That church deserves to be on a Christmas card. Honestly, it does. I mean, steaned glass and EVERYTHING.
And the gold painted verses etched into the outer wall? AWESOME. And it loops around the church, surrounding it in Biblical advice.
And guess what's next to it.
Turn right, Short Stop's going to be across the street. Past the rusty pipes, but only a little bit. You'll laugh.
RIGHT next to this CHRISTmas-y church, there is a foot therapy center. Inside a chipped paint house, literally 3 feet from this church. Across some oxidized metal work, and there you go. Complete opposites. It's fucking modern art. That wasn't intended.
Anyways, I really like avoiding homework. Like, it's this game I play with the people in my head.
"You should do some...."
"Meh. Avicii."
"OH YEAH. AVICII. MORE."
There's this blank roll of paper menacingly glaring at me. It has a defined figure, accentuated by its rubberband belt.
Its pretty old too. Just check out those crinkles, and those rips. JESUS. Paper is pretty fragile, and has a short life span God forbid it even TOUCH water.
I might just have to finish "School's out... Forever" tonight. It's so bad. But so good. Well played, Sire Patterson.
There Meghan, a monthly blog post should be fine with you, no?
I might just have to take $0m3 scissors to this paper.
HOUSE MUSICCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCCC
Monday, May 7, 2012
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Add the Y
Hi there. What's your name? Puppy. I wonder why.
Hi there. What's your name? Beary. I wonder why.
Hi there. What's your name? Fluffy. I wonder why.
Looking through the sea of stuff in my room. And finding out what a creative child I was.
Hi there. What's your name? Beary. I wonder why.
Hi there. What's your name? Fluffy. I wonder why.
Looking through the sea of stuff in my room. And finding out what a creative child I was.
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Mouth Watering
Hello there dumpling.
You look really delicious.
Can I eat you now?
I will take my fork,
stab your skin, and love
every second.
While I am chewing,
I always feel so chinese
by using a fork.
(instead of chopsticks)
Haikus are fantastic. And so is filling a stomach with "just out of the pot" asian delicacies. Smelling the combination of raw garlic, soy sauce, and fried red pepper flakes. Hearing the loud slurps when the broth hidden inside squirts out in random bursts. Seeing the glow of the dining room chandelier sway and sweep over the table because someone accidentally bumped into it due to their height.
I really like random moments like this.
You look really delicious.
Can I eat you now?
I will take my fork,
stab your skin, and love
every second.
While I am chewing,
I always feel so chinese
by using a fork.
(instead of chopsticks)
Haikus are fantastic. And so is filling a stomach with "just out of the pot" asian delicacies. Smelling the combination of raw garlic, soy sauce, and fried red pepper flakes. Hearing the loud slurps when the broth hidden inside squirts out in random bursts. Seeing the glow of the dining room chandelier sway and sweep over the table because someone accidentally bumped into it due to their height.
I really like random moments like this.
Saturday, March 24, 2012
Just Finish It.
Okay, list of things you want to do in life. As written out in a tangent filled format.
1. Stop using the word pretentious. It makes you sound pretentious. And you didn't even know the actual meaning of the word completely until two days ago. If you didn't know yourself, you would be thinking that you're trying to impress someone. Funny.
2. Finish Mockingjay already. Get off that procrastination streak you have there and just finish it. You want to know the ending. You know that Gale is terrible, but deep down, you still remember when he was the cool one that took Prim away in the the first book's reapings. But you also know that he'll abandon Katniss. And that she ends up with Peeta. And forever be shipped as feline excetion or the male reproductive organ. And the epilogue will by cheesy. God, shoot me now, it's going to be terrible. The epilogues in books all are. Is Katniss going to name her children Finnick Seneca Mellark? Oh God. Stop with the Harry Potter references now. You're better than that. And Suzanne Collins is better than that. But she's not better than Battle Royale. You love that movie. It's fucking amazing. Sorry the angst is coming out of you in floods now, because that's what that movie was about, right? The hope lost in the teenage generation causing the deaths of 40 kids. Oh God, you're terrible. That movie was bloody. And sick. But you still loved it. And you do, but no one else knows it, and you're dying to talk to someone about it. But people are lame. And none of them want to watch it because of their love of the Hunger Games. You're 5 chapters away. Just finsh it already.
3. You want to be that author. That one where the topic can't be copied. That one where it'll just be your book on the book shelves of Barnes and Nobles that has that one idea. And maybe even Borders. Not Borders. Borders died. It was so much nicer though. There were college students instead of middle aged glasses wearing tablet clutching people trying to connect to wifi while sipping their book store cafe coffee. Yeah okay. You don't buy books. You read them though. Oh God you do. You stayed up that one night reading The Fault in our Stars. You cried. It was great. But it wasn't JK Rowling great. And you want to be that great. You don't have any idea what you want to do though. Every idea you have is a generic, verge of plagerization, idea. But when did that matter? You think it hasn't because you've read enough books where the ugly main character girl is desirable in no way whatsoever, and yet she get the beautiful yet mysterious guy that everyone thinks is so attractive, and smart, and PERFECT. But God, the girl's got a secret, that the guy has too. They bond over that secret, and then they fall in love. The terrible "I love you and nothing can ever go wrong between us" kind of love. But then, a fallout happens. You wish you remembered that word that you might have learned in English that meant "a fallout" or something. Because then, reverting back to goal #1, you can sound smart. And awesome. Smawesome. There you just came up with a new word. You're proud. And gloating and probably pretty ashamed of yourself because you know that the reader of this will probably think you're some insane person. You know you're insane though. Side tracked. You're sorry. They fall back in love. Live happily ever after. Fin. Terrible. You know it's terrible. But since you have no idea for a great masterpiece novel, you're working on your acknowledgements page instead. You want to thank everyone. Mom, dad, dog, lack of sleep, stress, publisher. Hah. Keep dreaming, kid. But God while you're writing that book, you've realized that you're never going to be a biologist. Like you wanted to be. You wanted to become a plant breeder that made hybridized plants. Tomatoes that tasted like blueberries. PhD in that. You made that plan in the summer after 8th grade. You're going to write this in your acknowledgements. With a note to your 9th grade biology teacher. That she herself, with no one else's help, has successfully caused the loss of interest in biology of an up and coming dreamer. And you're going to thank her. Not as though she deserves it, but because you deserve it. Because without the lack of interest in biology, you probably wouldn't have looked into writing. Yeah, write that fucking book already.
1. Stop using the word pretentious. It makes you sound pretentious. And you didn't even know the actual meaning of the word completely until two days ago. If you didn't know yourself, you would be thinking that you're trying to impress someone. Funny.
2. Finish Mockingjay already. Get off that procrastination streak you have there and just finish it. You want to know the ending. You know that Gale is terrible, but deep down, you still remember when he was the cool one that took Prim away in the the first book's reapings. But you also know that he'll abandon Katniss. And that she ends up with Peeta. And forever be shipped as feline excetion or the male reproductive organ. And the epilogue will by cheesy. God, shoot me now, it's going to be terrible. The epilogues in books all are. Is Katniss going to name her children Finnick Seneca Mellark? Oh God. Stop with the Harry Potter references now. You're better than that. And Suzanne Collins is better than that. But she's not better than Battle Royale. You love that movie. It's fucking amazing. Sorry the angst is coming out of you in floods now, because that's what that movie was about, right? The hope lost in the teenage generation causing the deaths of 40 kids. Oh God, you're terrible. That movie was bloody. And sick. But you still loved it. And you do, but no one else knows it, and you're dying to talk to someone about it. But people are lame. And none of them want to watch it because of their love of the Hunger Games. You're 5 chapters away. Just finsh it already.
3. You want to be that author. That one where the topic can't be copied. That one where it'll just be your book on the book shelves of Barnes and Nobles that has that one idea. And maybe even Borders. Not Borders. Borders died. It was so much nicer though. There were college students instead of middle aged glasses wearing tablet clutching people trying to connect to wifi while sipping their book store cafe coffee. Yeah okay. You don't buy books. You read them though. Oh God you do. You stayed up that one night reading The Fault in our Stars. You cried. It was great. But it wasn't JK Rowling great. And you want to be that great. You don't have any idea what you want to do though. Every idea you have is a generic, verge of plagerization, idea. But when did that matter? You think it hasn't because you've read enough books where the ugly main character girl is desirable in no way whatsoever, and yet she get the beautiful yet mysterious guy that everyone thinks is so attractive, and smart, and PERFECT. But God, the girl's got a secret, that the guy has too. They bond over that secret, and then they fall in love. The terrible "I love you and nothing can ever go wrong between us" kind of love. But then, a fallout happens. You wish you remembered that word that you might have learned in English that meant "a fallout" or something. Because then, reverting back to goal #1, you can sound smart. And awesome. Smawesome. There you just came up with a new word. You're proud. And gloating and probably pretty ashamed of yourself because you know that the reader of this will probably think you're some insane person. You know you're insane though. Side tracked. You're sorry. They fall back in love. Live happily ever after. Fin. Terrible. You know it's terrible. But since you have no idea for a great masterpiece novel, you're working on your acknowledgements page instead. You want to thank everyone. Mom, dad, dog, lack of sleep, stress, publisher. Hah. Keep dreaming, kid. But God while you're writing that book, you've realized that you're never going to be a biologist. Like you wanted to be. You wanted to become a plant breeder that made hybridized plants. Tomatoes that tasted like blueberries. PhD in that. You made that plan in the summer after 8th grade. You're going to write this in your acknowledgements. With a note to your 9th grade biology teacher. That she herself, with no one else's help, has successfully caused the loss of interest in biology of an up and coming dreamer. And you're going to thank her. Not as though she deserves it, but because you deserve it. Because without the lack of interest in biology, you probably wouldn't have looked into writing. Yeah, write that fucking book already.
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