oh no. I've got the closing theme to the Lawrence Welk Variety Show stuck in my head. Which doesn't bother me, but probably annoys anyone who has to listen to me sing it. Loudly ( Read more... )

it was something like a message ( Read more... )

you say the birds are leaving
all the trees show broken arms
there's this light in the windshield
we're riding in this car
somehow I have noticed
in the night your face looks younger
in the darkness we tested time
and then we found our hunger

I am a poster girl with no poster, I am 32 flavors and then some...So kelsea mae and I are making a fabulous wire sculpture for Angus. It's a windchime with moons and stars and copper wire (so that once it starts raining constantly it turns green) and aside from having stabbed my finger with wire (repeatedly) and giggling manically as I do so, I'm ( Read more... )

"Losing hope is easy when your only friend is gone, and everytime you look around it all, it all just seems to change. But hanging on is easy when you've got a friend to call, and nothing's making sense at all, you're not the only one that's afraid of change." -Jack Johnson ( Read more... )

you're slight. Yeah, I guess that's it. Subtle, like the humming in between the walls that you don't notice until it rises to a screaming ringing pitch. And then I'm floored, right? Washed up ( Read more... )

At the center of everything is the harsh dreamscape that we all deny. Even this bitterness isn't real. Nothing is real. We're harsh hallogen lighting and linoleum. Scuff-marks and hangnails. We can't even stand to be barefaced because we're already afraid that our hearts are on our sleeves ( Read more... )

My my. We're all so unfortunately miraged. This illusion of wealth in a red backpack, how it turns out to mean absolutely nothing. Well, that was worthless. A multitude of trashbags and a gallon of granola. That's how we're meant to survive. (Like bloody hell ( Read more... )

here is my guilt for the day:I keep getting mail from Bob, but every time I do, the return address is different. This makes me really happy, but also very sullen. As in, I feel it's a waste to write back, since I know it will be returned to me. She's shelter-hopping. So what's the point in writing if she'll be gone again soon? So I feel guilty for ( Read more... )

What is this? My mind taking over, that's what. Me stretching so thin my bubble bursts. A teakettle's frantic frenzied whistling, an alarm clock clattering off the table to lie in a muffled heap on the floor. This is staring into the headlights of an approaching semi-truck ( Read more... )