[NOTE: found this on my external hard drive. wrote it when i was 18~19. don't remember writing it]

Her heart raced as she watched the feud continue. They yelled and yelled at each other until both of their voices were shot and both of their tempers had cooled to fits of stubborn frustration. Something bad had happened. Father had done it. Mommy was mad. That was all she knew. Her and her mother's eyes finally met and her mother realized that she had seen the whole bout from the kitchen door. She ran to her. Her father pursued moving sharply, and was met by her mother's hoarse voice screeching threats. Her mother lifted her and ran for the door. Her father yelled in a commanding, controlled voice. Her mother stopped, turned slowly, looked coldly into his enraged eyes and said, "I never really loved you, Andrew Johnson. Never." That was the last time she saw her father.

"This is cool," I'm thinking to myself, and subconsciously I'm being reassured. "It doesn't hurt". That's the funny thing about this. He's just like every other boy here. He's overly excited, snobby, typically showing what are usually considered signs that ridolin should be included in his morning routine. The only difference is he's not afraid. From the get-go he was nothing but smiles and touches. Every other boy has been all about under-practiced attempts at subtle approaches and making timid, if not frustratingly slow progress on the physical front. But the truth is, I'm not sure if this is what I want. It's scary to see that he always knows what I want. It's like he knows me, but what part of me? I think I love him. But I'm not sure...

Yesterday I was in Patel's class watching a video about molecular structure or some shit, and I realized that he had fallen asleep. I laughed to myself and was about to lie my head down when I noticed his face in the door window. My heart jumped and I waved to him giddily. He looked over to Patel's desk and saw him snoring rhythmically to the sound of the narrator's nasally, indecipherable voice on that stupid video and he took his chance to slip in. I freaked. Like the kind of scared but non-resistant sort of freaked. I was frantically beaming and mouthing "no, no, no" but he only smirked back and turned the doorknob. The light from the hall snuck in a little more than usual as he walked quietly but fearlessly in and I caught sight of him slipping something into his pocket. A present! I knew it! Or a note of course, but he wouldn't come in here if that's all he wanted to give me. I licked my lips in anticipation as he tip-toed comically passed Patel holding his finger, ridiculously over his lips. I slowly realized that I was falling in love with those antics. That goofy smile was getting to me. I did. I did love him. I couldn't wait to see what he had brought me. He pulled a chair out from the lab and slid it over next to me. He put his arm around my shoulder, sliding his hand across my neck and right under the collar of my shirt as he did. He kissed me on the cheek and said "hey baby" with a level of skill and just, perfection that I had never seen or heard. How did he develop these perfect antics, actions and words for me. At that moment he had me. He was a baker making this immaculate multi-layered cake for me. He had worked his way all the way up to the icing, that kiss. And then he pulled the cherry from his pocket. "I got you something," he said. And a small black velvet box appeared in his beautiful hands. Suddenly a thought shot through my mind. An image of my father flashing the same box before my mother's eyes, and her reaction. "I never really loved you". I love him right? I want this. I want this! No one should have to reassure themselves about something like this should they? I love him. opened the box before my eyes and they were earrings. I forgot what I was supposed to feel. Then I remembered his cake. And that cherry he topped it with. Earrings. He does love me.

He does love me right? This is love right? I am resisting on instinct. I'm new at all this. I just don't know how to love yet. Just let him kiss you. Kiss him back. Oh, that didn't know that I could feel...mmmm...I just...I just...then I feel that bump. That's the first time he's slipped. That...that wasn't subtle. That wasn't romantic. That was him trying to take a bite of the cake. The cake he had baked for me. I don't think I want this. No. No. "No". He ignored me and brought his arms down and around to my legs. I shouldn't have taken my pants off.

I'm not sure how I had lasted that long. As a virgin I mean. No bounds, not restrictions, my mom probably even thought I had been doing it for years. But...that was it. My first time. It was incredible. If I weren't so nervous it might have actually been the best experience of my...oh, man...ha...blood. Angie had said it was like that and...well, at least it's my bed. My bed. My first time, and with someone I really love. I really love him, and he loves m..."I'm gonna go now, baby".
"Wait, what?"
"Um...I have work tonight and, um...I dunno," he pulls up his pants and gives me a chuckle, "I gotta go, baby". Then he laughs. He laughs a laugh that takes me further than my comfort zone can reach. He puts the rest of his clothes on and...and he's gone. I don't know what just happened. What just happened between me and...and that Nester Marquez? He made that cake for himself didn't he? He pretended like it was mine, then he ate it, right in front of me. Right in front of me. Idiot. Idiot.

Once you start, how do you stop? Dancing I mean. My feet hurt like hell and all I can think of is...well...I guess I'm not thinking much. If the beat weren't thumping, if my legs weren't moving, and if I couldn't feel him rising each time I crossed him I would be thinking about the fact that Nester was only a few feet from me with that bitch, Angela. God I hate her...she's such a...oh, there he goes again, his hands, sliding down my waist. Under normal circumstances I would giggle and withdraw. I'm ticklish, if nothing else I'm ticklish. But the mood is making my nerves work differently. His hands, my waist. Hehe. It's working. I'm letting it work. And Angie's giving Nester the same treatment. Bitch. Bastard. I can't believe it. She knew. She knew! I always knew she was just a horny slut. Mmm, okay, I'm ready. I've been perfecting this. Perfect circles. That's what the other girls do. And the guys've all got straight faces but their nutting all over the place. Perfect circles. Hehe. You know, it's more than just the music.

I swear it's not revenge. I don't know revenge. I don't want...well...I can't do revenge. Sure I'm on the dance floor because I saw them get up and go. Sure I pulled him from his seat because I wanted to spar with that bitch. That traitor. My best friend. AGH! My BEST friend. But I'm not one for mean girl-style revenge. Besides, I actually like him. No. Not Nester. I...I hate...I miss...that's not the point. I LIKE this one. I pulled him out of his seat for two reasons, really. And now I'm letting him get to me. He's not smooth like Nester. It took him forever to get it up. Nester's probably been and gone. He's probably been WITH HER! But he hasn't left her. This guy, he's a nice guy. I wonder if he's ever done it before. That would hit the spot. I don't need this stress. Better not grind too hard. I might ruin my chance. Ha. I can't believe I'm thinking this. Okay. There. The song is over. "You likey?" I ask him.
"Hehe, yeah. Hehe. Um, you wanna go for a another one?"
"No. My feet hurt like hell. I need to rest." He looks disappointed. He needs reassurance if I want this to go right. "But next slow song," I put on the sultry smirk, "you have my number, boy." He beams. Of course, just then I spotted them. Behind that stupid cute smile there they were. Walking hand in hand. To spite me. To SPITE me. God. They slipped sluttishly passed him and Angie's eyes caught mine. She smirked, and the smile I had started to fade. His hand. I reached for it, almost instinctively. Defensively. He was surprised so it took him a second to really take it. But as soon as he did I knew. Virgin. He caught sight of them and absorbed a bit of my discomfort. That's what I needed. Friendly osmosis. Nester ignored me with a flawless performance. He had his eyes on one of his buddies during the whole uncomfortable transaction. I I can't...I...he...

"You know, this is my first time...and..."
"Don't's mine too."
"I don't...I..."
"Don't worry. Just..." I clasp my hand around his wrist. He's skinny for an athlete. Junior Varsity. A Senior in Junior Varsity. A Senior that's a virgin. Thank God I'm drunk. I guide his hand to my bare leg, and guide his arm to...oh, "Further up," The Button. Click. "Kiss me". He does. "Mmmm". It starts. Not like Nester,"John," I say, "Johnny P. Jenkins, work a little harder for me."

Johnny P. Jenkins Jr. was who...was WHAT I saw before my eyes. He...IT was lying in a pile of blood. Goddammit. FUCK. I...I couldn't believe it. Why the hell was I so adamant about it? Shit. "Let me see it". Let me see it, I had said. Fuck. There it was, dick and all. A boy. A mother fucking boy. Just like its fucking wait...Nester wasn't the...fuck. Shit. What had I done? No. I had to, I just...I couldn't have a baby. I couldn't bring another fucker into this world. Especially not MY fucker. Ha!

"You understand, don't you?" I searched his eyes, not just for the answer, but for meaning, for justification. I fucking well felt like I had murdered someone. Johnny Boy hadn't raped me. He probably fucking well knew it was his kid. I can't imagine what he must have felt the first time he saw me with a flat stomach. Now I was looking to THIS guy for answers. "Was I wrong?"
"It's not about whether you were wrong or not," he said sternly, absolution in his big blue eyes, "You feel guilty. You feel dirty. You feel lost. It's obvious that you're in pain. It's what you do about it that's important. God wants to absolve your guilt, to cleanse your heart, to show you the path you need to take. The soul of the boy that died that day in the clinic is with Christ. He doesn't want to hold you responsible. He wants to forgive you, renew you, give you his love, so that one day you can join him, and your son, in Heaven."
I was bawling. The tears wouldn't stop. How? How could he say that? How could anyone ever make this pain go away? I want...I want Nester. I want him here! By my side to tough it out with!! I don't want some inviso-being with super-spiritual cleaning ability. I want someone to hold me. Wipe my tears. Wipe my tears! WIPE MY TEARS! Please. Just tell me it will be alright.
"It will be alright."
"How!?" I screamed through a stream of liquified suffering, pain, and guilt. He pulled out a handkerchief and handed it to me. No. You! YOU, wipe my tears!! I took it and wiped my face. I blew my nose in his face, just to spite him. "How will it be alright?"
"I don't know," he said honestly. "But...but I know it will be. Look, God loves you. He won't let any harm come to you that you don't want yourself. Ask him for help, and he'll give it."
Bullshit. These aren't answers. This is cancer-treatment!! No matter how long I go to fucking church, act fucking pricky and stuck-up, and pray to fucking Go-odd my shit's always going to be in remission, and all I'll need is one thought of Nester, of my first time, that blood, THAT blood...and...and...I might as well just fucking kill myself.
"I love you."
What? I must have looked stunned. He turned the oddest shade of red I have ever seen on a white person. "What did you say?" I asked.
"I...I love you."
No one. Not one man on the planet had said that to me and meant it. What the hell did he expect me to do? He had no plan. Bullshit me about my guilt, bullshit me about God, bullshit me about forgiveness, and now he's bullshitting me with...that look...he...he looks so honest. No. No fucking way. No man has ever loved me and no man ever will. All this is just a sickeningly weak ruse to get me in bed just like every other bastard's tried. This is just the weakest one so far. I love you. Shut the fuck up Christian bitch-faced-mother-fucking-bastard. I hate you.
"No," I said, "no, I can't...I don't feel the same way."
"That's okay." What? "I love you anyway." WHAT? "In fact, I've loved you since the first day I met you." Two months ago? "I...I don't know if I should say this..." Don't. "But I want to spend my life with you." Shut up. "I don't know, but I think that God has destined us to be together." Shut the fuck up. "I love you more than I love life and, well...this is totally weird, but, will you marry me?"
I had never before encountered that level of bullshit. I had never encountered that level of unskillfulness and lack of play before. How could anyone be so stupid? So socially inept to say or even THINK of that? I was flabberghasted. I simply pulled the cord, "stop requested", we stopped, and I walked off the bus without another word to him. I didn't even look back.

Shit. I still have that handkerchief. Shit.

I don't ride the R12 anymore. I catch the C16 and transfer to the C20 just to AVOID the R12. Everyday. To get here.
"Hey there beautiful!"
"Hey Boss."
"Oh, don't call me that!"
"Ha, okay." She puts her hand on my shoulder. She looks over my other shoulder at the computer screen.
"How are the numbers looking?"
"Well I was just checking the net. Stock indexes are up. Which is corresponding directly with the boom in sales over the last quarter. I can't believe we've made so much progress over the past two months."
"It's all because of you, babe." Oh, just go ahead and flatter me. "Not a thing we've done has helped us as much as your work, your recommendations. You know, you are an extremely intelligent girl." She's caressing my shoulder and has pulled closer to my face. Her eyes have met mine. They almost look motherly. They've got that little arched lower lid that I've always envied. And they're accented with just enough wrinkles to give away her age. She's young and pretty for a CFO. Then those eyes flicker toward my lips. She bites her own. She's...she's hitting on me.
"Thanks Boss...I...I mean..."
"Don't worry about it. Just remember, call me by my name." I smile nervously and she pulls away. "You know, it's getting late. do you want to go out for a drink? I know this incredible little bar-slash-club just down fifth ave. You want to join me?"
I hesitate. She...she's asking me out. No. I'm hallucinating. I...I... "I...I would love to."

"Guys are the real sluts!" I slur. Five martinis are floating around in my jerky, nauseated stomach. I don't hold my liquor well and I get drunk way too fast. Too fucking thin. "Fucking every ass they see! EVERY FUCKING ASS!! And what do they have? Not an ounce of remorse! Fucktards. All of them." She's on the floor, rolling back and forth. She can't. stop. laughing. It's a fucking riot. I giggle to myself and notice that she's had at least six more drinks than me. She gets up to a kneel and sets her hand on the bar.
"I know! It's the same everywhere! Guys are sluts. Bottom line." She sits on her stool and signals for another drink. She turns to me and looks deep into my eyes with those arched lids. "They don't understand the deep, deep emotional complexity we have. They just don't! It's something about not having PMS."
"HA!" I burst.
"Or a period. All that blood that just transitions from brain to dick, brain, dick. There's no outlet. They don't feel pain. They don't understand what it's really like to love AND lose."
"Yeah. Yeah."
"I don't even think their blood even has time to pass through their shriveled little hearts, it spends so much time in their dicks." She takes a swig and I lose it again. She's so funny. Where...where has she been all my life?
"Where have you been all my life?"
"Right here baby. Right here for you." She puts her arm around my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. I love her. She's so great. I've never met a girl who could understand me like that. We just click. She takes another swig and catches the olive in her mouth. She sets down the glass with perfect elegance. Then. Then she pulls the toothpick from her olive and holds it sexily between her lips. She turns to me and our vibes synchronize. She moves in, I react in perfect harmony. Our lips meet. Our lips part. Slowly at first the olive rolls between our tongues and screams this perfect sort of satisfaction. Why doesn't this happen when I kiss guys? It's that blood thing. It's their focus. They don't want love, they want a climaxing satisfaction. This. This is perpetual. I could do this forever. I COULD do THIS FOR-E-VER. But it slips. slipped. It's caught.'s caught! I'm choking. She withdraws and searches my eyes urgently. I'm scared she's too drunk to react. I'M CHOKING. My mind screams to her.
"Oh God! Oh God! You're choking aren't you?" I nod. She jumps off the stool and almost slips in her stilettos. She tip-toe-runs behind me and starts the Heimlich. Once! No good. Twice!! That was good! Try it! Try it again!!! I scream with my hands. Three!!! It jumps. But not enough. It's still lodged in my throat. No air. No air. I...I can't breath still! I. CAN'T. BREATHE. Four! I. CAN'T. BREA....Five! BAM!!! It's out!! I scream for air! Air in. Air out. It's in. It's out. It's in. It comes out as a chuckle. She runs in front of me, grabbing my shoulders. There's a look of motherly concern on her face. I chuckle again. Her face changes instantly to a confused half-smile. I'm half-chuckling, gasping for air and finally I get it out.
"Thanks," gasp, "Boss." Her smile disappears.
"That...that's it." She says drunkly. "This has been quite the night. Quite the night. A little bit too exciting for me. No offense...but...yeah...I...I think you're fired."
"Yeah. You''re fired." She reaches in her wallet and drops a Benjamin on the bar. "Keep the change."
"You can't fire me! I'm...I'm you're best resource. You can't fire me! I made you who you are!"
Her back is to me. She's walking for the door. "Don't flatter yourself, bitch." She turns her face in my direction. " know what? You owe me your life! Ha! Yeah! It's been fun...but I'm through. I'm through with you."
Bitch! Lip-fucking, half-hearted, gut-wrenching bitch! "You're just like every other guy! You sluuu..!" Oops. There it is. Breakfast, lunch and dinner...and five glasses of the worst martini I've ever had...all over my suit, my skirt, my shoes and the floor. I look up, embarrassed. She just chuckles arrogantly and walks. She walks right out of the door. Right out of my life. I should have known. Angela. That name has never let me down. Angela Crenshaw, CFO, Bitch-Ass Enterprises Incorporated. I'm never drinking alcohol again. Or trusting a girl named Angela for that matter.

It was one of those overly-sentimental mother-daughter moments.
"I'm so proud of you," Please, don't be, "Even after losing little Johnny, getting laid off of your job, and finding out you had that God-forsaken disease, you're still on your feet and making decisions for yourself! Thank you, honey. You're an inspiration to me."
"Mom, I..." I was going to tell her that I didn't have the HIV, but, seeing as I had rewritten my history concerning the other two stories I figured I might as well let her think at least one truly traumatic thing had happened to me. Especially because of the tears. I just LET her be proud for a few minutes. "...I love you."
She did that choked-up grimace and head-shake that always precedes a hug. "I love you too honey!"
As we cuddled, for an uncomfortably long time...over the table, I noticed that one of the waiters at another table was staring at me...once again, for a an uncomfortably long time. He looked familiar. In fact, he struck me with this feeling of deep, heavy nausea. As my mother's hold loosened I realized it was him. R12 boy. The weirdo who had said he loved me. He loved me. I couldn't believe it. THIS was where he works? Mr. High and Mighty with all the answers is a waiter? Welcome to Weird O'Malley's House of Cow Feces, my name is...
"...Andrew, I'll be your waiter today. Would you like something to drink?"
Call it instinct, fear, wigging out...whatever it was, I stood up and left. I did it with my mother watching, with little red-headed Andrew standing there with his pen and pad, waiting to take my order. I don't ever want to see him again. I don't ever want to feel this kind of nausea again. It's worse than the flu. It's worse than food poisoning. Just seeing him makes me want to die in a way that no lesser being than my father himself could. I called a cab, turned off my phone, went home and vomited. I threw up everything I could find in myself to throw up, my lunch, my heart, my memories, my past, my guilt. I wrenched from my self everything that shouldn't be there.
I purged myself completely of all impurities and I masturbated to the perfect, synchronous, rhythm of Nester. Angel, god, infinite. And I thought of him over and over again until my body wouldn't convulse anymore, until my mind wouldn't imagine anymore, until I was nothing but me and perfection. Me and the only thing infinite. The only thing perfect. Only me and Andrew...ah, Nester! Nester...Nester...shit. It’s hopeless.

Hey, you. Yeah, you. Imagine that the floor is slowly disappearing from beneath your feet. It's not gone yet, just disappearing. Translucent. Just so much that you can see the worm trails and ant mazes that track just below the foundation of your house. See how the worms dance? See how the ants are sniffing the air for drinks? The club of wonders is always beneath your feet. You just have to get in tuned with that plane of existence. Find something to help you level off instead of constantly missing the important parts in between the highs and lows of life. The wind dances and the clouds commune. The waves jump, the currents flow, and the fish party to the beat of a different tune. And I'm pretty sure it's my tune they're dancing to.

I woke up in my sherpa's house in the most serene mood I'd ever been in. And it's not the morning after sex. It was the morning after a sublime round of puff, puff pass with the greatest group of people to ever grace the world with their existence, and bless me with their dharma. "How did you find this place?" you may ask. Well what I learned here is that the how is much less important than the why or the who, or more importantly, what, what you feel like. so I make a specific point not to linger on "how". How is not important, it's the fact that I DID find this place, and that I'm perfectly happy here. Well, almost perfectly.

I was tipped off by one of my fellow serenity engineers that this is not the end all be all psychedelica, nor is it the "best" way to forget past lives, pains, and anguish, but that there is something else that is like a thousand orgasms in every inch of your body, and that it never ends. Every time Nelson or any other memory jumps back into my system I am reassured that WHATEVER THAT is, is what I need. So I pursue it. I find myself asking people I don't know nor care to know "who" and "where" until finally I find "the house". I ring the bell and the intercom chimes to life.
"Who is it?"
"I'm here to fly."
"What’s your call and Song Bird."
"J'taime; Magnifique."
Click. "It's open."
I walk through the cast-iron gate and up the stairs, onto a flat with a dense aroma of incense and myrrh. I know there's a treasure of gold to be found, I can almost taste it. I walk into the room with the most sounds coming from it and find six or seven people sprawled out over the floor in various places around the room. This shit must be good, I think to myself. I spot the shooter, the source of all of these people’s euphoria.
“The greatness sent me.” I told him.
“No shit.” He replied and gestured, “Come here.”
As he waved me over he was in the middle of pouring powder into a spoon and lighting it. He did it all with finesse, impressively, with one hand up until the lighting part. Within the minute the powder was boiling and he grabbed a syringe.
“Hey,” He said, “use this belt and tie up your arm, at the base of your bicep.” By the time I did he had measured up the dose and was about to inject me. He stopped and asked, “First time?”
“Yeah,” I replied.
“Just keep your eyes closed. That’s the best way.”
The rush began the descent into the most inexplicable of experiences. Instantaneous overload of all senses. Imagine seeing more, smelling more, hearing more, tasting more, and simply physically feeling the perfect combination of undulating pleasure and pain-stricken tingling. No. You can’t imagine it. But that’s what I felt, and I just had to lie down as a result.
I could have done that every day for the rest of my life. In fact I made an honest attempt to.
I found myself a relatively non-violent junky boyfriend, a constant supplier and a flat of my own with months-worth of the best incense this side of the Caribbean. At some point in my hallucinating daze I made an attempt to call my mother. I gave her my address and phone number and another day passed. Or maybe a week, or a month. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t a year. But I guess it could have been. Either way I found myself dirt poor, dirt-Y, and just generally miserable. It had been too long since my last fix and I hadn’t had human contact since the day my boyfriend left for New York. Little did I know, this would be the perfect set up for an entirely different kind of set up.

What’s happening. This can’t be real. I just. I did everything right. He’s just watching me. This feels...this doesn’t feel good. Please...please....sirens. Sounds. Everything. Nothing. Alone....alone....I’m.......

a poem about a black person: a poetry collection

i sit on a futon
i lay with my girlfriend
i feel depressed
i pet my american eskimo dog
i make some macaroni and cheese
i watch millionaire matchmaker
i feel awful
my brother went fishing once and caught my friend’s sister, by her cheek
i smoke a cigarette
i look at the lawn
i think ‘i want milk’

feeling cold, i rock back and forth and shiver
i look at ice sheets on the ground
‘when will it snow again’
i stare at my dog, he stares back
when we move closer to the sun it feels warmer outside
indigestion is like a brief reminder of death
i spend time thinking of ways to ward off chronic depression
i watch californication
i imagine palm trees in my off time
i think ‘are people thinking about me right now’
i think ‘yes’
someone looks, there is a picture of an egret on the wall
i feel unwilling to move upward, from sitting to standing
i feel uninhibited by my humanity
i will become an alien eventually, moving from one planet to the next
when trees grow they think about being uninhibited and move outward
indigestion is like a recurring stab wound

once my dick got hard and i put it in my hand and then didn’t do anything else
there is never a fixed number of humans everywhere
hold on, i want alcohol
my favorite color is orange; afraid of it
i am also afraid of trees and their ubiquitous nature
human nature also dictates the necessity for ubiquity
i feel cold

i recently had an anxiety attack thinking about how awful anxiety attacks are
withholding information from your mate is a good way to drive them away from you
if i write another line of poetry will that do anything
dissecting the nature of books, ink, letters, words, paragraphs, pages, binding, book cover
when imagining sports i think of religion
when imagining religious practices i think of team workouts
black, red, yellow, blue
i’m rocking back and forth imagining deciduous trees
there is a deciduous tree in my house that someone murdered
warm, cold, warm cold
i went fishing once and pricked my finger on the hook while mounting a worm
the weather seems both bleak and hopeful to me
not being sure about myself feels comforting, in as much as potential seems possible
when i die, i want you to feed my ashes to dragons

my dog wears a saucer because he keeps licking a wound on his hind leg
once the apple core is reached, place the entire core into your mouth and suck
he studies fish mostly
he studies fish mostly
he studies fish mostly
androgynous humans have both an advantage and a disadvantage
i am unaware of what those are
i just thought ‘heathrow airport’
does fingerbanging count as fucking since lesbians count it as fucking
[profound statement]
awful, i am awful, i am not worth this or anything

someone has already done this before
someone has also already done this before
this referring to a meta, self-referential poem repeating something
someone has read a poem like this to an audience
the audience did not clap
you will not clap
just kidding
i will not read this aloud
just forgot how to spell ‘poetry’
start laughing please

this poem about a black person is going to be long
the poem will consist of almost one hundred lines of free verse
and few, if any, references to specific, well-known black people
this poem about a black person will, however remain strictly on point
because this poem has a purpose
this poem about black people will expand the horizon of your capacity for knowledge
it will be a poem that convinces you to be a meaner person
however this poem will not maintain any specific position on racial perspective
instead, it will be a poem about what it is supposed to be about:
about a black person
a black person who you would identify immediately as black in real life
from facial structure and vocal intonation
and this poem will continue to extrapolate on things you need to know
because you need to know about this black person
you need to know that black people are people
that they are not space aliens, as far as we know
black people, and specifically the black person this poem will be about, have things
some of the things are very serious, like facial expressions
sometimes the black person who this poem is about has sex
interestingly enough, and i put this line in scare quotes so you know there is implicit meaning, you have come to understand something important
this poem will be an informative poem
the information you will receive will lead to wisdom when dealing with black people
but it will do very little in the way of how you react to the black person it will be about
it will start like this: dear not black people, and will sound like a letter
it will be an editorial letter to non-black people
but that contains hard facts and evidence about the nature of black people and therefore it will reflect aspects of things you will find abstract but relevant to yourself
because there is exclusivity among humans
but all humans mostly seem to follow similar patterns
the black person who this poem will be about isn’t very different from other humans
there are things this black person is good at, and humans must experiment to find those things
what if the black person this poem will be about, went to mars
what if this black person ate a bologna sandwich
what if this black person didn’t know what black really meant
what if the inherent subjective relativity in meaning ceased to exist
there would be concrete things mentioned about this black person
non-black people would look at a black person out of the context of complex verbal communication
and communicate internally that the black person is black
people would walk around and only think without speaking and things would happen
and hypothetical situations would occur
and they would be mentioned in this poem
and this poem would convince you that being nonverbal and antisocial is a really a popular social mechanism
and more people would catch on and start doing it too
extreme instances of cause and effect would break down some elements and construct others
and black people would still be made of atoms
feelings of imminent pain and disaster would follow
spurred by the mentioning of black people and poems about specific black people
feelings of inadequacy would begin to arise
and this poem which will be about a black person would be banned
and billions of people would know what black people are
and that they are genetically more susceptible to sickle-cell anemia
the black person who this poem will be about has had experiences with other black people
has talked to them
has confessed love to them
discussed nietzche with them
them them them with them
this black person has communicated with insane, out of control black people
and is related to some
and has communicated with profound, genius-level black people
and is related to some
this black person experiences extreme, crippling loneliness
and out-of-control rage
and feelings of social inadequacy
has made facial expressions falling under the adjectives neutral, happy, confused
the black person this poem will be about has experienced something abstract called morality
has been challenged while doing things at the time considered completely normal things to do
accused of douchebaggery and unwarranted bitching
the black person who this poem will be about may interact with you some day
and will want not to be perceived as a black person
but will anyway
and time will pass and other aspects of this black person’s personality will arise and you will make a decision about persistent feelings you have around this black person
you may become friends with this black person
you may become mortal enemies and remain in contest for the rest of your interactions
regardless, this poem about a black person will remain to be about that black person
and you will remain you

when combating severe depression, think sarcastically about killing yourself
discuss antonyms and the phonology and origin of the word ‘antonym’
write poems about severe depression that aren’t depressingly long
eat carbohydrates
sing quietly to yourself in your room
begin to write a song, then stop and forget the chords and melody
and the words, which were about a girl you have imagined sex with
tell your friends you feel alright, that you think your life is great
watch football with your family and decide to root for the side they don’t like
pretend you have a fantasy football team and pretend to send text messages to your leaguemates
take a poop and feel the shit that got lodged where your fractured tailbone curves
feel the burn

i want to write a poem about what it feels like to be a filmmaker
i want to say i feel crippled by the standard noah baumbach, wes anderson and roman coppola have set
i want to say that i wish i were them
i want the poem to say that i wish i were established and making movies for money that were artistically satisfying
i want you to read how i lay awake at night thinking about how i may never become that
i want you to empathize briefly with the concept of not accomplishing unreasonably hefty life goals
i want you to stop empathizing and focus on reading the poem
i want to be you reading the poem

changing the title of 'dead midgets'

in an email thread related to the film i am writing-directing, titled 'dead midgets', cast member and costume designer cassandra yuill posited that the title of the film is off-putting to the point where the film is being 'hurt' and 'self-destructing' and people don't want to be a part of the production on this basis

i agreed to have a contest to decide on a new name for 'dead midgets' based on public interest, in order to give the film a more sellable name

post new title ideas in the comments section of this blog post and i will compile them into a poll in which people can vote for the 'best' new title

this contest will only be valid if more than fifty people participate

the winner will receive a free copy of the film on DVD, the album energy dusk on CD and a ticket to the film's release in november of 2011

this contest ends on january 10th

~50 directors, 50 films, 50 descriptive sentences: unsure why i did this/why i am posting this/if this is at all factually accurate.

adam humphreys
franz otto ultimate high-baller
doc about a prolific/mythical canadian tree planter [the johnny appleseed of conifers]

andy warhol
chelsea girls
women living in the chelsea hotel in the ‘60s

ang lee
eric bana almost breaks jennifer connelly in half with his penis

cameron crowe
almost famous
autobiographical/kinda dumb, about ‘rock and roll’

christopher nolan
'juno' meets '500 days of summer' meets 'basketball diaries' meets lysergic acid

danny boyle
highly fashionable scottish, book-based movie about people living in a moral vacuum with access to a lot of heroin

danny perez
puking after swallowing fifteen psilocybin-infused paintballs

david lynch
mulholland drive
naomi watts ‘goes crazy’ [~5 times]

francis ford coppola
vincent gallo plays francis ford coppola

francois truffaut
400 blows
10/10 pedorasts’ favorite movie

frederico fellini
nights of cabiria
fellini casts his wife as an ugly prostitute that probably no one would want to sleep with if she were really a prostitute

gaspar noe
‘memento’ but pretty/unbearably graphic/not nihilistic

george lucas
american graffiti
everything good about star wars without being as boring/cheesy as star wars

gus van sant
aesthetically pleasing retelling of columbine with social-critique/pederast undertones

harmony korine
breast cancer awareness PSA

hayao miyazaki
naussica of the valley of the wind
accurately post-post-apocalyptic

james cameron
pretty bad, like, wasn't good

jean-luc godard
a woman is a woman
anna karina’s yellow teeth/hairy armpits

joe swanberg
hannah takes the stairs
slutty girl fucks multiple unattractive guys; feels bad afterward

joel/ethan coen
miller’s crossing
world full of bad-asses

jj abrams
star trek
the fluid nature of the universe explored sarcastically/in a pop-culture context

jon favreau
jumanji ii: zathura
what the fuck/wtf/whaddafuk

jonathan demme
rachel getting married
anne hathaway as sociopath; pretty sweet

jordan castro/mallory whitten
richard yates
romantic comedy

julie taymor
the tempest
shakespeare in love meets LOTR

kacper jarecki
eeee eee eeeee: the movie
exactly what it sounds like

kanye west
needed a black person on this list

lana/andy wachowski
speed racer
‘the quintessential post-modern film’

larry clark

lena dunham
tiny furniture
pimple-core movie about post-graduate stress disorder

lucile hadzihalilovic
lil girls just being lil girls trapped in a boarding school cut off from the rest of the world

mel brooks
the producers

michael bay
hate this movie; can’t stop watching this movie if playing

noah baumbach
same chick from hannah takes the stairs fucks ben stiller; feels bad about it after

paul thomas anderson
there will be blood

peter jackson
king kong
naomi watts ‘goes crazy’ [~3 times]

quentin tarantino
death proof
girl power

robert rodriguez
spy kids
su evas su pleh namdam a si poolf

robert zemeckis
written by carl sagan; so good

roman coppola
seems like my life

ron howard
apollo 13
based on a true story about people in space

sam mendes
never going to enlist in the military; ever; ever

sofia coppola
marie antoinette
extravagant in the 'right places'

spike jonze
where the wild things are
did with muppets successfully what jim henson was failing to do with muppets his entire life

spike lee
do the right thing
NAACP made me put another black person on here

stanley kubrick
a clockwork orange
my cousin starred in this movie

steven spielberg
jurassic park
sweet arcade game based on this movie

tao lin/megan boyle
bebe zeva
most-anticipated film of 2011[?]

werner herzog
awful, but the french really like it

wes anderson
life aquatic with steve zissou
i’m on a boat, bro

self-conscious blog post

just spent five minutes on formspring looking at information posted by people i have never met in real life

feel fascinated by their lives because they are 'shrouded' by the internet, in what seems non-voyeuristic

via 'the advent of internet celebrity' and the fact that those who have it actively pursue it/seem addicted to it

feel completely incoherent

most thoughts begin clearly, then go blank, seems my brain reboots/transitions from visual to verbal, i think [something], then remember earlier thought, continue for a phrase/sentence, then it goes blank...

feels awful

seems similar to my father's thought/behavioral patterns

which worries me

seems like editing is the only way to be 'self aware'

like being able to form something in real time, review what happened physically and recall mentally what word-based thoughts were 'going through' 'your head'

and change it to adhere to something abstract that you imagine

confused about 'imagination';what that is/how to define it


seems like an abstract way to describe abstraction

if i were to attempt a dictionary-esque definition of 'imagination' in what seems concrete it would be this:

imagination — n. — 1. nothing. 2. a word representing the process where a human being transfers information from one or more of the senses [sight, taste, smell, hearing, touch], into a thought that extrapolates on, combines or deconstructs the information sensed in a way that may or may not be reconstructed through physical processes for the purpose of survival, to communicate a unique experience to another human being, or for commercial purposes. ex. when johnny said he wanted a crimson dragon like the one in his book for christmas, his aunt said 'what an imagination johnny has!'

writing concrete descriptions seems bleak

want to die a little

can't tell if that thought seems 'emo' or like 'a vague, sarcastic notion'

how unsure i feel seems comforting, like classification isn't definite, so can't be either one, both of which seem more bleak than writing concrete descriptions of frequently-used words

just played and won a game of solitaire, it's 3:32am

just played and one another game of solitaire, it's 3:37am

i feel awful

a list of websites i follow via google reader and some reasons that i follow them

[note] the following are listed in the order that they appear in my reader due to their 'titles' [the header of the blog’s homepage], therefore the order is not necessarily alphabetical, but 'makes sense'

[note] some websites have been omitted due to lack of interest re dissecting why i follow them/subsequent disinterest in continuing to follow them
blog belongs to brandon scott gorrell
met brandon in brooklyn a few years ago, we talk on gchat infrequently
mentioned me in his 'most of the people i know on the internet' post; misspelled 'mcgillicuddy' as 'mcguillicuddy'
enjoyed his poetry book 'during my nervous breakdown i want to have a biographer present'; recently 'uncovered' this book, irl, in a manner that seemed 'premature' in that i found it in a box 'in storage' in my basement in a way that perhaps my grandmother 'uncovers' pictures of my grandfather as a teenager [or something], seemed weird
had vague feelings of jealousy re brandon's chemistry with megan boyle during the first time we met, and feel a sort of 'friendly rivalry', vaguely
i like his ideas re 'science fiction'/'combatting' depression
frequently posts things that make me laugh
blog belongs to tao lin
posts infrequently, which leads to feelings of 'omg' when '(1)' appears beside the blog title in google reader
'ground zero' of some of the internet's most entertaining shitstorms outside of /b/
'hub' where tao lin's online literary work can be found; due to obscure blog title, i utilize google reader to return here easily
seems 'obsolete' now that tao has a tumblr
seems that tao recently 'wants nothing to do with me': might have been caused by previous excruciatingly awkward/’pointless' interactions irl/on the internet/via other members of the indie lit scene, which causes his work to seem more like 'artifacts' than 'consumable "art"', to me, currently
blog belongs to miles ross
met miles ross in brooklyn
seems to be zachary german's bffirl
seems very chill
enjoy reading blog due to ‘extreme’ non sequitur re types of posts/post content
i like looking at miles's face in what seems like kind of a creepy way [something about his teeth/nose placement? idk]
blog/thing belongs to tracy brannstrom
found via interview with tao lin [unsure which]
infrequently posts ms paint-style art/comics that are very intimate/obtusely communicative without being 'overly painterly'/'under-representational'
seems to cause consistent laughter and feelings that i may be empathizing with girls, in general, more by reading the comics posted here
seems 'ellen kennedy-esque' in cute-vs-gross-vs-obscene-vs-‘just bein real wich u niggas’-ness
company blog for cartoon network series 'adventure time'
'religiously' watch this show due to consistent levels of enjoyment
found the ‘adventure time’ pilot online through facebook post
was encourage to watch the show by ebbie bonczek
follow this blog because of frequently posted 'inside looks' at the animation industry/how fans respond to a viral/highly-marketable/genre-nondescript pieces of postmodern children's television
the show is a satisfactory mash-up of pokemon, power rangers, arthur, dungeons and dragons, and real life
thought 'almost too good to be true' re descriptive cliche
blog belongs to jordan castro
don't remember when/how i found jordan castro's blog, might have been through comments on my or tao's blog
feel indifferent, i think, re interest levels reading the content of the blog, and bad-to-poor about jordan's music career
feel good about jordan’s writing abilities/what he chooses to post on the blog/what elements of his life he chooses to show
found a video in which 40~70minutes in my name was mentioned re 'depressed black men’ somehow [indirectly] via this blog
have generally positive feelings re jordan castro
tumble log belongs to rebecca ‘bebe zeva’ hershkovitz
seems cute
bebe seems to have a pretty high intellect and has the sort of 'queen bee' ability to make people who she 'likes' feel 'special' in order to get what she wants; conveys this through blogging
content seems funny/cutting edge in terms of meme regurgitation sub-[in terms of] time of meme release
bebe creates her own sub-memes and meta-memes as well as posts pictures of herself in fashionable clothing via this tumble log, which is stimulating in the same way watching a child play in a sandbox is stimulating, but takes a lot more brainpower/deconstruction of indulgences to appreciate, i think
i follow this in google reader because i often miss 'especially interesting' posts via tumblr due to the 'blog noise' caused by the other people i follow on tumblr
an interesting deconstruction of the 'bro'/douchebag/fraternity subculture
belongs to 'ned's younger brother'
seems consistently funny in a socially unacceptable way; seems to convey how people who go through life without financial/sexual/social inadequacies might perceive the world, should they exist
blog belongs to 'z'
pretty sure this is a music blog
seems 'highly concerned with' memeable 'hipster' music-related [things]
use of found 60s/70s photography seems to 'trick' me into not removing it/thinking it is an influential music site
seems subordinate to hipster runoff by one ‘tier’, yet resembles gorilla vs bear slightly in aesthetic
might remove this
tumble log belongs to cassandra yuill [formerly cass and carly's world tour]
posts pictures and words from various famous people from around the world
sometimes digresses into science fiction/space commentary
often depicts film stars/artists/writers in unusual photographs
very entertaining/prolific
unsure where i found this/who curates it/what its 'about'
seems to be a tumble log where the most recent music videos by obscure/underground/avant garde/super famous music artists are posted, though seems like 'fashion', 'art' and 'comedy' are sometimes featured on this site/linked by this site
seems most videos are 'unwatchable' due to the frequency of the 'high-level’ ‘avant garde' quality of videos posted
similar to 'cool hunter'
high-end blog that it appears upper class 'alt' people peruse to 'keep up' with trends
seems like it promotes a lifestyle i would like to experience/aspire to achieve
similar to 'cool hunting' in most respects
also posts 'online content' 2~3 months after it seems ‘relevant’/’new’/i have already consumed it ['cool hunting' mostly posts irl, expensive, purchasable things]
blog belongs to sam pink
have 'strong feelings' re sam pink that seem positive/like they will become [something] later in his/my career
blog belongs to dennis cooper
have never read any of dennis cooper's work; can rarely get past reading the header of his blog posts
feel intrigued by this blog due to the 'absurd'/possibly inhuman amount of content that is posted on what seems like a daily basis
a lot of fascinating homoerotic content on this blog
a lot of fascinating literature-related content on this blog
a lot of fascinating 'art world' content posted in a amateur, curatorial manner on this blog
blog belongs to me
created to 'house' information related to my upcoming film 'dead midgets'
contains an original art gallery, video tumble log, series of links to 'inspirational' websites, links to previous work by me and some 'mystery links'
largely self-promotional but seems to have some ‘artistic merit'
background image is a collage of works by william-adolphe bouguereau
tumble log belongs to ellen kennedy
seems like after some sort of 'breakdown' ellen kennedy absolved her internet presence besides this blog and her twitter account
seems the majority of posts are cute/'definitely voyeuristic'/'extremely underground' in presentation/internet world exposure
feel fascinated by the life of someone who 'could have made it' but is reclusive/still producing 'content', but 'on the dl'
blog belongs to/curated by jamie sterns
met jamie in brooklyn
posts seem 'relentless' in their artfulness
feel connected to the new york art scene through a 'vicarious connection' via jamie/this blog
seems cool/fashionable to follow
bebe zeva's photo blog
seems to be modeled after cory kennedy's blog in a non-‘copycat’ way in that it is a blogspot with a tumblr 'feel'/has some 'life-blogging' content in paragraph form
contains intriguing photos documenting bebe's fashion choices/minimal social life which seems intriguing/slightly voyeuristic
pop/disco blog belongs to a collective of [what seem to be] promoters/music enthusiasts in france
infrequently post music i feel 'really into'; most posts are what seem to be french music enthusiasts trying to ‘keep in touch' with american pop trends while retaining strong, french electro/disco sensibilities
blog header used to be a 'sweet-ass' logo, the design/color scheme of which i envied from a design standpoint, unsure what happened to it
each post is accompanied by an intriguing 35mm photo-scan that causes feelings of 'longing'/extreme interest in me re the lives of french music enthusiasts
every post includes 1~4 downloadable mp3s, reminiscent of ~2008 mp3 sharing websites
posts/links to articles about the most recent technological advances/consumer products
frequently visiting this site causes feelings of 'living in the future' in a [what feels similar to] nostalgic way
reading posts on this site seems similar to watching a science fiction movie
blog belongs to megan boyle
megan and i have been friends for ~2 years
each post seems 'great' to me, unsure if this is objective or due to multiple 'great' experiences with megan irl
[non sequitur that seems 'appropriate']: megan has a signed autograph of steve martin in her apartment
posts infrequently, causing feelings of 'omg' when '(1)' appears beside the blog title in google reader
seems 'ideal' in terms of what i like about 'life-blogging' in terms of thoughts/experiences documented
'lol' during every blog post, seems i did this when reading blog before meeting megan irl, while 'reviewing' her 'back catalog' of previous posts due to high interest levels
seems this blog has substantially ‘informed’ how i think/speak since discovering it
prominent music blog belongs to chris cantalini
seems to 'cover' music very similar to music i would chose to listen to independent of this site's existence
fun to read while ‘on’ marijuana
supposedly ‘created’ the modern vintage aesthetic i feel a strong attachment to
very minimal ‘coverage’ in terms of information provided; seems to convey 'here is the content' in a non-'preachy' manner which seems good to me
blog belongs to [someone]/'carles'
infrequently talk to carles on gchat
'definitive pop culture blog' re content that appeals to a broad audience independent of its presentation
presented in a manner that seems persistently satirical in a way reminiscent to how i think critically about [everything]
seems like the only 'business model' outside of social networking that has the potential to make 'mad bank' which seems appealing to me from an observational standpoint
carles's persistent anonymity but choice to cover prominent pop culture trends/news/events seems to combine a series of qualities i was previously attracted to re various types of websites, and combines them in a self-aware/prolific way that is consistently intriguing and has 'undercut the competition' in terms of any desire [for me] to visit other news/pop culture/event coverage websites
used to contain 'sexie' american apparel advertisements
'introduced' me to 'the scene' and most trends that i feel 'concerned' about/intrigued by now
literary blog belongs to a collective of indie authors/critics headed by blake butler
infrequently posts 'coverage' of the few aspects of independent/obscure/non-mainstream/mainstream literature i feel interested in
frequently posts 'coverage' of non-literature content that has 'intellectual value' i relate to
promotes/analyzes/extrapolates on 'shitstorms' in a way that seems engaging/intellectually stimulating/'troll-promoting'
only feel comfortable using the word 'shenanigans' [in any context irl] in reference to this blog
tumble log belongs to mallory whitten: jordan castro's partner/'partner in crime'
blog seems consistently funny/engaging
images/videos/gifs/data/literary content posted here seem[s] 'awesome'
stream of informative articles and hi-res images ‘captured by’ the hubble space telescope
seems 'ethereal'/serene to browse in a non-sarcastic way
seems an 'ideal' resource for recent online art community phenomenon of superimposing space pictures onto 35mm photo-scans
blog belongs to alexi wasser
honestly don't read this blog, just watch the videos
honestly had only been on this blog once before the 'hipster convention/panel' in LA
recently saw alexi wasser in a peppermint patty commercial/edie sedgwick movie; felt compelled to follow her internet presence
feel confused/intrigued by her physical appearance/'obviously' emotionally unstable persona
don't really consider this blog/alexi especially 'hipster' [re], more 'hollywood'/[something related to cobrasnake/dim mak but without ennui]
basically just like watching the videos
science fiction/space reality blog belongs to cassandra yuill
consistently 'great' re-blogs/found images related to popular science fiction films/stories/themes
megan boyle once inquired after cassandra after i re-blogged a post re-blogged here and considered this blog 'better than the blog that originally posted the re-blogged image'; i agree with her
one of the best/most prolific 'specified theme' tumblrs i have seen
blog belongs to xTx
feel very intrigued by 'xTx' name choice; feel very confused about who [she] is/what literary relevance [she] has
have seen literary posts by xTx in various places, feel good about the quality of the content/confused re whether they are 'to my tastes' or my consumption is fueled solely by intrigue/confusion/mystery
blog belongs to chris killen
seems notable [for some reason]
blog belongs to camille [la] frere
camille and i have been friends for ~3 years; used to be co-bloggers on
prolific blogger who posts mostly cryptic messages to men [possibly one man] in her life; seems fun to attempt to deconstruct/passive-aggressively superimpose 'self' into cryptic messages
infrequently posts semi-nude/lingerie-clad photos of herself
writes funny editorial essays/poems about pop culture news/scandals
gives advice to women, addressing them as 'ladies'; seems funny
music criticism site that targets a wider audience than rolling stone
seems to accurately predict music trends
blog belongs to richard wehrenberg jr.
richard is a member of the ohio lit scene, which i feel a strong/weak/vague connection to
wrote poems in 'think tank for human beings in general' that i really enjoyed
seems detached in a [something]/idk manner that is vaguely intriguing to me
blog belongs to me
put this in my google reader to allow me to review what the blog looks like in other peoples' google readers
used to be updated daily with content about 'romance' in what seems like an 'excruciatingly unclear'/unfocused/convoluted manner
now contains content related to human relationships, analyses of events/emotions that seem 'overwhelming' to me in some way and seem appropriate re 'public deconstruction', and re-posted articles from other publications regarding human relationships/sex/failures re 'intimacy'
receives 'mad hits' in comparison to my other blogs due to porn-related google image search clic-throughs/gratuitous non-sexual nudity in photos accompanying most ‘old’ posts
contains bebe zeva's 'career-launching' 'it-girl' comparison article/interview from last year
seems to be relevant if you live in new york, unsure
blog belongs to dj berndt
seemed mildly interesting [at some point]
blog belongs to leigh alexander, prolific videogame journalist/brooklyn socialite/intellectual
seems cool re leigh being 'hot'/a 'legitimate journalist’/a female videogame player/intellectual [re political opinions, tastes in literature], [among other things]
don't really 'read' this blog so much as it seems cool to follow
blog belongs to jordan 'okghost' gillespie
really unsure re content/literary presence/coverage/persona 'what is going on here'
seems bizarre in an unintentional way [possibly similar to my own 'antics' re romantic rhetoric]
seems related to andrew moreno 'somehow', re new mexico
blog primarily belongs to kyle and erin williams [possibly no relation to each other re last name, though seems like they were in a relationship [[until recently[[[???]]]]]]
seems defunct
used to have interesting brooklyn-related tumble log-type posts here
feel anxious waiting for new content
'entry-level'/mainstream music news site; claims to cover 'indie music'
seems this was the first site i began reading when 'strong interest' in music began to develop
seems 'irrelevant' in many ways, to me, currently
blog belongs primarily to gavin mcinnes [formerly of vice mag] and derrick beckles [[formerly?] of 'truth' anti-smoking ad campaign], with various contributors who have opinions on things that seem largely uninteresting/contrived/irrelevant to my life
probably more accurately described as an internet zine/periodical
originally began following this blog because of largely controversial/'boisterously disinterested in societal norms' content that piqued my interest due to absurdity/crude humor/coverage of 'the seedy underbelly' of urban culture
infrequently posts articles/news/editorials i feel semi-to-pretty interested in
'chronicles' gavin mcinnes's professional career as 'the king of the hipsters'
blog belongs to tavi gevinson
fashion blog belongs to a 13-year-old girl
seems 'wise beyond her years' in terms of stylistic sensibilities/prolificacy of blog posting habits
seems due to her age/style preferences/notoriety that tavi is the only person i feel comfortable 'listening to' re opinions on fashion, music, art in a way that feels unsarcastic; unsure 'why'
[something about] lack of 'pretense'
photo tumble log containing original photography by tamara lichtenstein of young, attractive people doing various things in [what seems to be] the deep south
tumble log belongs to toa lin
seems funny
seems that i follow this blog because i feel 'concerned' about 'what tao is going to do next' and this seems to most accurately communicate that information
seems like the tumblr of a post-postmodern 'buddha figure' or something
feel uneasy and slightly shocked each time i 'come across' a post here
definitive 'high-art' website re american-created anime/manga-related content [imo]
belongs to a collective of anime enthusiasts/artists
infrequently check this website for [something]
since my [early high school] anime/manga ‘phase', seems this website is the only place i find 'mature [as in not immature]' anime/manga-related metamemes that i think i understand/recognize/think have 'aesthetic merit'
seems 'commendable' re attempting to approach anime from a solely pop-art standpoint
tumble log belongs to kyle and erin williams's [defunct?] band, the nudes
funny video content
post-hipster runoff 'ironic' [something]
inherent attraction to relationship-based start-up companies/music ventures/satire videos seemed fulfilled via this website when it was 'in its prime'
after the EP release, seemed amount of interesting content decreased and 'ironic hipster bashing "from the horse's mouth"' dwindled due to financial/interest/relationship/art informing reality ‘problems’
blog belongs to noah cicero
maybe my favorite blog on the internet
posts relatively frequently about thoughts/news/literary things
talk on gchat very infrequently
noah, along with carles, tao lin, megan boyle, and perhaps blake butler seems to be one of current indie lit's 'figure heads'
seems stylistically/thematically ‘after’ bret easton ellis but ‘before’ zachary german, jordan castro, and perhaps ellen kennedy in terms of my ability to relate to/respect the literary value of this blog
feel 'completely unaffected' by noah's writing in a way that still seems engaging/'enlightening' re interpersonal 'perspectives' or something, really unsure how to dissect this idea/blog
photo tumble log of 'cool images' [honestly that simple]
curated by justin blyth
no idea why this blog is in my google reader
googled 'thomas patrick levy'; only possible reasons for following this seem to be 'southern california' and 'htmlgiant' connections
'cutting-edge'/freeform news/editorial outlet curated/edited by [the mysterious] chris lavergne
seems consistently interesting re content
seems to 'cover' individual experiences communicated in rigorously/rigidly-constructed styles, 'random' links to 'baffling'/absurd/concern-raising news-like content, top [anything] lists, and satirical 'how-to' posts regarding underground/internet/embarrassing interpersonal interactions
seems very vague re ‘purpose’/’mission’
blog belongs to kevin dunfey
blog that posts pretty much anything pertaining to the japanese phenomenon/concept of 'kawaii', especially purchasable etsy products, pictures, home products and pieces of ‘high-art’
blog belongs to kendra grant malone
met kendra a few years ago in brooklyn
seems like a 'mother-figure' to me [somehow], but very oedipal [if at all]
kendra seems ‘effortless new yorker' in her persona/sensibilities, but [usually] without the abrasive/negative connotations
posts seem really feminine/highly sexual in a 'great' way
recall her calling me 'buttercup sweetheart/dear/honey' repeatedly when hanging out in new york
unsure who the fuck this is, but he seems weird as hell
don't want to follow him on twitter, so i subscribed to his posts on google reader
seems very 'post-hipster runoff' in a dark/somewhat abrasive way
just realized [he] is persian
seems to be a [defunct] news media outlet
flickr photostream belongs to [the late] erica hinson denny
intriguing personal/party photography and art by a woman from baltimore who died recently due to chronic asthma
considered her my favorite party photographer re her technique/style/subject matter
i wrote an article about her here:
seems to be a fascinating chronology of the life of an 'alt'/cool mom
erica had 'mad' tattoos all over her body [seems notable]
blog belongs to candace jackson
used to work with candace at a deli in college park, md
content on this blog seems good
poems seem notable
intent/concerns/interests seem similar to mine
await new content on this blog with ‘mild anxiety’
poetry blog belongs to andrew moreno
recently made 'private' because of something about a girl
met andy online, unsure when
talk frequently via various internet media
andy also has [several, it seems] formspring account[s]
seems really funny/depressed/autistic in his online presence
seems pretty fashionable/interesting re pictures i have seen of him
his poetry seems really personal but autistic, like he was being honest in an unusual way and trying to be funny/sarcastic without knowing how/what humor/sarcasm is
he posted this on youtube recently
daily comic strip authored by randall monroe concerning 'romance, sarcasm, math, and language'
i read this comic and then google the terms/ideas i am unfamiliar with in it in order to feel more intelligent in a way that doesn't seem to 'garner ridicule'/cause feelings of being 'intensely uncool'
the quality of the content seems to heavily 'outweigh' the level of artistry, though randall often posts 'insanely' well-mapped charts that seem 'more painterly' than ones it is possible to produce via excel or other information mapping software
frequently references linux operating system, which i know nothing at all about
blog belongs to victoria trott
internet lit scene member who was briefly banned by her parents from the internet lit scene; reappeared with slightly different name
seems really funny/'wise beyond her years'
posts seem really self-aware
when reading posts in chronological order feels like i'm [watching] a human being ‘grow’ like how people watch plants grow
seems like increased levels of prolificacy could translate to victoria being listed along with zachary, jordan, ellen and david fishkind as 2020's indie lit 'figure heads'
seems really strange to attempt predicting that, seems ‘dishonest’ due to me actually thinking this is a possibility but possibly 'altering the course of history' by asserting this, seems bleak
what do you think, victoria?
blog belongs to zachary german
became micro-famous somehow, unsure
wrote a book i have read multiple times called eat when you feel sad
met zac a few years ago in brooklyn
he, megan boyle and i cuddled together and fell asleep [half naked?] once when he came to baltimore for a reading
seems enigmatic/unpredictable in a pleasant way
in the title-related segment of my novel, male, black, a character based on zachary beats the main character, james, several times at connect four
met zachary through tao lin, but he and tao 'aren't talking' it seems
owns multiple cats
partner of jamie sterns [update: seems they broke up recently]
sweet ass haircut
seems like 'the neal cassady' of the current indie lit scene; seems 'great'
blog contains links to podcasts and extreme non sequiturs, mostly