make it through 2012, can I start being serious the day after we emerge unscathed?

Merry Christmas.

Update: More thought processing - maybe I SHOULD go to Indiana for a while. Have a solid homebase, get some sort of a job, save up money FOR this concocted psuedo-novelistic idea of mine. Get reacquainted with relatives I haven't seen in a while, help them out a bit. It's the least I could do...

Thursday, December 23, 2010

I'm a lumberjack and I'm okay

No, I don't want to necessarily go back to Indiana... yet. Certainly do not wish to stay much longer in Northampton, however. I'd love to move up to Maine or Vermont and work on a farm.... tend to a place, force myself to learn new things, become a REAL self sufficient woman. obviously would be better if I had someone to tend to as well... make meals, knit and sew, have some lil animals running around... Why couldn't this happen? I want this to happen. I need this adventure in my life. I'm so tired of being a mouse in a cupboard. I am super tough and awesome, hear me roar, dammit.

Sunday, December 19, 2010

And so it is...

I think my heart is telling me to move. I'm going to miss the bajeebus out of the wonderful friends I have here, but sending them presents and messages through snail mail will be a good way to always keep in touch.
It's admitting to yourself when you need a change, a new aspect or approach. Never admit defeat; some situations are simply not worth the grief. Those who commit grief will continue to do so in your absence, whether they remain stagnant or grow is certainly up to the individual - and to be distanced from it - will only benefit personal growth. (Not trying to sound like an asshole. This will just benefit my specific ending result.)
All I can say is, there's so much more than this. While this town can say it has everything, I don't think it's truly everything if you don't want to share it with others who just might be a little bit more clueless about all the interesting things you see, hear, learn about --- without the pretentious bullshit factor. Sans the bullshit in general.
Talking about the nonsensical takes a backseat in life at one point: and for it to have been in the back - suddenly hopping up front, it scares the shit out of you all over again. Since Thanksgiving, I have completely distanced myself from the vacuous mindnumbing pitterpatter and do not speak much at all, really, and I like it just fine. Only respond to the positive and uplifting.
I felt like I was dying a couple days ago. Just when I feel like I won't pull through, I do end up making a major decision of rebirth. I guess it's just that.

Wednesday, December 15, 2010


"I have unwittingl­y ruined my country. A great industrial nation is controlled by its system of credit. Our system of credit is concentrat­ed in the hands of a few men. We have come to be one of the worst ruled, one of the most completely controlled and dominated government­s in the world... no longer a government of free opinion, no longer a government by conviction and vote of the majority, but a government by the opinion and duress of small groups of dominant men." -Woodrow Wilson

Monday, December 13, 2010

video killed the literary star?

Decided to post a LINK to my ever infamous youtube account here, since it's been in the dark for most of its existence: COME HITHER!

Wednesday, December 8, 2010


John Lennon,

You gave me instant karma today. I am eternally grateful.


Sunday, December 5, 2010


Spending my Sunday with my drawing pad and classical records that have gone neglected since the summertime.

Mrs. O'Keeffe,

You'll always be my favorite painter.

Love and admiration for life,

Insomniac Theatre: Shakespeare Sonnet XXVIII.

"How can I then return in happy plight,
That am debarr'd the benefit of rest?
When day's oppression is not eased by night,
But day by night, and night by day, oppress'd?
And each, though enemies to either's reign,
Do in consent shake hands to torture me;
The one by toil, the other to complain
How far I toil, still farther off from thee.
I tell the day, to please them thou art bright
And dost him grace when clouds do blot the heaven:
So flatter I the swart-complexion'd night,
When sparkling stars twire not thou gild'st the even.
But day doth daily draw my sorrows longer
And night doth nightly make grief's strength
seem stronger."

Friday, November 26, 2010

Thursday, Day One.

(Written on January 7, 2010)

I've begun reading my first self help book on re-birthing my writing. Sitting in my favorite little nook at the coffee shop, I had initially set the book to my left, writing pad to my right, and after endless minutes digging deep into my slouchy sunken purse, realized I'd forgotten my most important component. Distraught, I eyed the business casual man sitting directly in front of me, who was coincidentally enough, fumbling through his over-sized, gray shoulder bag.
"Excuse me," I asked, using a rather discerning tone. "Do you have a pen or pencil?"
He rummaged a bit more. "No, but I need to go put money in my parking meter, and surely there is one in my car."
"As long as it isn't any trouble..." I began, but he was quick to puncture my sentence. "Not at all." Cue the toothy smile.
I sipped my coffee while his footsteps clunked in the direction of the door, the hollow floors reverberating through the corridor.
While mystery man raced in hot pursuit against time, attempting to avoid the potential nuisance of a costly paper underneath his windshield wiper, I flipped through pages of a local paper to read my horoscope, and while normally perused in a flash with a sigh, this one grabbed me, shaking me menacingly. (Or maybe it stroked me tenderly.)
I looked up in anticipation of a writing utensil; this list screamed to be chronicled for later use; revisited with rosy retrospection.
"Good thing I made it out there so soon," he said, a sound of relief in his voice. "As I reached my car, others down the line were being ticketed." Then, extending his hand to mine, I carefully eased a hotel pen from his fingertips. "Close call huh?" I asked, not expecting an answer, following it up with mild mannered guffaw. "Thank you."
There was a deep-seated haste within me to scribble down the words as fast as I could. In what could be the worst penmanship to date, I wrote the list, introspectively connecting each 'approach' with something I'd already done, or what was to be:

"Five Revolutionized Approaches To the Art Of Rebellion: cultivate these within the coming weeks.

1. Experimenting with uppity, mischievous optimism
2. Invoking insurrectionary levels of wildly interesting generosity
3. Indulging in an insolent refusal to be chronically fearful
4. Pursuing a cheeky ambition to be as wide awake as a dissident young messiah
5. Bringing reckless levels of creative intelligence to all expressions of love."

Reading each one, pertinent, correlated events cropped up like crabgrass, in my mind. Storing it away in the depths of my bag, I re-focused on my book. 60 pages later, I left.

Revisiting the stoop of speculation, I jotted verisimilar mental notes on whatever caught my attention (the Jack Nicholson lookalike, the gaunt, petite smoker with legs so frail and skinny they could easily be snapped like a wishbone) all the while thinking to myself, "always been a firebolt... constantly provoking, instigating, questioning......"

Something had interrupted my train of thought. Looking over, a little toddler in a neon green jacket and winter hat adorned with bear ears sat down next to me. "Hi!" she said, looking deeply into my eyes; mine into hers. As her dad stood on the curb close-by, he watched as his daughter Madeline and I made disjointed conversation. Mentioning her bear hat, she touched the furry ears with her tiny hands, wiggling them at me. After exchanging a polite little handshake with such tiny little fingers, we said our byes, and as her father carried her away, she stared back at me, waving and saying "Bye!"

And then, I sat alone again, automatically back in my mind, correlating it with a similar event back in the summer when a little girl was more interested in me then getting ice cream, sitting on a stoop with me outside the farmers market.

And it hit me, something I've reasoned before but hadn't put into words, till now: I have the power to provoke, without provoking.

Oh Captain, my Captain.

(Written on January 21, 2010)

So, in my self help book of choice (Juicy Pens, Thirsty Paper by SARK) I am embarking on the different writing activities... on a certain page, she gives a selection of first lines of sentences, and I chose to attempt 'Without the book, he simply could not find.' I was sitting in a booth at work before my shift the other day writing on my little cheap ass notepad.

There is a certain 'thought' in here that has a certain meaning to it that - some may think of the verbs literal meaning, but it's a little more subjective than that.

Umm, here we go:

Without the book, he simply could not find the words to regail the beautiful young woman.
written words from the pit of his stomach were failing to conceptualize,
hypothesize, titillate, postulate, render a thought in his current state
he was a lost boat at sea, the captain flailing at the helm.
Across from one another, they stared vacantly into negative spaces... both so desperate inside; stubborn pride was their protective armor of choice.
Sing to me! her mind cried. She looked down at her feet.
Taking this as a moment of opportunity, he gazed upon her fondly.
Give me a sign, his brain shouted.
Shifting the weight of the chair, her body slumped a bit as she gave an exasperated sigh. With a soft look of compassion, head lowered, he watched with no control - as his hand reached for hers, grasping it tenderly, he slowly, almost methodically - raised his face to hers.
This smile didn't feel like all the others; it was emblazoned, and spread like wildfire to the ends of her mouth. Eloquence wasn't rendered a necessity.

Hey you conservatives!

(Written on January 21, 2010)

here's a little ditty I wrote.

drip drop drop,
it just won't stop
bark howl cluck
I just feel stuck
these sounds and these words agitate me,
yet it's all I can afford,
and in hope, will strike a chord
with those fancy shmancy squares
they call me a starving artist
with a grin, a nod, a sigh,
but I think it's condescending
and I'm just trying to get by
gonna keep on, keep on, keep on pretending,
and living in this oh so hectic let's be skeptics world.
eat, sleep, shit, work, read, write, repeat,
drink and dance a beat, sound easy? it can be quite a feat.
there's no use competing, and there's no one to defeat.

Vitamin Dick.

(Written on March 19, 2010)

here's a lil somethin somethin I wrote in ten minutes after sunbathing today.

vitamin d
you electrify me
deprivation all winter long
made me think of this dumb song
vitamin d
are you too good to be true
when you're gone long and I'm so blue,
what the fuck am I to do?
vitamin d
you stupify me
ya cook my brain inside and out,
leave me feeling full of doubt
vitamin d
whats up my old friend
stick around a little while,
and just give me a reason to smile, OH YEAHHHH.

Mi vida antes de moverlo.

It began in a quiet midwest suburb of Dayton, Ohio, the birthplace of Orville and Wilbur Wright. West Carrollton, primarly known for it's paper mill, was a small, safe community where children walked to school everyday, participated in recreational sports teams, played or swam at the infamous Wilson Park, visited the public library each week for a new stash of books (because it was fun to leisurely read), and had their birthday parties at Pizza Hut.

Although nothing special in the grand scheme of things, these were my childhood romping grounds. It was where I learned haphazardly to ride a bicycle without training wheels, caught salamanders in the creek behind my house, and roamed each and every neighborhood adjacent to my street, with my own personal clan of friends. My parents were never too strict when it came to letting me venture off on my own, and I would set my own limitations on what I thought I was capable of doing. Never was there the present day worries of sexual predators kidnapping in a town such as West Carrollton, it seemed to be simply unheard of, from what I was aware.

Yes, these were the simplistic days. What mattered most to me in the first few years of my life consisted of Gumby and Pokey, Sesame Street, my little Ponies, and Treasure Trolls. Then there were the influences of my brother, which ranged from the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles to race cars. I've always had an affinity for being the tomboy: I'd rather run around sucking up supernatural lives being a Ghostbuster rather than sit and have a tea party with Goldilocks. Nevertheless, I still had my pink pom-pom, Barbie Doll moments.

Seeing as many childhood memories simply come to an individual out of the blue at times and it is difficult to chronicle them all at a given moment, (lest anyone has the patience to read about them all) here are a few good moments throughout my elementary grades I'd like to share.

Preschool: I was Michaelangelo for Halloween. My mother having made the costume, I adorned the shell that was on the back of the widely circulated Little Tykes turtle sandbox. Being quite larger than myself, it was suffocating and practically consumed me. When asked what I wanted to do in the future, I simply stated, "I want to clean and take care of mommy's house." because I was so severely attached to her.

Kindergarten: Was when I first showcased my artistic achievements to a public audience. During any free time, I could be found making my own "pop-up" books and miscellanous crafts and masterpieces. After having drawn a fire truck with a couple lines in the back of it indicating movement, my teacher flipped a shit and in her state of shock and amazement, gushed to my parents how creative I was.

First Grade: Oh, what a year. I had a bully, and my first crush. Bully would chase me on playground, crush would rescue me. Bully broke my arm at the skating rink, crush signed my hot pink cast with a heart. Bully ripped the synthetic hair out of my trolls, crush bought me a plastic kiddie watch for Christmas. I would laugh at crushes underwear, and we'd get in trouble talking during tests. I loved him. He disappeared on the last day of school and I never saw him again. Figures.

Second Grade: I had the best teacher in the history of teaching, Mr. Miller. A man well known for his devotion to the Cincinnati Bengals, his reddish brown slicked back hair and freckles made all of us little girls giggle; he had our complete attention. A day I will never forget was when Miller ripped his pants and had to leave to get a new pair. The class seemed to laugh for days; we refused to lay the incident to rest. Explaining pronouns one day, he accidentally said "she" and "it" together, very fast. He flushed, apologizing profusely, and yet again our class roared with laughter. My best friend Stacy Corbitt continued the trend of breaking limbs when midway into the year, she broke her entire right arm after a fateful monkey bar incident.

Third Grade: She blinded us with science! Mrs. Haas definitely took an experimental approach to teaching, making each and every hands on experience better than the next. By the years end, we had created soda bottle tornados, played with earth worms, ate pomegranate seeds for the first time, as well as various others. Outside of school, I had travelled to Disney, stayed in a five class hotel with a Mickey phone while visiting MGM and rode the Tower of Terror at nauseum. This was also when I loved my favorite movie ever, The Lion King, and owned every piece of memorabilia I could find/muster out of my allowance, birthday, and holidays.

Fourth Grade: Mrs. Jenks is the reason why I came to love reading so much. She read my class the epic stories one could never forget, such as the Indian in the Cupboard series, Serendipity books, or better yet, the Mouse on the Motorcycle. This was a year of firsts for me in a public audience setting: I was in the Spelling Bee, and in my first school play, Scaredy Cat. Unfortunately, both were rather flustering. In the Spelling Bee, I lost after the first round thanks to the uncertainty of whether "roommate" had one or two m's, and my our first performance of Scaredy Cat began with my brother's best friend whistling and shouting from the audience, "Yeah Karyn!" (I had a crush on him. It was mortifying.) Having mentioned this crush, his name was Carlos Santiago. While my friends made fun of me and chuckled as they sang "Where In the World is Carlos Santiago?" to the tune of the Carmen Sandiego theme song, I ignored their teasing and spent my time hanging out with him and my brother, playing hockey and wrestling in our basement. My free time was also spent doing activities with my Girl Scout Troop, which consisted of some of my closest friends, Julie, Christine, and Tessa. I also had the amazing experience of going to New Mexico with my family; visiting a town enclosed in snow capped mountains in Colorado and sprawling my limbs out at the monument which adjoined the four corners of Arizona, New Mexico, Utah, and Colorado.

Fifth Grade: Detesting dresses, skirts, and the color pink, I traded in the girly girl way of life for baggy t-shirts and stretchy pants, the kind with the straps that go around your foot hidden by your shoe. My tomboy traits consisted of watching Space Ghost Coast to Coast with my equally tomboy-esque best friend, Stacy, whom I also spent time with drawing cartoons about aliens and bugs and/or singing the "Smokey says" song into our Yak Paks. Halfway into the year, I recieved a shocking statement from my dad that rocked my young egotistical world: I was moving to Terre Haute, Indiana and no longer attending Harry Russell Elementary in West Carrollton, with the only friends I knew.

"Strange things are happening to me, ain't no doubt about it."

(Written August 17, 2010)

Nabbed a little inspiration from a conversation today, added and subtracted - mixed up some words and made it into a dialogue. Enjoy, I suppose:

Patient: I feel like I have to make a clarification with you, since you're my therapist n' all... I haven't just been ignoring you, I've been kind of ignoring everybody. I keep having these sickly intense dreams lately where I...

Therapist: no worries, no sweat, no need to explain.

Patient: But sir, they are those of the terrifying nature of where i almost die, or have killed others!

Therapist: Scary stuff. (Feels unsure to admit it but decides to be the 'real' therapist who admits defeat instead of making the generalization that 'it happens to everybody!') Guess I've had those too...

Patient: (unphased by the therapists admission of insanity) Each one has the ability to put me in an everlasting funk for 24 hours, and after the amount I've had - let's just say it's like roll over minutes for your phone. They're so overlapped - here, I will elaborate to you how bogged down my head is by spelling the word - Effffff.. (holds it out 10 seconds.) youuuu.. (10 sec.) Ehnnn.. (10 sec.) KAY! (1 sec + exclamation.)

Therapist: Well.... (strokes the scruff on his chin) I usually wake up right before I kill 'em, and I'm scared out of my fucking mind. (pause, blank 'deer-caught-in-the-headlights' look at the file cabinet in the back of the room behind the patient.) They stay with me too.

(Eyes jolt right back to patient, mouth attempts to open at the same time to save himself from trailing off into his own head.)

But as far as you and I are concerned? I'm not worried, and you shouldn't be either. Please do describe, if you can, any of the dreams in detail?

Patient: I had one last night, people were vanishing and they suspected I was the culprit, but I quite literally don't remember doing anything to anyone.

Therapist: Hmmm... (stroka-da-chinny chin chin.) You did tell me last week that you feel like the world is conspiring against you...

Patient: The night before last had me tied up to the outside of an airplane, with all my relatives safely inside - and going through turbulence - I saw it all through first person - how low it was to the ground and trees! I had to hang on for dear life in a severe panic stricken strife.


But I didn't die, I made it.

Therapist: But you were shitting your pants, metaphorically speaking.

Patient: Yes.

Therapist: Well I'm definitely sorry you are experiencing this funk.

Patient: You know what? It's okay.. I think i'm going to try to write about it, even though try has the equivalent to struggle.

Therapist: (does a 'by joe!' physical arm swing while saying) 'Atta girl! When's the last time you did that?

Patient: (laughs in a fake haughtily tone to hide her bad resentment towards her inability when she says) Not in a long time.

Therapist: And therein, lies the nature of the struggle.

Thursday, November 25, 2010

Thanksgiving Thoughts.

It's only when I come home to my wonderful family and dogs who sooth me to the core to realize that Northampton is turning me into the bitch that I do not want to be. Making a new plan for the upcoming new year, and if I don't get a job in the 'paradise' (heavy sarcasm) in the next two weeks I'm out... and it might involve out of the state entirely.

Reading a really good book snuggled under a warm blanket while having my golden retrievers vying for my affection is exquisite. so are hot meals, fireplaces and hot tubs. Love what you got, it's all ya have to get you through.

Malignant Messages.

If someone really wants to listen to others hyped up false propaganda, well then I guess they can go ahead, but if they don't want to actually talk to the person being falsely accused, then there's really nothing for that person to do then just completely distance themselves from the entire pile of horse manure.

Always had the problem of trusting everyone. Can't trust anyone but a handful of good people.

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

Gurgley monster sounds.

Growing tired of the hunger pains I put myself through because of the lack of food in my house, and that I'm trying to be so frugal with what money I have left that I kind of refuse to eat. I do have vitamins however...
Let's just say I'm fasting for Thanksgiving. Hurry up, Thursday...

(Sidenote: I did eat something today, so lest anyone worry too much. Had to have something before my intense interview which was nerve-racking as hell.)

Friday, November 19, 2010

Welcome back, hazelnut coffee.

"Are you absolutely one hundred percent sure?" is a question that surfaces within the sea. It's very unlike me to be sitting at a solo small table downstairs of an incredibly chattery coffee shop at 10am - having not had the courage (nor drive) to be scribbling in public since the summertime. Lately all I've been jotting down is running to-do lists, like this most recent one:
"2pm today I will bludgeonly attempt a temp agency appointment - don't give up or be lazy - wisely monitor your drinking habits in the name of your monetary finances - give people the benefit of the doubt..."
In another corner a gentleman with a British accent pipes up about 'writing circuses' and 'art and media and trend-based' mumbo jumbo.
Ooh, now I'm being instantiated with tales of Copernicus and Galileo - why don't I do this more often? Maybe parents and elders had more than one meaning in mind when they told us to 'be seen and not heard,' not just our automatic response to talk back, or to be downright obnoxious.
This is surprising me at the moment - to calmly sit in a corner - almost puffing my chest up somewhat - as still as a praying mantis infiltrating another flock of praying manti (that sounds comical) what is this that I am realizing? My self confidence, even after all these weeks of absolute craziness in the cabeza, has been increasing exponentially?
Something is helping me bust out of my seams. I've handwritten this page with such fastidious fervour and gusto, that if any of these folks with their comrades, co-workers, or clients were to look up they'd see that I have been bitten by something so ravenous and extreme that I resemble a sturdy - yet psychotic - mad woman who seriously does not know what the hell she is doing but is pushing towards the future. in the nicest thought possible. with one pinkie up.

Art Star.

A few weekends ago, I spent a car ride deciphering a dream:

I found myself in a place consisting of - an art gallery on the top floor, and a restaurant on the bottom floor. Having received permission (or I believe I was asked to) paint murals on all of the walls of the upstairs, I designed and laboriously worked on detailed, elegant landscapes - and intricate giant trees.

This, is a top view of the building, so essentially
two rooms worth of wall was covered:

- To get to the bottom level of the building, a fireman's poll was on one side of the double diamond and one small set of stairs was in the opposite corner.

- People were constantly in and out - looking around at the art and watching me paint while I had to randomly stop to see how smoothly everything flowed downstairs. In the restaurant, there was a smoking section (Left diamond) and a non-smoking (Right.) and even though it is non-realistic in reality, there wasn't a barrier or anything of the sort separating the two - the non-smokers coped with the faint smell, the motto seemed to be: "If you can't stand cigar[ette] smoke, don't bother coming (but you'll be missing out, obviously.)"

- Televisions were up on the walls in|on both stories - playing what was either a movie, video game (or movie videogame) of Wii-like characters, but short and stubbier, smooshed to look like Hello Kittys.)

One thing I couldn't seem to remember: if there was any conflict.

Main & Pleasa-vent

Sometimes I stop to think about it.
While the majority of my brain has cleared the outdated debris, tiny dust balls remain.
On one certain day a week (and is a weekly occurrence,) these dust balls containing fragmented memories either get kicked up and fly around (literally) or little caffeinated cartoon balls just, FLIP OUT, man. (figuratively.)
And they produce such questions, as to wonder,
Why so passe?
Will you just talk to me?
Do you enjoy being a jerk? (and that's said with a 'hate to say this, but in an all signs point to yes,' kind of way.)
And the ever so interesting, Why is it that when I do my finest at ignoring you, I actually feel like you're actually attentive in my direction?
It'll always be a mystery. One that I must keep in the past.
Stop diggin' that thar' hole. That'san order.

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

The world is a cancer eating itself away.

"I recall distinctly how I enjoyed my suffering. It was like taking a cub to bed with you. Once in a while he clawed you - and then you really were frightened. Ordinarily you had no fear - you could always turn him loose, or chop his head off.

There are people who cannot resist the desire to get into a cage with wild beasts and be mangled. They go in even without revolver or whip. Fear makes them fearless. . . .

His courage is so great that he does not even smell the dung in the corner. The spectators applaud but he does not hear. The drama, he thinks, is going on inside the cage. The cage, he thinks, is the world. Standing there alone and helpless, the door locked, he finds that the lions do not understand his language."

Tuesday, November 16, 2010

attn: everyone!


plzzzzzzz donate! I promise to not disappoint!
(send all ideas to:!)


Monday, November 15, 2010

The Life of an Unemployed Bachelorette....

.... who lives with a sixty and thirty year old man. Grounds for epic tale to be told? Would it be wrong to glamorize such a life? Not that I'd want to encourage folks to quit their jobs - hell, when I walked in to visit a friend at work a few days ago:
"Four and a half more hours of this," he says to me.
"I'd work it for you if I could!" I blurt back.
I'm such a house mouse now, so silent. Every footstep and crickety crack reverberates so easily - while I got to roam free in Williams Street, I am extremely self conscious of every action I make here. J'detest being extremely self conscious. Seriously, to all you 'Eff it I'm going to say and do what I want!' people, I partially envy you. (50% envy, 25% can't stand, 25% try to understand.)
A large portion of time is spent SCOURING the vast information superhighway for even a SPECK of work - in my skivvies? well, and a top. a top, and skivvies. In a way, I kind of feel like Carrie from Sex and the City right now. but not as prolific, nor stimulating. So yes I just admitted to currently being in skivvies looking for jobs.
My stubborn butt refuses to collect unemployment or food stamps. People are really getting on said gluteus maximus' case to apply for those. Although honestly I think one of them was being so persistent about it (at a bar) because he wanted to 'help' me aka touch my butt. No thank you...

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Jobs that would rule.

- Lounge singer
- Street Performer
- Personal Assistant
- Secretary
- Interior Designer (can't do this for myself but for others - oh hells yeah)
- Librarian?
- Puppet Show master
(will be added upon)

They'll blow us to suckdom come.

Also: Guys suck. It has reached the breaking point of suckdom. I am honestly fed up. You show a little REAL com[passion] and then you get the big slap in the face.

Fueled by Diet Coke.

Well, almost a month since the last entry, and still in the position of unemployment. To get a good mental picture of how many times I've applied and followed up to places - let one lego block constitute a single application, and now imagine that stacked up as high as the leaning tower of Pisa.
So I might be exaggerating a wee bit, but after a recent attempt which seemed to be going very well (and what I proclaimed to be the 'perfect position' for myself) in which I had an interview, had homework (copious amounts of research and an interview molded into an article all nicely incorporated into an illustrious Power Point presentation which I was astutely proud of myself) was ready to present it - but it was apparent that another person was already picked for the part - when I was told I would come in and present it, they had me e-mail it instead, and got the 'we picked this person' e-mail shortly thereafter. (Commence the crying, shaking me at a bar later that night - out because I didn't want to be home, but completely quiet because I didn't feel like speaking to anyone.)
Since then, I'm trying my damndest not to be too jaded, and walking in town watching the sunset tonight, a thought popped in my head. Life is too fucking beautiful to be so bogged down worrying all the time. This does suck, I am very incredibly unsure about my future at the moment, but damn. I'm 25. And you know what? I'm not some stuck up shithead (excuse my french) who had everything handed to them on a silver platter, I've already almost worked for a decade of my life and did 4 years in college. I've always worked hard, and I've always tried my best. I have an amazing father who - lord knows has put up with my stubborn, ridiculous highs and lows, and is currently helping me out at the moment because this world is so crazy and money is so stupid.
Everyone is so worried, stressed out, and their mental capabilities are being tested and strained like slimy spaghetti that was cooked too long. Sometimes I wonder who stops to really appreciate a sunset anymore in this psycho world of technology. I seriously want to punch anyone who ever utters the phrase 'but there's an app for that!'
This is really discombobulated. I need to go do what I do to forget this nonsense. Sing some karaoke, and then begin the next day with more resume shuffling and yadda yadda.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

uncomfortably numb.

This is my pickley pickle.

- Housing situation.
- Hit by car, but okay.
- got let go of work, seasonal cutback.
- Financially... ?
- Where to go from here?
- Must be strong and figure this out myself...?

Waitressing is finito, secretarial job in high demand. (I highly demand it, to find one however...)

I think all these events are trying to tell me something... I'm trying to listen.

Friday, October 15, 2010

yerple nerple.

[Don Aliff]

that's good to hear. you always did that well
i haven't written anything since i've broken my hand


:( i had to learn how to write with a broken hand in 1st grade
and succeeded!

[Don Aliff]

well done!


yeah, a bully knocked me down on a skating rink and i landed on it funny

[Don Aliff]

little bastard


i think he sadistically liked to see me cry, looking back on it now

[Don Aliff]

find him and kill him


i took my treasure trolls to school and he'd rip their hair out

[Don Aliff]
yeah, sounds like your theory is spot on


and chase me on the playground, to which my 1st grade crush chased after him to save me

[Don Aliff]

chivalry is still alive and well in the young


the crush was waiting at the side of the rink when the collision happened and he 'examined' it like a doctor when i went over to him and was like, 'yep, i think it's broken'
he also signed his name with a heart below it on my hot pink cast

[Don Aliff]
smart kid, find him and marry him!


he vanished the day before 1st grade ended and i never saw him again

[Don Aliff]

you got a short story there. write it down


it was... simple love.
and i still got to laugh at his underwear when he'd bend over - and he was okay about it. muahaha.

[Don Aliff]



i want to imagine that he didn't think i was very aware of time because he got me a hip plastic watch for christmas

[Don Aliff]

puppy love. cute


obviously wrapped by his mom with his school picture on top
so suave

[Don Aliff]

that's smoove
not smooth
i remember in kindergarten some girl called me handsome


you know what would be nuts? if i could somehow, go out on a limb, call and ask my old elementary school in Dayton, Ohio if they would disclose any information about him... I've even asked old friends there if they'd ever seen him since - and no... he was gone

[Don Aliff]

i was elated, butterflies in my stomache, all the cliches


well that girl sounds awesome

[Don Aliff]

and then i didn't talk to her again all year because i was shy, but in my mind she was my girlfriend haha




This is what happens when you decide to orchestrate some 'considerably happy and upbeat' updates for the world so they're unaware of my current fear of everything but fear. Of course, this was my little 'thought bubble' on facebook where you can put anything your little heart desires, and boy when does my trap shut? Wait scratch that - my fingers want to write something. If this is the only 'BS' I can get out, well everyone can suck it, I'm going to say what I want to say. (I really don't mean that. It'd always be nice to be a little bit more badass.)

"The most glorious rice risotto with two kinds of mushrooms (1up x ?) is in mi estomago, which shook as i laughed at really funny shows and drank LIQUID COOKIES and looked at the best book ever that had things on cats and planted a bottle cap on elliot's heat and he wore it ever so proudly and I get to babysit him soon and our epic journey will be foretold and will be somewhat considerably better than Homeward Bound. but where we run to - no one will know. oh and Gaby and I are going to make a show?"

It's 12:32 America, and where are you?

Sunday, October 10, 2010


I was seduced by a much older man in my dream last night - completely obsessed, he goes back to his wife, once he sees me again with his wife by his side, he goes mad - yells at me saying 'why did you let me go back to her she's so boring (his wife)' has a creepy gleam in his eye, and shoots me in my right arm. And then I wake up.

Seriously, my dreams are outrageous.

Friday, September 24, 2010

"I'm gonna have fun in the city..."

Sitting on the deck with my roommate this morning, I regailed him about my rather whimsical day I experienced - and one I had not yet slumbered upon.

Having slept in like how a proper day should be partially spent doing, I awoke with a particularly profound ephiphany shortly thereafter -
and actually needed to vocalize said epiphany in the form of an exasperated voice message.

My heart is racing fast.

Due to the excessive amounts of soreness shooting through my body like a cold, steel pinball machine, I sat in the only area the interwebs are accessible (the kitchen table)
which, isn't the most comfortable position - what with them high rise chairs n' all.

Tonight, I'll spend my bread
Tonight, I'll lose my head
Tonight, I've got to get

My ears perked up to these lines crackling through my radio as I sit propped up in my bed writing this.

Since one ridiculous thing thall shall not be spoken of that I use too much didn't seem to want to work yesterday, I amused myself gabbing into the phone with Fozzie Bear while sitting
outside on a step.

Up in the tall trees, the birds were ravenous with conversation - thousands of improperly spaced chirps with no real regular metrical ticks (beats.)
I wondered what the fuss was all about; I felt left out.

It's hard to focus my thoughts into my fingers at the moment - distraction is now in the form of the experimental notes permiating and penetrating
through a door into my ears: Mike is writing a song on his guitar.

I want to be verbose but I feel like I should be succinct - every moment was profound: I bounced around the city in perfect harmony - keeping to the beat of
the music flowing against my eardrums - albiet the lightning bolts in each right step; walking in town felt completely different to me.

First stop - sitting, smiling, and clapping watching the band The Red Hot Chili Pipers vibrantly perform classic and current alternative rock hits - kilted, attractive young (and old) scotsman: three bagpipers, two drummers (one of the snare persuasion), the ring leader singer.

but lest I ramble - it was an explosion of excitement. It was sold out; I had met one member of the opening band and their roadie from San Francisco as they sat next to me at a bar the previous night, and told me to show up.
I didn't know how well I'd pull it off, but with some talk and patience, I explained to the people at the door what had happened hoping for a 'long shot in the dark', I eventually stated, and as vindication that I wasn't some loon with a fake story, waited as they were busy breaking down their set.
I had missed it, tried not to be upset; the moment in time to see the interesting scotsman I'd conversed with had past.

During my patient waiting, I walked outside and talked to a young couple from Ware, when - who comes walking down the street?
Oh, you know, just Santa.

After some real life reality talk of his 40 year old career being the big jolly man took place, he asked me, "Do you still believe in Santa?"
I felt a little taken aback, attempted not to stutter, and mustered something hardy along the lines of "of course, of course I do!"

I left prematurely after asking a bagpiper - whom, was taking a break outside while the rest of the band still charged ahead on-stage inside - "If you could say one thing about America (in the five weeks that they had toured across the states) what would it be?"
It was the girls. Apparently they don't put out well back home.
"But, admittedly, they're crazy, right?"
He agreed to an extent.

To then adventure to watch some of the best comedies that always make me laugh aloud on television with three compadres in a comfy home,

visiting the chivalrous man at work - making unnoticeable funny faces at the comic book power duo of Urban Outfitters - drinking a beer, reading about the Airstream Turkey Wagon. Giving a kiss on the cheek goodbye...

and when I finally began my journey home, through my blurry near sighted eyes - spotted my best lady waving me down to cross the street. She pulled my leg to come join her with a free IPA involved, and I refereed a game of boggle between her and another friend. Little miss word genius won.

It became time for Boggle champ to go be a diner waitress - and I glued my butt to the bar, sipped coffee, read and discussed the newspaper with Kreg as he made me a cheeseburger, got hugs from friends who came in, and then finally trotted my way home.

But I drank coffee, so I sifted through past memories all night - and missed a lot of old friends... but is excitedly meeting and wanting to meet lots of new people.

It was the day I apologized to Northampton for having a love/hate relationship with her.

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

prickin' at the pain.

"a careless word may kindle strife; a cruel word may wreck a life;
a timely word may level stress; a loving word may heal and bless."

- Anonymous

Imagining myself in a group therapy session is rather painful; my mind is burning as I try to envision this moment: what would happen, how I'd convey my feelings,which of those I would pick and choose to vocalize, how I would collect and perceive others difficult - possibly traumatic - situations; what I'd be able to say to help.I've always tried to think of, or consider myself, a helpful person.

At this given moment, late at night - I am now questioning how helpful I really am, hence the thought of therapy in the first place. It's as if I've reached the point of being completely sick of my mental thought process, but that's not it, there's a horribly long list, and I'm an exceptional list maker. My uncontrollable urges to say what I hold to be self evident (and combined with the influence of alcohol, is a force so terribly strong that no one, and I mean no one, wants to listen to - even if it holds a shred of credibility - hidden amongst the malicious poison in the positioning of my lightning bolt pinpointed pokes and prods.) What gave me the god honest right to tell others what I think they should do? How have I made these justifications? After you tell yourself something over and over again,you truly start to believe it is completely and absolutely okay.

How repetitive I can be - Miss Repeating Parrot. My mind is trying very hard to believe what I say, so out it stumbles - in hopes that, at the same time, others will believe it too. 'Oh I've lived in this place and I did this and this happened and I'm trying to accomplish this," Great. Say it a few times, well okay. Say it any more than that, exnay on the oopid stay. Dwelling on the rough bumps in the past needs to be washed away - the future and the unknown are trying to wiggle their way in, alas - there's still a swinging no vacancy sign. 'What is keeping them so long?' they wonder.

Is it that awkward prospect of... love? the most mysterious indefinable fallacy (note the extreme oxymoron) - translative and questioned in every language - am I really just waiting around, putting my life on hold, driving myself and others crazy because of... love? Am I that gullible and naive? Oddly enough, after two years of throwing myself at (not to) the dogs (after two previous years of manipulative misery - on both ends, may I add respectively) I am attempting something with someone. Tippy toe, day to day,with the highest level of uncertainty (and pushing against my fatalistic, defeatist, holier than thou attitude.) Do I really want to tell anyone about that? In a town where secrecy is problematic, I am making the decision to keep something to myself for once (even though thoughts of creating a column about these specific endeavors constantly run around in circles in my head: probably on lap 5,698 - and that's only this past month.)

To Be Continued (Bed time.)

Thursday, July 15, 2010

yoyoyoyo sup ya'll mama KDs in da house

Seriously people, forget the party boundaries - its time to find the real leaders hidden under the woodwork (ala Independents who don't get the extra moolah from big business to fund their campaigns for the more moderate world's point of view) Obama, if you want to save us now, wave a little white flag of defeat over the White House and see to it that you find the best and brightest of this country to lead after your term hath expired.

Friday, May 14, 2010

United States of Crude Ass Shit.

The oil spill is killing me. K-i-l-l-i-n-g me.

Tried to put a cap on that ass, failed.

Tried again, quite sure I read the robot failed again.

Then this:

They don't fucking know. They're not really trying hard enough. Let's just point fingers, let's just approve Shell to drill in the Arctic... let's just pretend all the fucking sea-life don't mean a damn thing...

God damn this country.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Smith College Greenhouse: 3/19/10

Once upon a chilly day in March of 2010, 
amidst the feminist confines of Smith College 
in Northampton, Massachusetts,
two non-students decided to gallivant to the greenhouse, 
and amongst the way, met a new friend: 

we had the goodies,

and our path laid out.

someone decided to follow...

the lil creep.

anywhozels, the rest of the photos with no ridic story attached
can be seen if you click the title of this entry.

Friday, January 22, 2010

Houston, we have lift off.

Hello blog, I'm back, and for good reason. It's time to REALLY use a blog for what it's worth. Why? Because as of today, everything we once knew is out the door, down the block... getting run over by a car.

Good news, Americans! Now other countries involved in our giant corporations have a say in what puppet will be in office next! (I'll get to this in a bit, don't get your panties in a bunch yet...)

I'm not holding anything back this time. For so long, I've kept silent, but now I can honestly say what I've been thinking about Obama's administration, a year of drinking spoiled milk. For the entire election, I tried, like the good college student I was, to stay actively informed... watching - reading - observing, hell, I was working for my campus' newspaper, and were running stories and articles left and right. Debates? Watched them all, lobbying? Hell no, and I'm glad I didn't (even though a majority of my fellow staff writers showed where their loyalties stood rather quickly), because I was up in arms about who to choose up until the very end, just as I was about the recent Mass Senate election. (I voted for Obama. I reprimanded myself merely a day after.)

Sometimes I'm just too objective... but being on the fence isn't such a bad thing. If someone can't choose.. that's admirable to me, means you're not easily persuadable. If one doesn't believe in the party system, like myself, WHY would you vote? Similar-minded people, where are you? We need to band together to create a group that would be impervious to ridicule - have elements of truth and honesty, no falsehoods allowed. (Get back to this too again at some point I'm sure.)

Yes, this might sound horribly, horribly disjointed right now, but being silent for so long, now I want to say everything. Something literally HIT me today, I actually said aloud in the bathroom, sitting on the toliet, "It's time to get serious." (How serious can you be on a toliet? hmm..)

Alright, so today... what's really pissing me off, is Obama's typical, repetitive sentiments. Yes, I know, most Presidents probably have had them, yes this is where people would bring up Bush to me in an argument, (I dislike arguments by the way, more for conversation that helps each other understand?) but, in regards to the most recent Supreme Court ruling, at this point in the failed 'Hope' campaign, who wants to hear this?

"With its ruling today, the Supreme Court has given a green light to a new stampede of special interest money in our politics," said President Obama in a statement. "It is a major victory for big oil, Wall Street banks, health insurance companies and the other powerful interests that marshal their power every day in Washington to drown out the voices of everyday Americans... That's why I am instructing my Administration to get to work immediately with Congress on this issue. We are going to talk with bipartisan Congressional leaders to develop a forceful response to this decision."
(Source: Huffington Post)

- Special interest money in our politics? Oh boy oh boy, Obama is doing a Mr. Burns hand gesture in his giant armchair...
- Now to most, this may sound like he 'cares' about the 'everyday Americans.' but, he also said, 'major victory!' for the Big'uns! That sentence alone is a mindfuck! Drowning out voices, well, they really don't want to listen to us complain, right?
- He handcrafted this one real well; I can just picture big corporations reading it knowing it's Obamas secret way of saying "GREEN LIGHT GUYS!" - cut to guys dancing around Wall Street.
- And of course, like all of his gift wrapped speeches, his passive aggressive, oh so typical 'yeah we're going to work on this immediately but really, I've told you I'm Superman and I'm trying to do everything, so don't expect it to actually happen.'

I can't stand to watch this man speak anymore, it's so shifty it drives me nuts. Saw his initial response to Haiti, had to turn the channel. Robotic, monotone, head turning left, right, left... like boot camp. But he doesn't have to impress us, right? Kinda.. gave up on that? Mired in a heavy workload one 'hopes?'

But you know, maybe that's all I should really write about Obama, because I'm not writing to be just another silly pundit. Yes, I can analyze his actions the way I'd like, and what I think is the truth, but it will not get me any further, nor this country, for that matter.

What I really aspire to do, writing here, is to try to get others at least CURIOUS about political subjects. It might take baby steps, but it's better than what I've been reading some people saying, who tell others to give up on everybody with the resounding words of 'fuck it, they'll always be ignorant.' who wants to say something like that, and let's say, if a catastrophe happened (who knows...) your friends and loved ones got left in the dust? (That was a lot of 'says'... Say say say, what you want, but don't play games, with my affection...)

Here's to political writing endeavors! AND - I want FEEDBACK. EVERY KIND OF FEEDBACK. (As long as it's intelligible.) If you read something and don't think I understand what I'm talking about, MAKE me understand. Hopefully I can/will/attempt to bring some perspective, maybe I won't, who knows? Doesn't hurt to try.