It has been far too long since I have been passionately indignant over anything. When you accept events in life as the flux and strains in a wholly mutable system you begin to think you know better about everything. After all, it all becomes a variation of the same and you are left with an endlessly applicable answer that disconnects you ( Read more... )

I have been writing mad mad poetry.
I finished the most expensive paper of my short academic career yesterday.
I have three finals in the next week.
And a monumental hangover.
I have a week long road trip ahead of me.
No car.
But, I am an expert Bus-ser.
And coffee, I always have coffee.

Health wise, I have vastly improved in the last 37.5 hours. Also I went to class today and left feeling unmolested by my professors, which I'm assuming is either a sign that I fabricated the whole feeling of persecution (through my blind attempts to force reason into the coincidental coinciding gestures of people that have no direct contact with ( Read more... )

The morning was good, I was tired with sluggish hung-overness but I could cope with that. Somehow by the time I walked out of my class I felt utterly molested and alienated. I was really anxious to get home, and I did. I took a shot of gin, to make myself feel amused with my own irritation, sort of like "okay Ashley the day sucked but it's over" - ( Read more... )

I'm holding a case of beer, two are missing. I had just parted ways with Adam so he could, no doubt, revel in his own glory with the two beers that now make silhouettes in the case I'm holding. I often do things purely for his amusement, so as a self affirming exercise I wait until he is safely and assuredly out of earshot before I sing "Somewhere ( Read more... )

Adam built me a computer for my birthday, a marvelous amalgamation of bits and slabs, all the giga-mega-whatsits recycled from "previously enjoyed" technophilic computators gleefully configured to be my two-tone bohemeth, my personal machine. His name is Desi, which is short for Desacamicido - which translates literally to "shirtless one" in ( Read more... )

As of late there has been a remarkable series of existential crises, with personalities, perspectives and ideologies collapsing around me. They are all quite spent and used, as though this passion has been proclaimed so intensely so many times that the meaning has slid out of it. And I am left awestruck by this series of words that I use to invoke ( Read more... )

( The end of the world is REALLY pretty. )

It looks like the suburban streets have been told to go to sleep. It seems, albeit obviously, the best day to appreciate the snow is on the initial day of it's falling, residential roads and cul-de-sacs are unsalted -- like even if you could fathom wanting to, you could never leave. I am diligently staying in my rut, with no place to go but here, ( Read more... )

The bus is the urban snake -
the cyclists are the ants -
and the free men on two legs aren't anything but going.