I found some err...interesting notes from the last time Dave and I hung out and watched the Spanish channel till 4AM. Enjoy:
-Everything was fun once I learned cursive
-Be free.
-Bling Wagon! What would that look like??
-Dave learned.
-little snack
-would you like some metaphors?
-Basing it all on emotion (Spanish Channel translating)
-E-M-O-T-I-O-N (just like spelling it)
-CUT ME SOME SLACK
-It's sombrero time
-Jesus Deer, Deer Park, DON'T SHOOT
PS Britt- this is so something that would've been taken care of months ago if I had a personal assistant!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
i'm copying britt (or i <3 astrology forever)
You were born with the Sun in Leo and the Moon in Gemini. The position of the Sun in Leo makes your individuality lie deep within yourself. It also makes you a dignified, commanding, powerful, strong-willed, and reliable, individual. You are trusting, faithful, and magnanimous. Internally, you possess a constant cheerfulness and are fond of amusement; vitality and extreme pride are two key words of your individuality.
You are quick and determined both at work and in play. You are totally self-assured, and you believe that somehow you were born with a special mission and spiritual privilege. In sex and other activities you are sincere and wholehearted and wish to transmit to others your natural happiness. You can also become somewhat patronizing toward others, as well as impatient and reckless. Your personality comes under the rule of the Moon in Gemini. Externally, therefore, you will appear as an intelligent, clever, lively, and very versatile person. You are given to anticipation. In love, you do not express yourself completely according to your real nature. The barriers of life make you appear coolly affectionate and very expressive, but not profound.
The key word to your personality is intelligence. A positive integration of your being, depends upon your understanding of yourself.
there are only two parts of this i don't like:
1. the whole "individuality lying deep within yourself"
2. you're not yourself when in love
You are quick and determined both at work and in play. You are totally self-assured, and you believe that somehow you were born with a special mission and spiritual privilege. In sex and other activities you are sincere and wholehearted and wish to transmit to others your natural happiness. You can also become somewhat patronizing toward others, as well as impatient and reckless. Your personality comes under the rule of the Moon in Gemini. Externally, therefore, you will appear as an intelligent, clever, lively, and very versatile person. You are given to anticipation. In love, you do not express yourself completely according to your real nature. The barriers of life make you appear coolly affectionate and very expressive, but not profound.
The key word to your personality is intelligence. A positive integration of your being, depends upon your understanding of yourself.
there are only two parts of this i don't like:
1. the whole "individuality lying deep within yourself"
2. you're not yourself when in love
Monday, February 19, 2007
an oldie but a goodie as they say
i have been thinking about allen ginsberg lately. he's kind of a first love, really. whenever he pops into my head i have the fondest memories of him. even though he is SO reminds me of my tortured 8th grade self i can't help but be still in love. like that high school boyfriend you once had. *sigh*
when reading these, read them out loud, so mch more satisfying. all poem are meant to be read aloud but allen is REALLY meant to be read aloud. gemini's love to talk some maybe that's why his poems sound so good aloud.
America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must havebeen a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive.
The Russia's power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
This next one is an all time favorite. So beautiful.
A Supermarket in California
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming ofyour enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam
-ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands!
Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you,
Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by thewatermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely oldgrubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killedthe pork chops? What price bananas? Are you myAngel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doorsclose in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in thesupermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming ofthe lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the blackwaters of Lethe?
and for good measure experts from Howl
Howl
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flatsfloating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene- ment roofs
illuminated,
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi- nation? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob tainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boyssobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
when reading these, read them out loud, so mch more satisfying. all poem are meant to be read aloud but allen is REALLY meant to be read aloud. gemini's love to talk some maybe that's why his poems sound so good aloud.
America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1935 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must havebeen a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive.
The Russia's power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
This next one is an all time favorite. So beautiful.
A Supermarket in California
What thoughts I have of you tonight, Walt Whit-
man, for I walked down the sidestreets under the trees
with a headache self-conscious looking at the full moon.
In my hungry fatigue, and shopping for images,
I went into the neon fruit supermarket, dreaming ofyour enumerations!
What peaches and what penumbras! Whole fam
-ilies shopping at night! Aisles full of husbands!
Wives in the avocados, babies in the tomatoes!--and you,
Garcia Lorca, what were you doing down by thewatermelons?
I saw you, Walt Whitman, childless, lonely oldgrubber, poking among the meats in the refrigerator
and eyeing the grocery boys.
I heard you asking questions of each: Who killedthe pork chops? What price bananas? Are you myAngel?
I wandered in and out of the brilliant stacks of
cans following you, and followed in my imagination
by the store detective.
We strode down the open corridors together in
our solitary fancy tasting artichokes, possessing every
frozen delicacy, and never passing the cashier.
Where are we going, Walt Whitman? The doorsclose in an hour. Which way does your beard point tonight?
(I touch your book and dream of our odyssey in thesupermarket and feel absurd.)
Will we walk all night through solitary streets?
The trees add shade to shade, lights out in the houses,
we'll both be lonely.
Will we stroll dreaming ofthe lost America of love
past blue automobiles in driveways, home to our silent cottage?
Ah, dear father, graybeard, lonely old courage-teacher, what America did you have when Charon quit
poling his ferry and you got out on a smoking bank
and stood watching the boat disappear on the blackwaters of Lethe?
and for good measure experts from Howl
Howl
I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving hysterical naked,
dragging themselves through the negro streets at dawn looking for an angry fix,
angelheaded hipsters burning for the ancient heavenly connection to the starry dynamo in the machinery of night,
who poverty and tatters and hollow-eyed and high sat up smoking in the supernatural darkness of cold-water flatsfloating across the tops of cities contemplating jazz,
who bared their brains to Heaven under the El and saw Mohammedan angels staggering on tene- ment roofs
illuminated,
What sphinx of cement and aluminum bashed open their skulls and ate up their brains and imagi- nation? Moloch! Solitude! Filth! Ugliness! Ashcans and unob tainable dollars! Children screaming under the stairways! Boyssobbing in armies! Old men weeping in the parks! Moloch! Moloch! Nightmare of Moloch! Moloch the loveless! Mental Moloch! Moloch the heavy judger of men!
Carl Solomon! I'm with you in Rockland where you're madder than I am
I'm with you in Rockland where you must feel very strange
I'm with you in Rockland where you imitate the shade of my mother
I'm with you in Rockland where you've murdered your twelve secretaries
I'm with you in Rockland where you laugh at this invisible humor
I'm with you in Rockland where we are great writers on the same dreadful typewriter
Monday, February 12, 2007
love songs
britt and i were talking about love songs and it sounded like a nice list to make. (in no particular order)
"love is beautiful" love songs:
"(just like) starting over"-john lennon
"let's stay together"-al green
"god only knows"-the beach boys
"is this love?"-bob marley
"never been in love"-talib kweli (rappers have feelings too!)
"raining on sunday"-keith urban
most anything by marvin gaye, love him.
"love is painful" love songs:
"ex-factor"-lauryn hill
"waiting in vain"-bob marley
"ms. jackson"-outkast
"in terms of love" shedaisy
i know there's more but i can't really think.
i like this list.
"love is beautiful" love songs:
"(just like) starting over"-john lennon
"let's stay together"-al green
"god only knows"-the beach boys
"is this love?"-bob marley
"never been in love"-talib kweli (rappers have feelings too!)
"raining on sunday"-keith urban
most anything by marvin gaye, love him.
"love is painful" love songs:
"ex-factor"-lauryn hill
"waiting in vain"-bob marley
"ms. jackson"-outkast
"in terms of love" shedaisy
i know there's more but i can't really think.
i like this list.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
this is my post about sex and the city characters and their potential zodiac signs.
the women:
carrie: gemini, she into fashion, she likes to laugh, stay out late and everyone likes her.
miranda: taurus, career driven, logical, financially saavy, firey temper especially when it comes to carrie's airy ways.
charlotte: cancer, into marriage, feelings, cries, relationships, super watery, total juliette at heart
samantha: leo, people person, loves love (secretly), loves sex, into appearences, loves gifts
the men:
big: leo, successful, had laughs with carrie in the only way that geminis and leos can, kind of a dick without realizing because he's too into himself, loves things his way, into generous gifts
steve: pisces, flaky in life, emotional, calls miranda on her shit, into babies, into pets,
richard wright: aries, successful, gives great gifts, gets into great fights with samantha, cheater
jack berger, scorpio, dark, creative, funny, crazy mood swings, jealous, co-dependent (sorry britt you know its true)
smith, i cant decide really. he has the hair to be a leo, and the acting thing, but he's too nice and supportive. maybe a leo born on a really good day? he's not flakey enough to be a libra or gem or even a sag. he could be a virgo? ew really? anyway suggestions anyone? (aka britt the only one who reads this besides ken who does so incognito oh and of course mom!)
oh and a special shout out to my favorite small screen gay man: standford he's probably an air sign, maybe a gem like carrie or a libra maybe. oh and of course my second favorite gay man (though a very close second ) anthony, charlotte's gay, which i don't understand but anyway: he is a fire sign, his fabulous bitchiness, his great taste, his love of men. hooray fire!
the women:
carrie: gemini, she into fashion, she likes to laugh, stay out late and everyone likes her.
miranda: taurus, career driven, logical, financially saavy, firey temper especially when it comes to carrie's airy ways.
charlotte: cancer, into marriage, feelings, cries, relationships, super watery, total juliette at heart
samantha: leo, people person, loves love (secretly), loves sex, into appearences, loves gifts
the men:
big: leo, successful, had laughs with carrie in the only way that geminis and leos can, kind of a dick without realizing because he's too into himself, loves things his way, into generous gifts
steve: pisces, flaky in life, emotional, calls miranda on her shit, into babies, into pets,
richard wright: aries, successful, gives great gifts, gets into great fights with samantha, cheater
jack berger, scorpio, dark, creative, funny, crazy mood swings, jealous, co-dependent (sorry britt you know its true)
smith, i cant decide really. he has the hair to be a leo, and the acting thing, but he's too nice and supportive. maybe a leo born on a really good day? he's not flakey enough to be a libra or gem or even a sag. he could be a virgo? ew really? anyway suggestions anyone? (aka britt the only one who reads this besides ken who does so incognito oh and of course mom!)
oh and a special shout out to my favorite small screen gay man: standford he's probably an air sign, maybe a gem like carrie or a libra maybe. oh and of course my second favorite gay man (though a very close second ) anthony, charlotte's gay, which i don't understand but anyway: he is a fire sign, his fabulous bitchiness, his great taste, his love of men. hooray fire!
Tuesday, February 6, 2007
i have an interview at 1 tomorrow. the question is-- do i go in till 12 then leave then come back? or do i give myself the morning off and go in at 2ish? tough question.
this woman talks so quickly it's like she doesn't breathe ever.
on to something more interesting:
jeremy asked me for relationship advice last night. ME. he kills me, at one point he actually said, "i'm sorry you don't have to listen, i know this is boring."
boring? BORING?!
more like the greatest thing that's happened in a while. hes dating a total psycho who isn't even cute.
he actually said, "i am jealous of you."
anyone hear an "i win" blowing in the breeze?
but seriously, i am not airing his dirty laundry because i do care. no one deserves a psycho.
there are days i think i will miss island and days i think i will not. i hate when those days combine into one day. it's amazing what goes unsaid sometimes.
i thought of this poem today because i love the tone and mood. the mood more than anything. i'm obsessed.
this woman talks so quickly it's like she doesn't breathe ever.
on to something more interesting:
jeremy asked me for relationship advice last night. ME. he kills me, at one point he actually said, "i'm sorry you don't have to listen, i know this is boring."
boring? BORING?!
more like the greatest thing that's happened in a while. hes dating a total psycho who isn't even cute.
he actually said, "i am jealous of you."
anyone hear an "i win" blowing in the breeze?
but seriously, i am not airing his dirty laundry because i do care. no one deserves a psycho.
there are days i think i will miss island and days i think i will not. i hate when those days combine into one day. it's amazing what goes unsaid sometimes.
i thought of this poem today because i love the tone and mood. the mood more than anything. i'm obsessed.
There were never strawberries
like the ones we had
that sultry afternoon
sitting on the step
of the open french window
facing each other
your knees held in mine
the blue plates in our laps
the strawberries glistening
in the hot sunlight
we dipped them in sugar
looking at each other
not hurrying the feast
for one to come
the empty plates
laid on the stone together
with the two forks crossed
and I bent towards you
sweet in that air
in my arms
abandoned like a child
from your eager mouth
the taste of strawberries
in my memory
lean back again
let me love you
let the sun beat
on our forgetfulness
one hour of all
the heat intense
and summer lightning
on the Kilpatrick hills
let the storm wash the plates
-- Edwin Morgan
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