this is not a love song. it's a sonnet.

Lost - Cool Calm Pete

in honor of formality and traditonal poetry, i give you Francisco Petrarch. enjoy.

Sonnet 333

My sad verse, go to the harsh stone
that hides my precious treasue in the earth,
call to her there, she will reply from heaven,
though her mortal part is in a low, dark place.
Say to her, I'm already tired of living,
of navigating through these foul waves:
but gathering up the scattered leaves,
step by step, like this, I follow her,
only I go speaking of her, living and dead,
yet alive, and made immortal now,
so that the world can know of her, and love her.
Let it please her to watch for my passing,
that is near now: let us meet together, and her
draw me, and call me, to what she is in heaven.


Francisco Petrarch

our words have formed a death sentence.

this weekend was full of fun and games, but now it's time to get down to business. i need to focus, focus, focus.

priorities as follows:
1. escuela
2. 6:01
3. 1000 moments
4. barfly art show

get that b boy stance.

i dream of being coordinated enough to get down like this. unfortunately my equilibrium is equivalent that that of a three year old. i guess i'll have to come to terms with my role as an awe-struck spectator.

old lady.

i'm at my best when i'm at my worst
i'm at my worst when it's not rehearsed
i don't wanna know the goddamn words
i don't wanna have to spell it out
don't wanna mumble what i'm tryin to say
i wanna scream it from my foaming mouth.

what does it mean to be human?

sitting at eclipse. my belly is full of veggie lovers pizza and icky ale. questioning what it means to be human? beyond blood satiating the thirsty heart, pumping sustenance through arteries, veins and capillaries.

realize that this moment, in all of its ordinary glory, is the meaning. to partake in the pleasure of our senses, wash it down with a sexy gulp of delicious beer and to ask questions.

one must never stop asking questions.

droppin knowledge.

russel left this as a comment to my last posting. idk if he wrote it, it's a song or a poem, but it's pretty intense.

What happened to you?
You're not the same
Something in your head
Made a violent change
It's in your head
FILLER
You call it religion
You're full of shit
Was she really worth it?
She cost you your life
You'll never leave her side
She's gonna be your wife
You call it romance
You're full of shit
Your brain is clay
What's going on?
You picked up a bible
And now you're gone
You call it religion
You're full of shit
FILLER

thatz whatz up.
correlates with a quote my coworker dropped. had to write it down.
"you are who you pretend to be. so, be careful who you pretend to be."
kurt vonnegut

at work today this young man traveling from south america asked what he should order. i suggested a milkshake, because they're delicious. duh. and HE HAD NEVER HAD ONE BEFORE. so, i made him a scrumptious mocha milkshake with a proposterous amount of whipped cream. the whole cafe watched as he took his first sip. his reaction was priceless! (he loved it, as to be expected) and everyone proceeded to clap. it was a perfect moment. my milkshakes bring all the boyz to the yard, damn right.

AND.
i let a ton of people sketch/write in my trusty notebook this weekend. marvin, ryan, tony, loco homeless gentleman, danielle and some people i don't know. i kind of like having other people contribute to my pages. if you see me out and about ask me for my notebook. draw me a pretty picture, write me a poem.

no more ego, please.

Dont Be Cruel - Elvis Presley

when we focus more on individual advancement than our undeniable connectivity, we further separate ourselves from truth. the result being ideas of grandeur, who is better and those who are not. it's all talk and there is too much going around. stop with the ego.

love your neighbor.
love your enemy.
just be.

mumbo jumbo.

i got to talk to bradon yesterday. he was in bangkok, and now he's on his way to the full moon party (in laos? maybe idk) so here's a global shout out to my favorite b boy. i miss you and your shenanigans. show them what's really good.



west side, sucka.

we the living.

i barely had time to breathe today. being busy is a lovely distraction from all of the mundanity, but as to be expected, it gets stressful. after about six cups of coffee (those one dollar refills get me every time) that reliable anxiety began to tighten in my chest. then, out of nowhere, a little guardian angel came to provide some natural sedation.

this random guy in one of my classes, whom i've never talked to, gave me a book. We the Living by Ayn Rand. if you aren't familiar, she's the author of The Fountainhead. he said that me and my writing reminded him of the heroine of the novel.

i haven't begun the book yet (i have absolutely no time for leisure this week), but i read the teaser synopsis located right before the foreword:

"In a bitter struggle of the individual against the collective, three people stand forth with the mark of the unconquered in their bearing: Kira, who wants to be a builder, and the two men who love her- Leo, an aristocrat, and Andrei, a communist. What happens to the defiant ones? What happens to those who succumb? Who are the winners in this conflict? Against a vivid panorama of political revolution and personal revolt, Ayn Rand offers an answer that challenges the modern conscience."

it was a very sweet gesture, and really helped me to step back for a second to calm down. good things happen when you least expect it :)

this is for the working class.

why my life is awesome.

you know when everything comes together. inner contentment is mirrored by outward blessings. that would be my life. currently. i'll give you a little rundown, because i want to share the joy.

1. i am officially employed 2. 6:01 rehearsals everyday are phenomenal. surrounded by intelligent/like-minded/hillarious people. working together towards a common goal. [buy your tickets now, i have plenty] 3. getting back a sizable amount on my tax returns. which means i can pay my medical/book bills. oh, holla. 4. i'm meeting people that are actually worth meeting, all the time. 5. writing incessantly. 6. my bike just a got a tune up and rides beautifully. and i ride everyday. 7. going to at least two shows per week. 8. gettin published. 9. living situation is perfect.
10.

all in all, i'm at peace. THANK THA GOOD LAWD JEZUS. metaphorically speaking, of course.

biggest little city in the world.

oh, reno, you are the love of my life. sometimes, late at night, when i'm riding home i'll see a tumbleweed dance across the street, in honor of saloons and cowboy westerns. this town is boisterous, melancholy and gawdy. i love it.

s'all good.

i do stupid things.

baby's got the blues.

15 Step - Radiohead

LAST CALL
Kim Addonizio

It's the hour when everyone's drunk
and the bar turns marvelous, music
swirling over the red booths,
smoke rising from neglected cigarettes as in each glass
ice slides into other ice, dissolving;
it's when one stranger nudges another
and says, staring at the blurred rows of pour spouts,
I hear they banned dwarf-tossing in France,
and the second man nods
and lays his head on the bar's slick surface,
not caring if he dies there, wanting, in fact, to die there
among the good friends he's just met, his cheek
in a wet pool of spilled beer.
It's when the woman in the corner gets up
and wobbles to the middle of the room,
leaving her blouse draped over a stool. Someone is buying
the house a final round, the cabs are being summoned,
and the gods that try to save us from ourselves
are taking us by the neck, gently,
and dropping us into the night, it's the hour
of the blind, and the dead, of lost loves
who come to claim you, finally, holding open
the swinging door, repeating over and over
a name that must be yours.

photoshop.

i love me some political vandalism. in berlin, this advertisement dawning brittney spears, leona lewis and christina aguillera was enhanced by some faceless rogue. they very tastefully made the images appear as if they were being edited in photoshop.



what a statement, mocking the standards of beauty imposed by a patriarchal society. these women above are obviously beautiful, but is it true? absolutely not. true beauty is any woman that defines beauty according to her own standards. she may or may not adhere to societal trends, wear make up, desire a fit body but there is also a recognition that being aesthetically pleasing is not their only asset. true beauty is intelligence. true beauty is waking up in the morning with a scratchy voice-disheveled hair-bad breath. true beauty is unencumbered laughter.

true beauty is whatever you are, just as you are. that may be horribly cliche, but it's cliche for a reason.

martin luther.

bella.

The original Martin Luther was one badass cat (not that MLK wasn't). He posted his Ninety-Five Theses right on the doors of a Roman Catholic church. This text was a literary cannon, with ninety-five points precisely aimed at the corruption of traditional Church doctrine. Luther boldly attacked the pope and all established teachings of moral virtue and by what means salvation had to be attained. Without Luther, the Protestant Reformation never would have happened, and they would never have been subject to the prosecution of a religiously biased monarchy. Basically, the need for American colonization would not have arisen, because duders would still have been practicing traditional Roman Catholicism. Gnarly.

being cool

is uncool. promise.

for brittney carratelli. mi corazon.

i'm currently in the computer lab at school, procrastinating before i am forced to sit through over an hour of mathematical equations which my mind refuses to accept willingly. i've been chit-chatting with one of my favorite people in the entire world, brittney carratelli, who i left down in warm san diego :(

amidst our conversation, we came to the conclusion that our lives are basically one big rap video. i'm telling you, someone should document this. you'd make bank for sure.

how so, you ask?

1. we are I-N-D-E-P-E-N-D-E-N-T womenz. don't think cuz you buy us dinner we gon' like you. please trust, a diva is a female version of hustla', and we be hustlin.

2. we roll on dubs. in my case, on a bike on dubs, and in brittney's case in her tiburon aka t.pain.

3. boys have the propensity to think we're actually into them, "on they're nuts", if you will. when in fact we just playin the game better than even big pun. please believe we understand the inner workings of a male mind. we sleep with you, if in fact, we aren't "on your nuts". why? once a woman sleeps with a man, he loses interest, and so, if you really like someone, generally, we refrain from intercourse as a means of out smartting the male species. in other words, don't be braggin that you got some.

4. it is a consistent habit to speak in ebonicz. terms such as playa, sucka, scrilla, wreck shop, do work, keep it real, oh, holla, etc. etc. are commonplace in our well-versed vocabularies.

5. 151 and orange soda is our drink of choice. especially when in search of t.i. i'm telling you.
SNAP, CRACKLE, MOTHA'FUCKA GOT POPPED.

6. infatuation with all things fried. in brittney's case chicken fingers, and mine chocolate. a fried snickers is where it's at.

7. we got haterz, and we don't give a fuck.

8. we drop knowledge at the clubz. i'm talking double fistin' crunk cups on the dance flo'. ALL NIGHT LONG. in honor of lionel richie. cuz we keep it old school.

9. andres 3.99 champagne is a staple in our repertoire of social outtings. ghetto fabulous. mickey's is so fraternity boy 40 oz. hands.

10. we are all too familiar with bitches and hos. we're probably making fun of you girls. in your downtown shirt dresses and wobbly heels. ya'll don't know how to keep it classy. it's okay, we know it's a tough job, and we'll let you girls do it.

11. there is no denying we keep it real, but i have to go to class. so this is all you get.

and brittney, i miss you.

and reader, watch this. laugh.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R7yfISlGLNU

grammys.

now that's what i call swagger. so punk.

lust.

in honor of st. valentine's day.
my friend EJ's video. lust.

es muy caliente.

things you don't talk about.

there are things you just don't talk about. those are generally the things that need the most talking. the things that most need a friend to listen to. instead we plaster on a smile, and try to face the world with our troubles, insecurities and sorrow held captive by clenched teeth.

sexuality.

i was raised in a very christian home. as a child, my mother would force my siblings and i to evangelical churches with congregations that spoke in tongues. for those of you who aren't familiar with the relatively new phenomenon of speaking in tongues, it occurs when a group of persons is blessed with the holy spirit. the product being temporary epilepsy, as they all begin to shake, murmur words that they themselves can't even decipher, and at times, cry?

in my sunday school courses we were taught the right way to be good little girls and boys. as i grew, the subject matter went from g rated to pg-13, and sex became the hot subject. obviously, our young impressionable minds were molded to believe that you were to wait to have sex until you were married. if one did otherwise, it was no longer sacred. or as my mother put it when she came to the realization i was no longer a virgin, "now you have to wear a black fucking wedding dress."

in addition to the sexual stigmas associated with religion, society impregnated it's opinion of sexuality as being negative when attributed to women. sex was always correlated with the promiscuous girls. the kind of girl that wears them short shorts just to get male attention, to be followed up with private attention, and sexual experimentation. the story always ending in the same way, that girl became the slut, whore, and any other derogatory term we adolescents could secure to the females' actions.

from childhood to adolescence, sexuality, espeically in women, is tabu. granted post high school years allow unprecedented sexual freedom, but in my case, there is always underlying guilt for any sexuality i express. i recognize the idiocy of such emotions, yet my subconscious works so hard to make something as sublime as sharing my body with another a matter to be ashamed of if there isn't a traditional courting process.

it's ridiculous. sexual expression with another person is one of the most beautiful things one can do, if you allow it be such. so, fuck a tabu. i'm not in any way advocating promiscuous behavior, but i am rejecting traditional ideas of in what context sex should happen. women should be strong and confident in their sexuality. i intend to be.

p.s. in honor of sexuality, read your horoscope.
http://www.nerve.com/Regulars/Horoscopes/02_02_09/

denny's.

free grand slam at denny's today from 6am-2pm. if you didn't take full advantage of the artery clogging glory of a free diner breakfast, you're retahded.

2012?

i'm currently reading 2012: Return of Quetzalcoatl, and coincidentally i came across an organization called The Institute for Human Continuity. i'm sure you've heard that the Mayan calendar ends on December 12, 2012. numerous scientists, anthropologists and writers alike interpret this as being the date of catastrophic events that will greatly change life as we know it.

there are also critics who state that in every generation there are apocalyptic prophecies predicting the end of civilization. so far i haven't formed an opinion whatsoever, but if most of the earth's population/ecosystems are to be wiped out, i better get to my travels.

undah presha'.

these cats are amazing.



this weekend is full of deadlines. i know some people proudly proclaim that they work better when they procrastinate, or when they're on deadline persay. i think you're all lying. the only reason people say that is because they are actually producing something. strict deadlines make me even more scatter brained than my normally abnormal manic state. you can only imagine what my desk looks like. paper with scribbled notes everywhere, and i'm supposed to compile finished pieces out of these half-thoughts. my used and re-used coffee cup (proudly dawning the rings of many a late night), a fantastic black pen that decided to explode all over my hand and a banana peel? on top of it all i'm addicted to biggie this week; i'm listening to that suicidal thoughts track off of ready to die over and over. there are no suicidal thoughts going on by any means, but i have this intense urging to holla at some mickey's and shoot dice. i should probably put something less badass on, like fall out boy or katy perry.

just a couple tidbits.

1. if gibbons manages to pass the most atrocious act against education since no child left behind, i will personally wreck shop on his face. 30% budget cuts, pshttt.

2. got a sweet new bike. went on a ride tonight and got two flat tires. the universe is laughing at me.

3. i'll leave you with some face melting Rosseau:

In consequence of seeing each other often, they could not do without seeing each other constantly. A tender and agreeable mode of sentiment insinuated itself into the soul, which the least opposition converted into an impetuous fury: love gave birth to jealousy; discord triumphed, and human blood was sacrificed to the gentlest of all the passions.

get all warm and fuzzy inside. sleep sweet. xo.

Love, with Trees and Lightning

I've been thinking about what love is for.
Not the dramatic part where he gathers
until he is as purposeful inside her
as an electric storm. Not when he breaks
into a thanks so bright it leaves her split
like a tree. (How we all jolt back, our picnic
ten shades lighter, our hands clapped over awe
that is too big for our mouths, our raw hearts
more tender now that they're a little burned.)

No, not the connecting and charring part.
(After all, nothing we like to call lightning
stays very long among the branches.)
But the two of them, afterwards, tasting
the electricity. Nibbling the charge
on the ions. When her soul has already
risked coming to meet him at the wide open
window of her skin. When what is left
of his body still feels huge, and he sits draped
in his fine, long coat of animal muscles
but uses all this strength to be human
and almost imperceptible. They curl up,
make their bodies the same size, draw promises
in one another's juices. "You," they say.
I love it when they say that.

-excerpt from Love, with Trees and Lightning
-Catie Rosemurgy

hella grub.

over the past nine months or so i have developed an accute appreciation for food that is readily available. to be clear, the luxury of having food in one's pantry and refrigerator. what a novelty, i know. in being an almost entirely self-sufficient young woman, with almost no true marketable skills (besides your standard waitressing/sales/mindless entry level position kind of skills), food is truly a BLESSING, as is cash moneyz.

i have had two, yes TWO, home-cooked meals in the past TWO days. absolutely fantastic.

in 2009 i pledge to not eat bisquick pancakes or instant pasta and prego. though, i do have a healthy respect for said economical foods, i don't think i can stomach any more overly processed affordable starches.

college is worth it, if not for the knowledge, for the security of a full pantry.
kidding. going to school is cool. get educated, ya'll.

i love LETTERS!

i love letters. write me!

in loving memory.

leo, a lonely man, died of a massive heart attack on wednesday evening.

leo had an estranged daughter, and his siblings all live in europe. leo loved budweiser and cigarettes. leo made cakes for a living, and he died alone.

leo, who always called me little one, i hope you rest in peace. you were a sad man, but a good one.

dude is fiyah.

neil young like a hurricane from mary davis on Vimeo.

WHAT'S REALLY GOOD.

wall animation video by Blu.

this artist is phenomenal. enjoy :)


MUTO a wall-painted animation by BLU from blu on Vimeo.

once upon a time.

mama angel
told her little bird
that she'd never
drink again,
never hurt her
again.
mama angel
never meant any harm,
she never wanted
to lie.

-chelsie.

organized religion.

religion is a means of universal mind control for people that need someone to tell them what morality is, how to live their life, help abate loneliness, and to attempt answering questions that are unanswerable.

i guess everyone needs something to believe in.

full moon.

tonight, the moon is the biggest and the brightest it's going to be all year.

i keep getting this butterfly type feeling, for no apparent reason. strange things are happening. or there's always the possibility that i just drank too much coffee.

i prefer my superstitions.

birds.

i don't know what i believe in. if i were to believe in reincarnation, i'd say i was a bird in my past life. one that fell from the nest early on, but loved to migrate.a gypsy of sorts.

sometimes i forget how to use my wings, but they're in working order again.

changed my forever.

i left the a piece of strange album by cunninlynguists playing on the computer when my popz needed to use it. i could hear him humming along to the melodies from the living room. i came in thirty minutes later. direct quote, "i'm diggin these tunes, chels."

made me smile. hip hop for all ages, son.

current songs on repeat:

Hellfire -CunninLynguists
Song Cry -Jay Z
Like a Hurricane -Neil Young
I Want You -Common
Halfway Home -TV on the Radio
Electric Feel -MGMT
Silently -Clara Moto ft. Mimu

tupac.

Did you hear about the rose that grew
from a crack in the concrete?
Proving nature's law is wrong it
learned to walk with out having feet.
Funny it seems, but by keeping it's dreams,
it learned to breathe fresh air.
Long live the rose that grew from concrete
when no one else ever cared.

-mr. tupac shakur

speaks for itself.