Snowing in Chicago. Beautiful white fluffy snow. I love it. I dropped linguistics today, for better or for worse. I just couldn't justify taking it. I feel like a loser. Mostly, I couldn't get my act together and get help on the assignments. I also just dislike the teacher very much. What was I thinking? I don't know if I did the right ( Read more... )

I'm home for Christmas break. We cut down our tree yesterday and put it up last night. We ate homemade vegetable soup and watched Christmas Vacation. This morning, when Ryan, Greta and I woke up, we saw all the broken ornaments on the table from where the tree fell. It makes me so angry. My favorite ornament broke. It was a snow scene that I ( Read more... )

I want to die...
So sleepy! So much work!

I don't really want to die, but this is like death. I'm locked into a coffin. The computer lab is my sarcophaghus. I want to live. I want out, out, out!

I am dehydrated, I think. I feel like I have turned into a horrible writer during this quarter. Everything is disjunctive. I look at what I have composed and it doesn't match what's running through my head. In the past, I've been happy with the essays that I write. Lately, though, everything is so unclear, garbled, and unorganized ( Read more... )

On nights like this one, I just want to read literature and poetry and critiscism and listen to classical music while following along in the score with Johnny. There is enough art in the world that one could spend all of one's free time experiencing, relishing, tasting it. I want to talke bites out of everything. I spit it out if I don't like it ( Read more... )

From the window of this jewlery store ( Read more... )

Roses make me sad ( Read more... )

Today I smoked my first cigarrette walking down the sidewalk on the way to The Point with Dudzik and Josie. It was a clove cigarrette that came highly recommended by Dudzick. I liked the flavor on my lips, very sweet, actually. The smoke in my mouth wasn't that amazing, just sort of sort and leaving me dry. Only once did it get into my lugs. ( Read more... )

Well, well hell.

This summer, I will write poetry.

I will write so much frickin' poetry, I will swim in the delirious delisciousness of it all.

There will be enough poems to fill 203 wastebaskets!

So many poems, my hardrive will shut down!

Ah ha! Ah ha!

I write things and then I lose them, metally and physically. Little snippets of paper resurface around my room, in drawers or jammed in books. Chicken scrawlings in mechanical pencil, illegible images that recall faint wispy memories of dreams. Other words and recounted tales as foriegn to my eyes as the memory of the act of writing any of it. ( Read more... )