ann(e)

Thu, 23 Apr 2009 05:21:39 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0UE3CNu_rtY

(AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA)

Fri, 30 Jan 2009 01:07:51 GMT

"Pitt died in 1806, certainly of overwork and probably of alcoholism; his last words were either, 'Oh my country! how I leave my country!' or ' I think I could eat one of Bellamy's veal pies,' depending on the source."

i'm feeling a bit funky blue.

Mon, 24 Nov 2008 17:00:23 GMT

http://apod.nasa.gov/apod/

Tue, 14 Oct 2008 04:37:04 GMT

Sun, 15 Jun 2008 04:52:22 GMT

Fri, 11 Apr 2008 01:55:59 GMT

we are flying out for hawaii tomorrow morning.
as usual.
i'm a weeeeeeeeeeeeeeee bit nervouse.

Sun, 27 Jan 2008 07:26:33 GMT

Robert Deniro in Taxi Driver is the cream of the crop.

Sat, 26 Jan 2008 08:32:55 GMT

i just ripped up all my cigarettes and flushed them down the toilet. the filters are in the trash can, along with the shredded case. i am a really strong person, this i know. this is the first thing i think i will ever have to work really hard on. this intrigues me. if you ever see me with a cigarette, give me a good hard smack. do it. i like the pain.

Thu, 24 Jan 2008 10:23:06 GMT

loving stupid boys that i don't really love and dreamfucking the shit out of them.

i think that which is above this is one of the funniest things i have ever said.
hasssssssshahahahahahhaahhahaahahahahahahahahahha,

hahahahahahahahhahahahhaha.
i am literally laughing so hard my lungs are shaking.
i never laugh like this but only when i wish to.

i had a really great night. i went to a little art show at the che cafe and there was a beautiful artist named brendan who was not interested in me whatsoever but it didn't matter because i liked his art more than i liked him and that is no way to start any form of relationship. i read all the zines i could. i just ate them up, like the vegan baked goodies. i stole a zine even too and now i am beginning production of my very own hand crafted zine. it will be zinealicious! also, today i started classes for second term. communications103. introtocreativewriting. philosophyEthics&Morals. and. modernamericanfiction. they are all my speed and i feel no stress and i feel no flying fucks. i really want to drive through mexico and also take a trip up north to portland. i want to see what oregon spring tastes like. also, i want to go to Japan and slurp noodles and burn my tongue on hot japanese water. also, i want to have really dirty mean sex with connor. i can't help it. this is what i want to do. also, i want to tell my philosophy professor that i have already dreamfucked the shit out of him. except i haven't been to sleep since i first saw him earlier. so i am going to call it daydreamed fucked the shit out of him. hahaha.

(insert annoying chuckle here)

fuck me

Thu, 03 Jan 2008 06:03:31 GMT

a million years from now, a million years ago will be today, right now; japan will be floating under the desert rain a million years from now; america will be separated into one hundred pieces a million years from now and forty five of them will be sunken ships; the earth will be the sea a million years from now and the seals will swim in the sand while we humankind sleep in seaweed slumber bags; a million years from now the sky will glow but nobody will notice; a million years from now love won't exist and passion will be feet fulls of pain that strike a brain that has shrunk to only three fourths of what it once was; a million years from now when you feel like driving off a cliff you won't because a hundred million years from now there will be no cliffs, the world will be flat like an old human man once said it was; a million years from now you will not feel your heart beat because it will not beat because hearts will be replaced with clocks and clocks will not tick, they will sit still; and a million years from now no one will think of a million years ago, they will not remember humanity as it was or as it tried to be; because a million years from now humanity is as it should have been since forever came into existence. a million years into the future which looks nothing like the present. a million years from now, which is connected to a million years ago, they will grow from the ground and smell of the sun; and hope dressed up by a million years of time will dwindle into the universe, with its back to the stars and it will cover the earth and the earth will disappear and a million years from now there are a million planets that are broken into tiny universes which exist in a timeless manner, in a place of no time, no face, no hand, no brain, no real existence. and doesn't it excite you now. doesn't it put a hand on your crotch. doesn't it slip a tongue in your mouth or in your ear, to know that we will never exist.

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 02:34:14 GMT

"I don't know what it is that makes me so obsessed with japan-everything, but I love it. I've seen all the beautiful japanese women my eyes can handle, and now I just want to see you. I have this vision of you meeting me at the airport when I first land in LA, and it's desolate, no one but us, so that you are literally the first thing I see, touch, hear, smell, and taste back in this ugly old country. And it's quite the contradiction, between this country and her..."

sake it to me will never be the same. smiling and laughing with the sunset that is almost as beautiful as my mother; the world looks like a sea light, streaming in and out of sight. so that when you close your eyes they are still there.

Fri, 28 Dec 2007 20:39:52 GMT

eight is a lot of legs david.

Sun, 11 Nov 2007 03:56:43 GMT

i bummed out on dirty plan #1 because i have dirty plan #2 and mr. in dirty plan #1 was angry, very, and i think i should really cut all those bridges down or blow out all of the me in his ear. gee golly. i love when you meet those who are so genuinely nice and so genuinely pure and sometimes i think that i am one of those. i decided i will always love you, even though you have forgotten and i should. i won't. i'm a timeless lover and you will always be on my wall.

Tue, 06 Nov 2007 06:48:37 GMT

i have a really dirty plan and the worst part is that i want to make it happen

*interpret dirty as you will

Fri, 26 Oct 2007 07:30:05 GMT

painting of my life.

Sat, 15 Sep 2007 23:28:36 GMT

My interview went well! Buffalo Exchange hired me!

Mon, 10 Sep 2007 23:32:30 GMT

some interesting facts of today:
i touched raw chicken
i succeeded in cooking it
i had a twenty minute conversation on the tele
with my aunt pretending to be my sister
i ate three brownies
i spent thirty minutes looking for a parking space at state
i just started college but next fall i will be able to transfer
some colleges cost lest than i imagined
i want to be more northern (in many aspects)
i don't want to move to San Francisco
i am more mexican than you could ever imagine
i still haven't gotten a job
i don't want to
i am trying
my dad gave me two hundred dollars
there is nothing weighing down on me
there is no pressure
and no time
hello, i am feeling better.

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Tue, 04 Sep 2007 04:38:34 GMT

happiness isn't stable. it's not the standard, it's the huffman, where some days, like letters, have three bitz and some only have one. happiness, like the bit, is irrelevant. why would we like just a weekend of only three feet apart, why would we like just two meals and three bottles of wine, why would we get so full? it's as if life gets tired of eating and then it gets tired of being with you. life like happiness, when happy means life and life means good. and then it means bad. and i wonder, where did this come from? all of this stuff, where did it come from? why do i have it? it isn't enough to get married, to have children, to get eloped, to be in love, to watch it all happen. it isn't enough to have shoes, to have ears, why have ears when we don't even listen. how many days do you have to feel good to feel bad? how much pot must you live in until you are the ultimate swivel? how much must you take until you feel tough enough? big enough? elite enough? and it isn't even enough to be all the way up there, it isn't enough to know more, or to have seen more, it isn't to enough to think you know yourself. when there is so much, there is nothing. my life, life, happiness, in the open, is a blob. Mr. Nothing. and i ask you to judge me, to hate, to love, to be free. i ask you to feel all that and then tell me what you feel. me and Mr. Nothing. all of it until i am Mrs. Nothing and you better not write a book about us, or put us on film, so little children in their sheets will want to be like us. it is the hottest hot of my time and there is nothing so cruel as to ask a human to feel as we feel, live like we live, and to make them choose between sadness and ignorance. there will be the choice, regardless, but i won't be there to make it. Me and Mr. Nothing, can you imagine? not to worry, not to want, not to need, an existence that doesn't exist. i swore it would be beautiful and now it isn't enough, to be beautiful, or to be stronger, to live here or to live there. it is that we must accept that makes us human, it is the heart of existence, and i say with my cold fingertips, i write it on the wall as i walk, that i might never, however and whenever i die, accept or begin.

Thu, 30 Aug 2007 05:00:22 GMT

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=71kckb8hhOQ

Fri, 17 Aug 2007 20:03:15 GMT

i am full of everything. i think i am going to be ill. i break down at least once every month. i break down, literally. at night i cry and i scream into my pillow and i want to kill myself. if i do it right, it is usually only a week with the crying and the screaming and all the secret time that i spend in my bed, late at night, completely alone. if i do it right, i don't kill myself, i think about it every couple of hours, different ways to do it, not too grotesque, but beautiful, kind of like a story. nobody ever knows and i never tell them. once i mentioned to my mother that i thought it was healthy, every week, to think of killing yourself at least once a day, and to also think about living, and love and literature, and mr.brooks and perseverance and strength, and courage, and how all the mean people don't matter. i told her it balances us out. she got upset when i said that. she told me she would kill me if i ever killed myself. i laughed. i think she meant that she would kill herself if i ever did. my mom doesn't have much. she is so beautiful and she has her three beautiful daughters and when i stop to think about how selfish pain is, it hurts. because when i do get my fits i want to leave for myself, not to end, but to numb, and to be alone, where no one, not even myself can hurt me. there is a big part of me that agrees that i am half mentally ill. i have never really thought about it before, but i had to. this month they have been a lot worse and i know that it isn't normal by standard, that a million people aren't crying themselves to sleep each night for reasons they can't explain. emotion stirs in me, like a stomach ache and i vomit all night long. the rest of the month i don't cry one lick, i am happy, tranquil, the lover and the loved, i feel friendship and compatibility with the world and i. i won't ever kill myself, i know that i am not death and that if i were my skin would be a lot deeper and you would be able to see it in my eyes. and i am no thief, i would not steal his job, but that thought, that moment, when the thought of dying calms me, is eerie. it doesn't frighten me, my tremors are more from cruelty and ignorance. death frightens me when i think of others killing me, murdering me or others. it is something so deep, that i think that i am a murderer of my own life, but i do it with tears and fear and pain. i kind of like it too. i like that i can see all of that emotion, i can feel it twirling around me, peaceful until i decide to break, because it isn't the pain, it's me. i can handle it, but not well, not in late nights, when the fan is cold and my feet are colder, or late nights when the fan won't work and my body is warm, unconsoled. i share the night with myself, and i feel sometimes that we weep together.

Fri, 27 Jul 2007 00:37:55 GMT

there are weird noises.

Sat, 14 Jul 2007 19:24:27 GMT

the city beats a heart. where it is, i do not know. i see love no where. no heart could i see that would be filled with love. no space could it be emptied into. trash. it might be. i am weak if i am not alone, yet i am pleading for a friend. it can't be just anyone. there is fear in my fingers, i make my bread with it, i drink my wine, and i stumble down the elevator, three flights of stairs, we are even. strangely enough. i wear it in my feet; i polish myself, and in my nose there is a bit of strength, that i can smell something good. all is well when i can breathe, and it has been almost a month that i have been breathing; when you think about it, it has been years spent alone. a person, what a measure, how i might measure them, they might be nothing. it is cruel, loathing the inches i couldn't make us be put together by. there is nothing real as you might wish, as i wish everyday. there is a soul in me binding me to loneliness, and i being a person, without the spirit, stand with nothing. as i wish for you, you may wish for me back, but there is no you, and even worse then, there is no i: nothing left.

Tue, 19 Jun 2007 19:37:42 GMT

you can't really read the snows of kilamanjaro if you're in your backyard: bathing suit all strapped in and sun spreading, heat all ready, on a definitly non suicidal day. nope god just doesn't want you to.

Mon, 11 Jun 2007 04:09:39 GMT

this summer will be all about death and me finding out who she is.

s

Tue, 15 May 2007 05:51:37 GMT

the swelters been awoke,
deep earth says hello,
the storm is a sea
and above our heads
the halo grows.

frowning upon the east,
heat, oh heat, oh me.
you belly around,
the land is conquerable,
and you swim everywhere,
maybe in the sea,
heat be me.

the fever,
how you may sweat it,
wear it, bury it, out or maybe in,
the late year coming, here,
bodies on the ground,
dead season, dead season,
all yellow, all around.

maybe like the mirror, the sun,
and when we look in the
sky, no clouds.
heat be the sound,
we the drum again,
singing loud.

halos in the morning,
in the night
the moon is round,
yellow bellied baby
the fever seating 'round,
something hollow in the way,
like the glass is the sky,
something yellow in the way,
like the fingers reach high
to the heat to calm it down,
something sorry in the way,
we be heat,
while heat keep
breaking down.