Tuesday, September 26, 2006


Fuck those things! Dude, I just gave away a half a pack and I'm so proud of myself. They are fucking evil for a multitude of reasons. None of which have to do with the fact that they kill you. They are this totally ridiculous, pleasureless activity that people feel compelled to do anyway. It's sort of like fast food. It's something you build up, and never meets your expectations. They are addicting, and totally mark you. You become a smoker. It's another sect of society. I know you could argue non- smokers are sects of society too, and that may be true, but at least they are marked by not doing something fucking retarded. I don't mind that. Today, when I was smoking a cigarette, I thought about how I'd be an idiot to continue any farther. People have to use patches and shit because they are so reliant on those little moron torches (I say that having smoked a lot of them, so try not to get too offended). Right now, I am in no way physically addicted, and can step away easily, so why not kill it where it lies?

And so I formerly announce: Cigarettes I am breaking up with you. No more occassional flings. You weren't that good anyway.
I HATE TV HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE HATE IT. I can't stand these reality TV shows, everyone watches and giggles at how stupid these people are. I can't stand the machismo kick people get out of these shows. "Ha ha, I'm sooo much better." No you're not! You're brainwashed, mister. You are being exploited just as much as the people on these shows. It's a game, and you're the fucking rat trying to find the cheese.

Exploiting people is WRONG!!!! It's totally immoral. There is nothing funny about it. I hate how our generation will glue their eyes to the insipid, glowing noise box while people will get covered in rats that bite them, and start crying. I guess the Romans got it right. Throw the Christians to the lions. Hey, that sold out every night! And now we're not much better... sure, these people are volunteers to a degree, but it's for desperate, depressing reasons. It's actually really, really sad.

And another thing- the constant interuptions and adverstisements. You have no control over what you're looking at. It's bad enough we see adds everywhere else in our lives (brand name clothing- another inherent evil) but people just stare at these manipulative advertisements and think, "I need this." Mister, you're brainwashed.

I could go on forever, but I have to go to class.

Kill your TV.

Wednesday, September 20, 2006

Silly girl-

I never thought I could get past my pety assumptions
I look at people to fix them, at these social functions
I put my head down to be coy, and build an incubator
In my head to be a human, three hours later.

It's not my will, though I'll tell myself otherwise
It's these shots of cheap whiskey, and this flashy stimuli
It's these minutes I spend thinking I can't tug on my shirt
The way I need to calm down, but be socially alert

The way I can't question anyone else but myself
The way I always look at the trophies on my shelf
Those easy explatives that get in the way
That help me communicate, but aren't what I want to say

Silly girl, another self- destroyer. Another example
of a perfectly wholesome middle class angst- ramble
No reason to complain but my own made up reasons
That still aren't my decision. That don't pass with the seasons

That won't, can't, go away no matter how hard I've tried.
I thought if I jabbed long enough, something would've died.

No one else understands.
I'm so glad.
I'm so glad no one else understands.

Tuesday, September 19, 2006


I'm still afraid to talk to guys I find attractive. Especially this one guy in my creative writing class, who always wears a ski cap and has tatooes all over his arms. I don't think I'll ever talk to him. In fact, I purposefully picked a seat on the opposite side of the room as him so I never have to be put in the awkward position of trying to think of something to say to him. Suppose he needs a pencil or something. I'm not even sure I could dig it out without nervously fumbling and dropping shit all over the place.

I'm really not as cool as I'd like to be.

Whatever. He's probably a douche bag anyway. Most people are. But what if he isn't? What if he's dark, and complicated, and misunderstood, and all those amazingly sexy "bad boy" qualities I'm endlessly falling for? That almost definately means he'll be bad news for me. My hearts been broken about a hundred different ways by those "types." Maybe I should just try re- adjusting my standards. Perhaps, and this is just a hunch, I should try and find someone at least relatively stable. Or maybe... I should just stop thinking about it.

Maybe I should be celebate. Yea, that'll last about a week. Or maybe a few months. I didn't do anything all summer. But then again... there really wasn't very much opportunity at hand. Let's see... there was this incredibly scary dude who came into Walgreens about twice a day, bought candy bars, and constantly slipped me his phone number while asking for mine. He wore the same shirt every day, was bald, and about thirty- five. Not succuming to that didn't exactly take will power, but the really embarassing thing is, I actually did think about calling him a few times. I can't believe I just admitted that.

My nostalgia sneezed my sorrow.
My eyes lipsticked with nervousness.
A monkapiller in a banana shaped cockoon.
The monkafly will emerge, to smoke with me tomorrow.

I'll talk to the smoke released from his throat.
that disappears in ringlets- tastes like lead.
Turns into the wind, that carries my words away.
The wind doesn't hear me, my sentences float.

They turn into poetry, lost forever.
To the clever neverending eternity trap.
A comforting cage, furnished with my organs
I make a bed of my uterus- pull on my lamp lung lever.

The lights go out. I set my heart alarm clock.
That will thud in my ear, when it's time to awake.
Awake for what? A good observation.
A good look at my insides, a warm kidney frock.

To cover the holes all over me.
Now that my body's been detatched.
I'll spend my days fingering my newly made oraphesus.
And squeezing my blood out- to nourish my spine tree.

Underneath I'll unwrap packages.
My liver, spleen, muscles and this-

My heart to shove back inside-
Or will I leave it be? Is it easier to be empty?
I tried to decide for myself
But there goes my chest- opening itself wide again.
No respect for itself, none.
No pride.

Monday, September 18, 2006

Let's just say I was "influenced" while I wrote my last post. No need to get into details.

The sound of morons screaming at eachother outside of my window is an excellent addition to the fact that I can never get this room lit just right. Right now I'm so agitated I could rip strands of hair out of my head one by one. I have no desire to tell the mongoloids to stop yelling at each other. It's good to listen to this shit I think, and realize what's actually there. They're screaming about not liking each other... it's really profound. I'm learning so much, like that this one dude was checking out this other dude's girlfriend, and that dude says that this guy said something about something... I don't fucking know. This is the most elementary screaming match on earth. I'm actually sort of enjoying it I guess.

I hate yelling. I never want to yell. I don't at all right now, but I wonder if I will once I have kids since my mom does so much. Yelling is absolutely fucking retarded. Anything you can say yelling will have a more realistic impact if you explain it in a logical way. Yelling just encourages an argument. No wonder so many kids hate their parents. You need to sit down with your kids and treat them with respect. Then maybe they'll do the same to other people in the future. Sometimes I can't wait to be a parent, but part of it scares the hell out of me too. I guess that's normal though.

What's weird is these are the prime birth giving years, so it's normal to have these instincts, but our society makes us go through a thousand years of school before we can actually support ourselves. Gawd bless Amerka. Why is a four year degree not "enough" anymore. Now everyone has to get a "masters." I guess it's good people are becoming more educated, but it's really not reflected throughout society. The entire institution of college bothers the hell out of me, to tell you the truth.

What really bothers me is how your bank account determines where you go to school. It's not really intelligence, or anything else. Basically everyone that goes to this school is upper middle class, it makes sense it's a state school. What's the main curriculum here, why education of course. Coincidence? I think not. You see folks, there isn't really social mobility. It's like Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. All these upper middle class kids (myself included) are just going to stay upper middle class. Isn't that why we're here? So we have an 85% chance of being a lifeless tax payer.

Rich kids go to private schools, and slightly smarter rich kids go to Ivy leagues, and row boats, and eat vines for about 15 years. After all that they emerge as rich doctors, and lawyers. If you're rich life is aesthetically "awesome" and we're taught they deserve it because they've worked harder, and their pompous yuppy children deserve their fancy educations because their parents worked so hard for it. BULLSHIT- rich people don't work harder! You really think it's that hard to be like an obnoxious CEO, or a sleak wallstreet dick? It's just roles you fall into, because your parents sent you to this fancy school to do this fancy shit, so you can always be a fancy little asshole.

Poor people just get shit on. They're expected to "rise above" and if they don't succeed in this nearly impossible quest, and just fall into the motions of their surroundings which realistically- everybody does (ie- middle class kids become teachers and social service workers, rich kids become filthy CEO's and *cringe* lawyers) Same principle, poor kids become crack heads. Sorry Charlie, unless you're some amazing intellect who can oversee adversity in all degrees and are willing to work about 5,000 times harder than everyone else for about half what they get- you're screwed! Yay capitalism!!!! Isn't life awesome? Isn't this country awesome?

Look at everyone's big stupid houses, and obnoxious luxury sedans. It's all about "Hey look at me! Look what I made of myself" -dicks. No one deserves that shit. It's totally about status which doesn't need to exist.

"But Kelly, if it weren't for all the money involved no one would push themselves." -Hahahahaha. You actually believe that? You think for one minute people's big stupid egos aren't "motivation" enough. Everyone wants to be like "Yea, I'm a doctor. Actually, brain surgeon if you want to be specific. Growing up I always knew I was special..." -dick.

Some people consider me a cynic...

Sunday, September 17, 2006

I don't want to say anything cliche right now. I don't want to say anything predictable, or comfortable, or any shit like that. I want to raise your eye brows. I want you to really like me. I want you to finish this paragaph and wish that you could just call me up on the phone and talk to me right now. Or, I want you to just pass me off. I could handle being "too much" but that's it. I want either of those reactions. I don't want you to treat me like a source of entertainment. I have no desire to 'entertain' you, but I do want you to enjoy yourself. I want you to grow through me, and grow with me. And maybe one day, I will be that type of writer, or that type of teacher, or human being. But I have a lot of growing up to do myself.

Anyone who's reading this right now... I'm sorry, I can't help you! I'm no different from you, really. I mean, come on, am I? So it's absurd for me to be taking on this presumptious title of a 'writer' right now. It's all about my stupid fucking ego. I'm not forty something years old, maybe when I am that's when I'll make a disgusting impact. Not right now. I am exactly like you.

Fucking weird, right? So what are you doing reading this? Isn't there somebody out there you could learn something from? Call up an old teacher, talk to your parents, read a book by someone reflecting on this shit, because, right now, I have no right to write.

Still reading? Wow, you're really fucking stupid. This is the biggest waste of your time. Seriously, ANYTHING would be a better use of time then sitting here reading this. I mean, even maybe sitting in the bathroom for a while... that may be more enlightening than this. Lock yourself in a closet. I think that would be a much better use of your time. Maybe you'll come out a 'wise' fucking man. I have no idea what I'm talking about.

You just watched me space out. Writers do this a lot kiddies. Teachers try to convince you that you're at blame for not being able to process the information you read from a text at all time, do you ever think that maybe the writer spaces out just as much as you do? That maybe, it's not really your 'fault.' Of course not, teachers tell you the writer is God. He is incapable of screwing up because he's been anthologized. They tell you that he's a he. Oh no! Run away! She's being a feminist! This is bad.

All guys should be feminists and all girls should be feminist. It's totally fucking stupid not to be. Pre- conceived gender roles are the most disgusting inventions of man kind. How anybody doesn't want to regurgitate every time they see a Barbie or a GI Joe is totally beyond me.

It isn't done! Oh no. We need to reach a conclusion! Why? Why can't this just be over right now? Why do I need to say something which encorporates all the main ideas right now. Everything in life isn't a fucking essay!

Wow... I'm fucking insane.





Lets. not. fuck? with.... grammar! (that was the funniest thing I've ever come up with). Maybe it isn't really that funny though. Fuck! Self- deprication's a bitch. An annoying little Cho wow wow endlisly tearing pieces of flesh from your leg. Speaking morbidly is hilarious to me. Is anything really that big of a deal?

I'm not afraid of being nothing!

Fuck competition. I'll be nothing. Nothing sounds fine to me. I don't really want to strive anymore.

Why are you fucking reading this? Are you glaring with your critical little eye right now? Are you deciding whether or not you like this right now? Well fuck that! I hope you hate this. I hope this makes you want to bash your head against a wall.

I hope you love this. I hope at this point, you're so happy you read this. I hope I helped you sort through you're stupid little problems, because they're my stupid little problems. Is that the only reason your reading this? Do you have problems?

There's really something wrong with me. I feel guilty all the time.

Friday, September 08, 2006

A lot of self- loathing in a little space: An excercise in contradiction of my previous post.

Sometimes I hate myself. Today was a perfect example. A good friend of mine was pouring her heart out to me about her relationship problems, and I did about as much to console her as your average piece of furniture. Actually, less probably;At least furniture would give her somewhere to rest her crying head. I just sat there, looking blankly at her, totally unable to empathize; ocassionally I would mumble something cliche and detatched. Why can't I feel for other people in that way you ask? Why am I such a he- man when it comes to emotional disturbances? Because I'm jealous. Disgustingly, morbidly, jealous of almost everyone. This poor girl I really do care about was crying in front of me and all I could think was 'why don't I have a relationship worthy of crying over?' What kind of person thinks like that? I don't deserve one anyway.

Earlier in class I felt like I hated everyone. So maybe it is better that it came back around to myself. Hating yourself is a little more sophisticated than hating everyone else, wouldn't you say? That class was really annoying though. I kind of don't blame myself for hating everyone at that moment. Although, I probably should've just "checked out" so to speak. I feel like I just made a sucky moment even suckier by analyzing it so much. So, here's what it was. We were doing oral presentations and I guess what bothered me was that everyone clapped for everyone else. No matter how horrible the presentation was, everyone would clap just the same. That would be fine, if they were doing it to be nice, but I don't think they were. Everyone just seemed to be clapping so everyone else would clap for them. Like it was some unwritten contract. It made me physically ill. It really did! I started thinking like that's all life is: endless hand clapping and ass kissing. I thought I might actually regurgitate. Then I thought that maybe I'm just looking at this innocent gesture in the grimmest light possible, and I started feeling really guilty.

At that moment I realized that my hatred of mankind is really just a reflection of my own self- loathing. Hence my last entry.. the one bashing everyone who writes as a cathartic excericize.. I don't even care that I just did it. Because I'm not very different than everyone I hate I guess. It's time to accept it, take a glorious swim in mankind's sespool of reaking vomit, and learn to love it like the worthless pig I know I truly am. Oink oink oink. That's it. (I ended it this way on purpose because that's how I ended my oral presentation and I lost five points for it. Everybody clapped anyway. Long and loud.)

Monday, August 28, 2006


Is fucking dead. It's very sad to me, actually. What most people consider poetry now is exactly the opposite of everything it was intended to be. Here's what I mean...

I was just reading an article that was probably written in about 1576, although it was published in 1592. It was written by Sir Philip Sidney and was called The Defense of Poesy. In it, he said something very beautiful and thought provoking.

"Now therein all sciences is our poet the monarch. For he doth not only show the way, but giveth so sweet a prospect into the way, as will entice any man to enter into it. Nay, he doth, as if your journey should lie through a fair vineyard, at the first give you a cluster of grapes, that full of taste, you may long to pass further. He beggineth not with obscure definitions, which must blur the margin with interpretations, and load the memory with doubtfulness; but he cometh to you with words set in delightful proportion, either accompanied with, or prepared for, the well enchanting skill of music; and pretending no more doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue."

If you break that passage apart, I believe, you can understand what poetry used to mean, and how this meaning has become hopelessly lost in the 'me' generation of poetry (I'll describe what I mean by that shortly). Firstly, he describes poetry as a science. Science is clearly about posing an initial question, and then taking steps to reach a solution. Therefore, if poetry is meant to be a science it should not be approached by the poet as a cathardic excercise. It should be approached as a mature way to sort through questions or life problems the writer may have. It should not end until the problem is resolved, or at least is made less cloudy, or takes on a new meaning. The 'me' generation of poetry has brutally slaughtered poetry, and what remains is a shallow, personal reflection which means nothing to anyone except the person who wrote it. What I mean by 'me' poetry is any poetry which has no purpose other than to release emotions. I am not saying that poetry shouldn't be used for this purpose in some capacity. Not at all! Poetry is an excellent tool for this. What I am saying however, is that the poet should never forget that it is their duty as an artist to "not only show the way, but to give so sweet a prospect into the way as will entice any man to enter it." Always remember, if it is inner turmoil you wish to relinquish with your poetry, that it should just as equally about creativity. If someone writes a poem that doesn't explore writing conventions, use interesting language, pays attention to a rhyme scheme or structure scheme, or tell a comprehensible story to the reader (unless it is meant to be interpretive), the "poet" has accomplished no more than a person who releases their frustration by beating up their pillow.

The next part of the passage, "He beginneth not with obscure definitions... the well enchanting skill of music." refers to the duty of the poet to meet eye to eye with their audience. To not take on a godlike attitude toward their subject, but to be inclusive and embrace the art of story telling. Many of today's poetry- if it is not a childish excercise in morbid purging, is a pompous and pretentious tool of pseudo intellectuals. No good writer should ever try to isolate or off put their audience by cluttering their work with obscure notions and terms with no explanations. If you are going to do that, you should never venture outside of a coffee house, because that isn't how your work is going to have any impact on the real world. Pretension is the ultimate sin of the intellectual. It is what isolates them, and keeps them down. It is fine to use sophisticated language but you must write in a presently understood vernacular! Nothing turns me off more than reading a poem using conjunctions like 'thou' and 'hither' and then finding out it was published in 2005. If you think you have something to say, say it understandably or else the only people who will have any type of reaction are people who already probably think a similar way, and the goal of the poet should be to elevate everyone.

"and pretending no more doth intend the winning of the mind from wickedness to virtue" Poets are people who have the ability to both perceive the world around them in a complex way, and have the sensitivity it requires to express it creatively. The rest of the world can benefit from this, so let them! Teach a lesson, impart your values.

This is what poetry should be. Please save it!