July 2011
Well, basically, are you doing alright these days? Nice to see you around again, even if it might be just for a bit. (I got naked ladies spams too...).
Haha it’s funny that your the one that messaged me, considering what the spam message said. I won’t go into any lurid details. And I’ve been doing good, the legislative session ended here in tx about a month ago so I’m taking a break from my activist/lobbyist gig for the time being. How about you?
So I’d be awesome if actual people put things in my ask box, and not spam trying to show me naked ladies.
Say something interesting.
Put it in my ask thing.
Hella bored.
Text I just received from one of my bffs
“Remember that time when Micah gave you all her toenail clippings?”
True story.
“There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. It’s like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction—every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it’s really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.”
—The Bell Jar
“If neurotic is wanting two mutually exclusive things at one and the same time, then I’m neurotic as hell. I’ll be flying back and forth between one mutually exclusive thing and another for the rest of my days.”
—The Bell Jar
“I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.”
—Sylvia Plath
I’ve been on this Sylvia Plath kick lately. I know, I know- I’m just an angsty 15 year old weird girl who’s only friends are books and that other weird girl who works at the library and lives at the pet cemetery; but she’s just able to put into words so perfectly how I feel so very often.
In the battle of me vs poverty, I am victorious, yet again.
Start with $4 gas money + $1.53 misc. funds.
Subtract a pack of cigarettes, which leaves ~$1.50.
Add ~$1.65 in coin I found in a duffle bag in my car + $0.25 I found in the bathroom.
Then add in $3.56 worth of redeemable points I have on this card they gave me at the gas station down the street.
Then subtract a pack of cigarettes, which leaves a remainder of ~$3.15 cash to be used towards gas that will propel my car to Movie Trading Co. and Half-Priced Books tomorrow, where I expect to leave with ~$20ATMcashmonies(USD).
LIKE A BOSS.
I should really quit drinking,
Considering it’s morning and the sun is up and everything. I just feel like it’s not socially acceptable behavior, or whatever.
Hey. Talk to me if you're still awake.
Dooooo iiitttttt.
Great.
Great great.
You could have been so great..
Your Golden starburst - Is great, but I wear it too late.
Where did you come from?
Give me your religion.
Islands.
Islands upon islands, Or some great escape.
History forgotten, A nations history lost.
Saved in cities or built into country side. Why?
Give me your religion.
You became Socialites, or the unwanted present before everyone else arrived.
From farms and islands.
Great wars and colonies.
Jesus loved you, Then Jesus died.
You lied to each other, hated or loved too much. You remembered, but then your memory faded, then died, then buried beneath lies - Or you abandoned your religion when you arrived.
Blacks and burbers or the last raped remnants.
Why did you hide? Why did lie? To me? About something so fucking stupid?
You gave your penance or your brain slowly died.
You lived so many lies, Two different lives.
You bit your foreign tongues, Hid away and to the side, Or in plain sight: Like I said, became socialites.
I want to know your life.
Give me your religion.
Show me your dark brother -
I never knew Hugo, but you go, still, back to the barrio, settled in Mexico.
You know You still hide.
Why? Fucking why?
Tell me your religion.
Who am I? Who the fuck am I?
Give me your religion.
Give me their ghosts, Dont proclaim their greatness until after they die, Just tell me why. Why so much shame?
Land grants or refugees.
La madre grande became great Grammy V;
I wear your starburst, so that you may call me El P
hijo, su nieto, su bisnieto
Give me your religion
דיין קינד, ייניקל, גרויס ייניקל
Give me your religion.
Please?