Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Thursday, October 7, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
Friday, September 10, 2010
goldfish are going to make me fat.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Monday, August 16, 2010
Excuse me for a second while I throw a bitch fit...
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
the bees the bees the bees the bees
Sunday, August 8, 2010
Friday, August 6, 2010
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
Sunday, July 18, 2010
The more absurd my writing is
the more real it is in the world
of surrealism but my reality
is already surreal because I
never really feel like anything happened
and I would really prefer it if people stopped
trying to find meaning in it.
The lighting is usually all wrong
and the dialogue muffled.
I am constantly trying to ask the director
for another take, but he doesn’t answer
because he is a deaf mute with a knack
for spinning in circles to signal yes or no.
I can never keep up with the ticking of his hands
so I’ve stopped staring at his blinking lights.
Perhaps I should leave the critical analysis
to the professionals; the robots who run on
treadmills and caffeine. “Yes sir,
I would like for you to give me a chocolate covered
rabbit with a real dime awkwardly hidden
inside the left ear that you’ve bent in response
to the overcast weather on this lovely
Sunday brunch.”
He didn’t let me keep the dime, but I guess it’s okay
because I needed a quarter anyway
to get a piece of gum. Thinking of which,
I want something to chew on
but my words are terrified of my teeth
because they see the battle wounds of my
strawberry pink cheeks. I wonder
if the little men inside my head ever get tired
of the concussions that come from
banging my head against my steering wheel
while complaining about the horse drawn carriage
taking entirely too long to get out of first gear.
Don’t any of the taxi drivers from
the nineteenth century still exist?
They knew how to get a broad from point A
to needlepoint in no time at all.
I wonder if Woodstock is ever going
to have the same effect as the
Challenger’s demise. Oh no!
It looks like I’m offending the feminists again.
Last time it was over a sandwich that
just didn’t taste like I imagined.
I think I’m over thinking because I’ve been thinking
even though I decided I was over thinking.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Monday, July 12, 2010
i get what i want.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
i died so i could haunt you.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Monday, June 7, 2010
Go Away.
You used to know me when I was a little girl-
I was a little girl and you always left me waiting.
You always left me waiting inside the house-
waiting inside the house for your call-
your call that hardly ever came.
It hardly ever came, but when it did?
When it did it was always a new excuse-
a new excuse that left me crying-
crying in the company of my mother.
My mother, whose hand would run up and down-
up and down my back trying to calm me down-
calm me down in the midst of the panic-
the panic that would follow me-
follow me right into my young adulthood.
My young adulthood introduced me to so much-
so much I didn’t understand-
I didn’t understand why I wasn’t sleeping.
I wasn’t sleeping because I was losing my mind.
I was losing my mind so very fast-
so very fast like my racing thoughts.
My racing thoughts quieted for a few weeks-
for a few weeks I was sleeping.
I was sleeping and it was all okay-
it was all okay until I saw you.
I saw you and everything came back-
everything came back so suddenly-
suddenly I was a little girl again.
I was a little girl again but I was angry-
I was angry and I was uncomfortable.
I was uncomfortable with the way you looked at me-
you looked at me like you knew me.
But you knew me when I was waiting-
waiting inside the house for your call-
your call that hardly ever came.
It hardly ever came and I chose to cut you out-
cut you out because I knew what I needed.
I needed you to go away.
Go away.
A New Way to Say Hooray
I did have a few brain blasts though!
I suddenly had three ideas for three different journals. One of them is for purely inebriated writing only. The next is just a running monologue and the third is going to be tricky to fill up. It also will make some people feel a little...naked, in a sense.
Anyway, I'm sure the night is bound to bring more genius ideas! The night before last I came up with a new idea for the book I have been writing. I like it and I'm excited I just need to find a little bit of focus in all this madness so I can sit and write it already.
...new subject. I can't stick with one for long.
I'm determined to get out of the Inland Empire as much as possible this summer. I've already gone to Las Vegas and I believe I am going to Laughlin in a few weeks but that's not enough. I really would like to go to Disneyland and San Francisco and Havasu and any beach along this disgusting coast that I can. It would be really awesome to get away from the west coast too, but I don't know that money will allow for that.
Money is such a buzz kill.
Okay. I don't think I should continue posting on this thing. I could end up writing about everything right now. Like the way leather seats feel when it's really cold because that is the kind of nonsense I am thinking about right now. Perhaps I will go edit the poem I wrote the other day and post it on here later.
Till next time!
Friday, June 4, 2010
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
The worst part is I'm still flying up, up, up.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Saturday, May 22, 2010
Now, I know we aren't aware we are soulmates yet but that doesn't bother me. Still, I feel I must share with you just how long you've been on my mind...or in my hands, I should say.
About two years ago, I went and hand my palm read. After refusing to touch my hands because of a "dark force detrimental to others and not" me, the palm reader said she could clearly see I had a soulmate. She went on to tell me that, at that time in my life, I was not aware of this person, nor were they aware of me. She said that, once united, this person and I would share a deep connection.
Then, I went to another palm reader who told me that she saw one person in my life sticking out more than most. She told me this person would be an excellent friend to me and we would work well together because of our understanding for one another.
The third time I went and had my palm read was a little less reliable than the previous two times. A woman on the street in Venice claimed to read palms and, for five dollars, I let her take a look at my hands. She flat out asked me who you were and was taken aback by my lack of ability to give you a name.
And then the fourth time I went, she gave me details about you. She told me you and I know each other- that the only thing keeping us separate is purely emotional and mental. She told me the color of your eyes, the first letter of your name, your heritage, and that, to me, something sets you apart from everyone else. Forgive me for leaving the details out, but I am reluctant to put anything on here that anyone might identify with. I would hate to run the risk of anyone coming to any conclusions based on the lines in my hand. Instead, I just wanted to let you know that, whoever you are, you are in my hands and when we are aware we are soulmates, you owe me the equivalent of whatever I've paid to listen to four times now.
Love, Stephanie Kate.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Do you know how much literary analysis there is for Peter Pan? I believe it to be quite endless. Fortunately, it's all very interesting. Take for instance this idea:
Have you ever wondered why Peter Pan has been primarily played by women? I was under the impression women offered the perfect emulation of a prepubescent boy (with the voice and what not), but then I read an article that proposed that women are perfect for playing Peter Pan because women will never grow up to be men.
...I haven't decided if what I'm learning in this class is going to benefit me in any way in the future, but I don't think I really care. It's very entertaining to take a story I hold dear to my heart and tear it to shreds through academia.
Monday, May 10, 2010
Thursday, May 6, 2010
drugs in my body.
I don’t know if being on so many different medicines in such a short time is catching up with me.
I don’t know if the medicine I’m on now is finally taking over my brain.
I really just don’t know.
I’m also not sure I really want to know where I am these days.
It’s difficult to articulate but, as always, I’m attempting to put to words the sluggish feeling that permeates the grey matter hidden inside my skull. It’s not exactly a slow, sluggish feeling but the idea of a rapid moving slug is a horrible metaphor.
Sluggish clearly isn’t the correct word here.
I could use words along the same lines as “zombie-like” but that’s not adequate. I’m more than capable of getting through the day, all while speaking in complete sentences and avoiding car accidents.
I suppose this is the best way to describe where I am these days:
I have a lot to say but I don’t feel like wasting the breath on words that I feel tip-toeing off my tongue and gently falling to the ground like leaves in a light breeze. It’s as though what I think and how I feel and the words I use to describe those just aren’t propelled with enough force to make it from my brain to my lips to someone else’s ears.
I feel physically exhausted; my body aches and my feet are so hesitant to move. Directly opposite to this though, my mind is still on auto-pilot, constantly fluttering from one idea to the next like a neurotic moth surrounded by blinking Christmas lights. I can’t stop it. Thinking is intoxicating and, were my brain capable of shutting up for a moment, I wouldn’t know what to do with the obnoxious silence that would follow. I imagine I would get anxious and need to move.
I can’t stand to be alone but find it very difficult to connect with anyone around me. You know when you’re a child and you watch a mime give the impression they’re stuck in a box? I am that mime. The box, though invisible and probably not really there, prevents me from actually engaging with my surroundings. I am one bullet-proof window away from really being in the moment.
Perhaps this is all difficult to really fathom, and if it’s not then I clearly didn’t do a very good job at explaining. I understand there are people who are going to read this who might genuinely believe they know what I’m talking about (and perhaps a few might actually get it) but I’m skeptical to trust that familiarity. It isn’t that I’m under the impression that what I’m experiencing right now is unique and solely my experience- no, that would be such a foolish thought. What it comes down to, really, is that I don’t trust that my words have said enough or described enough to fully and accurately explain where I am these days.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
waiting for the worms.
I don’t write nearly as much as I should, granted I don’t have time like I used to.
Aren’t I too young for my life to revolve around my jobs instead of my education and my youth? Perhaps that’s why I have no desire to grow old; I’m getting all of this done much too fast. School is just something that passes the free time I don’t know what to do with and my youth is just some Never Land I can hardly remember. (Was it real? Or am I imagining it? I most certainly must have made it up in my head.) I know this to be true for one reason and that reason is last week.
Last week I had a break in between terms at school. Pretty much everyone I interact with on campus disappeared for the week (and rightfully so! What good is a vacation if you don’t do something a little out of the ordinary?). I was left with myself and both of my jobs. I slept in my room, alone. I didn’t hear my own voice until I was taking an order at work or teaching a child what a short vowel was. I came home, feet aching and all, only to lie down in my bed and read or doze off until my alarm went off again. When I wasn’t working I was doing things I felt I should be doing, like cleaning and grocery shopping and planning for the next day of work. And you know what? I fell into such a quiet, lonely routine that I felt as though perhaps that was the kind of life I was doomed to live (and I am so very terrified at spending the rest of my life working at a coffee shop in the morning and tutoring by night. That is most certainly not what I want out of life.) And then I started to worry about what I’m doing with my life right now. I came to the conclusion that this school business is just too drawn out and boring for me. I really don’t give a shit about the grades I’m getting (or not getting. My parents would definitely disagree with the bullshit numbers that represent my intelligence.) I go to classes I’m genuinely interested in and when they grow boring…well, when they grow boring you can be sure my attendance reaches what grade-school teachers would call “unsatisfactory”.
I know that quitting school is not really an option. I do not want to be catapulted into the real world and I would definitely put an end to a life of work very quickly if that’s what I was left with. What I want instead is to live and go places and see things and write about it. I feel like I’m wasting my time working toward a degree that will hardly validate me as a writer. I already know the kind of life I’m setting myself up for by taking out loans to go to college for something that I know I can do (not to mention there is hardly any room for growth as a writer when I’m stuck in this monotonous cycle of work, school, work, stare at the wall, work, school, work, rinse, wash, repeat). I haven’t had any sort of experience worth writing about in so long that I simply feel like I’m standing still while the world spins around me, blurry and impossible to understand.
I really just want to say “fuck it”, close my eyes and dive head first into the blur.





