http://eelyah.tumblr.com/
I'm going to be posting my writings and such on this blog. It's got a lot more features than blogger and it copyrights everything you post, so that's why I'm moving it there. I'll probably still post little thoughts on this one since it's more private, but I've let a lot more people know about the other one so it'll be getting more hits. Smell ya later.
Monday, October 12, 2009
Sunday, October 11, 2009
things that rock
my new overpriced faux leather jacket
Puma Punku
books
kettle chips
jonny craig
record players
girl, interrupted
my sweet ride. or bicycles in general.
Saturday, October 10, 2009
The first time I met him I was at my friend Stephen’s house. Stephen had an older sister Heather, who was even more intimidating than she was beautiful and needless to say I did my best to avoid her. He was one of Heather’s close friends and somehow we all ended up hanging out together in their maid’s room which seemed to be neutral ground to the siblings and their acquaintances. There were no official introductions which is how most social gatherings go when you’re fifteen. You just watch to see whose head turns when a name is called and then there’s always the awkwardness of knowing when it’s appropriate to call them by their name since you never formally exchanged them. His best friend pointed out the prominent tattoo between his shoulder blades which spelled out in a beautiful cursive current, lyrics I recognized that read “If everything could ever feel this real forever, If anything could ever be this good again” and below it the name of a woman and numbers that I assumed to be birth and death dates.
“Who’s Lori?”
“My mom.”
In his tone there was a trace of longing and a dash of pain that I seemed to have been the only one to take notice of.
The first night I met him was also the first night he slept in my bed. Despite whatever his intentions may have been I stayed a virgin for another two years. The strange thing was, regardless of the impression I was given he didn’t even attempt to touch me. I was lying there so fervently, propped up on one elbow half listening to him speak and half mesmerized by how absolutely beautiful he was. His features seemed hand sculpted with immense precision by the most endowed face makers in history. His jaw line curved at the perfect angle, his complexion was so clear and radiant that I couldn’t for a second pry my eyes from his face. And there in so natural a pose, lying on his back staring at the ceiling, entranced in his own story, could I really and truly see him in a way I hadn’t a few hours before. Flustered and all too eager I inclined my torso down to him and pressed my lips to his which were surprised at first and then quickly became comfortable with the shape of mine. My impulsivity astonished me. I’d never been one to make myself vulnerable.
I was smitten. He officially asked me to be his on an exceptionally dark November night, or rather suggested it.
“We should go out.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Well, I’m asking.”
“Okay. Sure.”
I sat in my room gazing at the walls, and forced myself to grasp what I was doing. Say it, the trembling voice in my head said to me. Say it out loud. Three minutes passed. “Say it!” Two minutes passed. This time, the tone I used wasn’t as secure, but by God was it sure, “I’m setting myself up, damnit. This one’s gonna hurt.”
Everywhere we went there was a second of silence as they took in his exquisiteness, and then another for them to become conscious of his perfect fingers interlaced with mine. We were incessantly complimented on how ideal we looked together. I grew accustomed to saying “Thank you” numerous times per day when classmates and even teachers threw admiring comments at the photographs on my notebook. We were in a utopia of excellence and exhilaration. The air took on a sense of optimism that was foreign to me, and it lingered everywhere I would go.
One particular night I called him over to discuss a rumor of infidelity. The second I told him we needed to talk he exclaimed, “Is this about Margaux?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s not true.”
“Ah, of course. You still need to come over so we can talk about it.”
When he walked in my room I felt as if he were intruding on my safe haven. Of course he had been there innumerable times in the six months we’d been dating, but in this specific moment he was the last thing I wanted there. Handwritten notes and stuffed animals from him had filled every inch of blank space. Pictures of us tacked to the three pink walls, ticket stubs of shows we’d been to together stuck to the one black wall, and a typed letter declaring his love for me fixed right above where I rested my head while I slept. I sat on my floral comforter where we’d laid abreast evening after uneventful evening until I fell half asleep, still able to feel him pull the blanket up to my ears, give my forehead a subservient peck and then tip-toe unnoticed out the front door.
“It’s not true. Nothing happened.”
“I don’t want to be the paranoid girlfriend here, and I know you two were friends long before I met you. So you didn’t have sex with her?”
“God, no. We’re just good friends.”
“If she’s so great of a friend then why is she saying things like that? She doesn’t like me, does she?”
“No, no, she likes you just fine.”
“Well then I suggest you tell her to stop saying it. Like, now. Go call her.”
“Okay.”
I inched closer to the black wall, wishing it would suck me right in so I wouldn’t have to put the pieces that fit so perfectly together. My best friend came in after that, asking how it went.
“Is he still here?”
“Yeah, he’s just in the living room on the phone with that girl. So what, do you think he did it?”
“He said he didn’t. I told him to go set her straight. I just don’t see why she would make that up.”
“You should talk to him some more. Want me to bring him back in here?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Before I had time to conjure up what else I could say to him he came bursting through my door, tears rolling down his face and that beautiful head of hair going every which way as if he’d been running his fingers through it for hours.
“I-I can’t! I can’t lie! Not to you. I can’t. I did it. It’s true! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I never meant for it to happen. I don’t care about her; I don’t give a damn about her! You’re everything to me. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it happened. Fuck! Oh, God what have I done!”
In that moment something came in my room and took me away. The words were so far away and I could barely make them out. Didn’t mean to. Couldn’t do it. True. Stupid. Love. Sorry. Her. The air transformed into a foul, opaque remainder of something I used to believe was beautiful. It was as if God had changed. I stumbled and staggered over my next few words, sure that I must have scraped my elbow trying to get them out.
“What? What? What did you do! Oh my God! What did you do!”
He tried to touch my arm and with feeble force I expected to come out much more vigorously, I shoved him away. I’d never seen one person so completely broken in my entire life. Irrepressible sobbing was the background music for our circumstances.
“Why! Why did you do it! What’s wrong with me, Alex! Why am I not good enough? What did I do?”
“No! God, no, it’s not you! It was never you, you’re perfect. You…you’ve filled the hole my mom left, Haylee. You’ve brought me back. You’re amazing; it’s not your fault. It’s me. I’m an idiot. It’s me. Oh my God I am so sorry. I love you so much. You’re everything to me.”
I pondered those words as thoroughly as I could, then ran to my bathroom and threw up. When he looked at me again I saw pieces missing from his eyes and more than I ever wanted anything in my life, I wanted to seize him in my embrace and tell him it was alright.
“Get out. Get out of my house, we’re through. You don’t love me. Don’t fucking touch me. Get out!”
“No. No no no no Haylee, please. God, please don’t. I-I- oh my God. I can’t be without you. Please. Please I’ll do anything just don’t do this.”
“Me? I haven’t done a thing. You’ve done it all yourself.”
The proceeding week I collected flowers sent to my school and came home to find notes on my bed professing his inmost apologies along with admissions of relentless anguish and regret. On the eighth day of despair I found him sitting on the steps leading to my house and I was sure he hadn’t stopped crying since I last saw him. Here I realized we would never be the same, that we couldn’t relive the start or foresee an effortless course. But love is a filthy, rugged, agonizing, wondrous thing and I couldn’t elude it. If everything could ever feel this real forever, it would never be this good again.
“Who’s Lori?”
“My mom.”
In his tone there was a trace of longing and a dash of pain that I seemed to have been the only one to take notice of.
The first night I met him was also the first night he slept in my bed. Despite whatever his intentions may have been I stayed a virgin for another two years. The strange thing was, regardless of the impression I was given he didn’t even attempt to touch me. I was lying there so fervently, propped up on one elbow half listening to him speak and half mesmerized by how absolutely beautiful he was. His features seemed hand sculpted with immense precision by the most endowed face makers in history. His jaw line curved at the perfect angle, his complexion was so clear and radiant that I couldn’t for a second pry my eyes from his face. And there in so natural a pose, lying on his back staring at the ceiling, entranced in his own story, could I really and truly see him in a way I hadn’t a few hours before. Flustered and all too eager I inclined my torso down to him and pressed my lips to his which were surprised at first and then quickly became comfortable with the shape of mine. My impulsivity astonished me. I’d never been one to make myself vulnerable.
I was smitten. He officially asked me to be his on an exceptionally dark November night, or rather suggested it.
“We should go out.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Well, I’m asking.”
“Okay. Sure.”
I sat in my room gazing at the walls, and forced myself to grasp what I was doing. Say it, the trembling voice in my head said to me. Say it out loud. Three minutes passed. “Say it!” Two minutes passed. This time, the tone I used wasn’t as secure, but by God was it sure, “I’m setting myself up, damnit. This one’s gonna hurt.”
Everywhere we went there was a second of silence as they took in his exquisiteness, and then another for them to become conscious of his perfect fingers interlaced with mine. We were incessantly complimented on how ideal we looked together. I grew accustomed to saying “Thank you” numerous times per day when classmates and even teachers threw admiring comments at the photographs on my notebook. We were in a utopia of excellence and exhilaration. The air took on a sense of optimism that was foreign to me, and it lingered everywhere I would go.
One particular night I called him over to discuss a rumor of infidelity. The second I told him we needed to talk he exclaimed, “Is this about Margaux?”
“Yes.”
“Well, it’s not true.”
“Ah, of course. You still need to come over so we can talk about it.”
When he walked in my room I felt as if he were intruding on my safe haven. Of course he had been there innumerable times in the six months we’d been dating, but in this specific moment he was the last thing I wanted there. Handwritten notes and stuffed animals from him had filled every inch of blank space. Pictures of us tacked to the three pink walls, ticket stubs of shows we’d been to together stuck to the one black wall, and a typed letter declaring his love for me fixed right above where I rested my head while I slept. I sat on my floral comforter where we’d laid abreast evening after uneventful evening until I fell half asleep, still able to feel him pull the blanket up to my ears, give my forehead a subservient peck and then tip-toe unnoticed out the front door.
“It’s not true. Nothing happened.”
“I don’t want to be the paranoid girlfriend here, and I know you two were friends long before I met you. So you didn’t have sex with her?”
“God, no. We’re just good friends.”
“If she’s so great of a friend then why is she saying things like that? She doesn’t like me, does she?”
“No, no, she likes you just fine.”
“Well then I suggest you tell her to stop saying it. Like, now. Go call her.”
“Okay.”
I inched closer to the black wall, wishing it would suck me right in so I wouldn’t have to put the pieces that fit so perfectly together. My best friend came in after that, asking how it went.
“Is he still here?”
“Yeah, he’s just in the living room on the phone with that girl. So what, do you think he did it?”
“He said he didn’t. I told him to go set her straight. I just don’t see why she would make that up.”
“You should talk to him some more. Want me to bring him back in here?”
“Yeah, I guess.”
Before I had time to conjure up what else I could say to him he came bursting through my door, tears rolling down his face and that beautiful head of hair going every which way as if he’d been running his fingers through it for hours.
“I-I can’t! I can’t lie! Not to you. I can’t. I did it. It’s true! I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I never meant for it to happen. I don’t care about her; I don’t give a damn about her! You’re everything to me. I can’t believe it. I can’t believe it happened. Fuck! Oh, God what have I done!”
In that moment something came in my room and took me away. The words were so far away and I could barely make them out. Didn’t mean to. Couldn’t do it. True. Stupid. Love. Sorry. Her. The air transformed into a foul, opaque remainder of something I used to believe was beautiful. It was as if God had changed. I stumbled and staggered over my next few words, sure that I must have scraped my elbow trying to get them out.
“What? What? What did you do! Oh my God! What did you do!”
He tried to touch my arm and with feeble force I expected to come out much more vigorously, I shoved him away. I’d never seen one person so completely broken in my entire life. Irrepressible sobbing was the background music for our circumstances.
“Why! Why did you do it! What’s wrong with me, Alex! Why am I not good enough? What did I do?”
“No! God, no, it’s not you! It was never you, you’re perfect. You…you’ve filled the hole my mom left, Haylee. You’ve brought me back. You’re amazing; it’s not your fault. It’s me. I’m an idiot. It’s me. Oh my God I am so sorry. I love you so much. You’re everything to me.”
I pondered those words as thoroughly as I could, then ran to my bathroom and threw up. When he looked at me again I saw pieces missing from his eyes and more than I ever wanted anything in my life, I wanted to seize him in my embrace and tell him it was alright.
“Get out. Get out of my house, we’re through. You don’t love me. Don’t fucking touch me. Get out!”
“No. No no no no Haylee, please. God, please don’t. I-I- oh my God. I can’t be without you. Please. Please I’ll do anything just don’t do this.”
“Me? I haven’t done a thing. You’ve done it all yourself.”
The proceeding week I collected flowers sent to my school and came home to find notes on my bed professing his inmost apologies along with admissions of relentless anguish and regret. On the eighth day of despair I found him sitting on the steps leading to my house and I was sure he hadn’t stopped crying since I last saw him. Here I realized we would never be the same, that we couldn’t relive the start or foresee an effortless course. But love is a filthy, rugged, agonizing, wondrous thing and I couldn’t elude it. If everything could ever feel this real forever, it would never be this good again.
Monday, October 5, 2009
all i ever wanted
"I know I treated you like shit and i feel awful about it and still do. I just wished I never did that cause you were really good to me. hell you're entire family was. I just want things to be resolved as much as you do."
that's all i EVER wanted you to acknowledge.
that's all i EVER wanted you to acknowledge.
Sunday, October 4, 2009
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Final Product
You and me, we’re all we’ve got,
Watching everyone we love falsify their thoughts.
Tracing back the merciless months,
I know ‘em like the back of my hand-
The unbearable desolation we tested firsthand.
There’s diamonds in the dirtiest places,
And stars in the blackest skies,
Devastated outcomes revealing the mightiest ties.
It’s been a long time getting up from such,
Testing ourselves and everyone we see,
Challenging them to disagree,
With what we’ve crafted of an old friendship,
Sending them sailing on a distant guilt trip.
A thousand praises I’m indebted to you,
You’re the greatest thing to ever happen upon me,
All the kept promises you’ve forced me to see.
The road’s obstructed with opposing declarations,
But it’s so bright that I can see through the breaks,
And let me tell you it’s beautiful despite the mistakes.
We’ll never have a place here,
Still lost our head in the clouds never daring to come down,
Outliving them all, now the talk of the town.
We’ve raised and dragged each other this far,
Breaking and scraping to get where we are.
The way I see it we’ll never look back,
And if we do it’ll be the slightest peek,
Only to recall our great triumph streak.
Watching everyone we love falsify their thoughts.
Tracing back the merciless months,
I know ‘em like the back of my hand-
The unbearable desolation we tested firsthand.
There’s diamonds in the dirtiest places,
And stars in the blackest skies,
Devastated outcomes revealing the mightiest ties.
It’s been a long time getting up from such,
Testing ourselves and everyone we see,
Challenging them to disagree,
With what we’ve crafted of an old friendship,
Sending them sailing on a distant guilt trip.
A thousand praises I’m indebted to you,
You’re the greatest thing to ever happen upon me,
All the kept promises you’ve forced me to see.
The road’s obstructed with opposing declarations,
But it’s so bright that I can see through the breaks,
And let me tell you it’s beautiful despite the mistakes.
We’ll never have a place here,
Still lost our head in the clouds never daring to come down,
Outliving them all, now the talk of the town.
We’ve raised and dragged each other this far,
Breaking and scraping to get where we are.
The way I see it we’ll never look back,
And if we do it’ll be the slightest peek,
Only to recall our great triumph streak.
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
taylor's poem
currently i'm working on a poem about my relationship with my best friend. it's challenging, because it's difficult to find the exact right words to explain what we've been through and what she means to me. but this is what i've gotten so far.
You and me, we’re all we’ve got,
Watching everyone we love falsify their thoughts.
Tracing back the merciless months,
I know ‘em like the back of my hand-
The unbearable desolation we tested firsthand.
There’s diamonds in the dirtiest places,
And stars in the blackest skies,
Devastated outcomes revealing the mightiest ties.
It’s been a long time getting up from such,
Testing ourselves and everyone we see,
Challenging them to disagree,
With what we’ve crafted of an old friendship,
Sending them sailing on a distant guilt trip.
The way I see it we’ll never look back,
And if we do it’ll be the slightest peek,
Only to recall our great triumph streak.
The road’s obstructed with opposing declarations,
But it’s so bright that I can see through the breaks,
And let me tell you it’s beautiful in spite of the mistakes.
It’s so distressing to attempt this alone,
Still you’re keeping my feet on the ground but my head in the clouds
The paths are taking our lead, we won’t follow the crowds.
We’ve raised and dragged each other this far,
Breaking and scraping to get where we are.
You and me, we’re all we’ve got,
Watching everyone we love falsify their thoughts.
Tracing back the merciless months,
I know ‘em like the back of my hand-
The unbearable desolation we tested firsthand.
There’s diamonds in the dirtiest places,
And stars in the blackest skies,
Devastated outcomes revealing the mightiest ties.
It’s been a long time getting up from such,
Testing ourselves and everyone we see,
Challenging them to disagree,
With what we’ve crafted of an old friendship,
Sending them sailing on a distant guilt trip.
The way I see it we’ll never look back,
And if we do it’ll be the slightest peek,
Only to recall our great triumph streak.
The road’s obstructed with opposing declarations,
But it’s so bright that I can see through the breaks,
And let me tell you it’s beautiful in spite of the mistakes.
It’s so distressing to attempt this alone,
Still you’re keeping my feet on the ground but my head in the clouds
The paths are taking our lead, we won’t follow the crowds.
We’ve raised and dragged each other this far,
Breaking and scraping to get where we are.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
untitled
You’re looking down, and I
see through the triumph and
mockery and rotten tendencies
to pick out the beautiful pieces I
thought to be so much larger.
You’ve made the world a little
darker; turned the clock a little
slower. Assuring them you’ve gotten
away with it again. The walls
settle once you’ve left, their crackling
sighs follow you to the door. I hear
them pleading me to untack
you from their skin. You’re nothing
that you thought you’d be. Twenty- one
and your days are numbered. Do whatever
it takes to make you feel alive. Green leaves
fall for you, and the earth spins for you.
The people laugh at you. You’re nothing
that I thought you’d be. A love drunk
child too crude to grow.
The road’s too raw to wait.
see through the triumph and
mockery and rotten tendencies
to pick out the beautiful pieces I
thought to be so much larger.
You’ve made the world a little
darker; turned the clock a little
slower. Assuring them you’ve gotten
away with it again. The walls
settle once you’ve left, their crackling
sighs follow you to the door. I hear
them pleading me to untack
you from their skin. You’re nothing
that you thought you’d be. Twenty- one
and your days are numbered. Do whatever
it takes to make you feel alive. Green leaves
fall for you, and the earth spins for you.
The people laugh at you. You’re nothing
that I thought you’d be. A love drunk
child too crude to grow.
The road’s too raw to wait.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Feeling Sorry
Feeling Sorry on Paramore's new cd. I find it absolutely perfect for my situation.
We still live in the same town, well, don't we?
But I don't see you around anymore.
I go to all the same places, not even a trace of you...
Your days are numbered at 24(can i change this to 21?).
And I'm getting bored waiting round for you,
We're not getting any younger, and I
Won't look back 'cause there's no use
It's time to move forward!
I feel no sympathy,
You lived inside a cave!
You barely get by the rest of us,
You're trying, there's no need to apologize,
I've got no time for feeling sorry!
I tried not to think of what might happen,
When your reality, finally, cuts through.
Well, as for me, I got out and I'm on the road.
The worst part it that this, this could be you.
You know it too, you can't run from your shame!
You're not getting any younger, time,
Is passing by, but you waited awake...
It's time to roll over!
And all the best lies,
They are told with fingers tied!
So cross them tight,
Won't you promise me tonight
If it's the last thing you do, you'll get out...
I feel no sympathy,
You lived inside a cave.
You barely get by the rest of us,
You're trying, there's no need to apologize,
I've got no time, I've got no time!
We still live in the same town, well, don't we?
But I don't see you around anymore.
I go to all the same places, not even a trace of you...
Your days are numbered at 24(can i change this to 21?).
And I'm getting bored waiting round for you,
We're not getting any younger, and I
Won't look back 'cause there's no use
It's time to move forward!
I feel no sympathy,
You lived inside a cave!
You barely get by the rest of us,
You're trying, there's no need to apologize,
I've got no time for feeling sorry!
I tried not to think of what might happen,
When your reality, finally, cuts through.
Well, as for me, I got out and I'm on the road.
The worst part it that this, this could be you.
You know it too, you can't run from your shame!
You're not getting any younger, time,
Is passing by, but you waited awake...
It's time to roll over!
And all the best lies,
They are told with fingers tied!
So cross them tight,
Won't you promise me tonight
If it's the last thing you do, you'll get out...
I feel no sympathy,
You lived inside a cave.
You barely get by the rest of us,
You're trying, there's no need to apologize,
I've got no time, I've got no time!
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Thinking Outside the Idiot Box
In response to Steven Johnson’s view that T.V makes you smarter, Dana Stevens argues that the only thing television teaches you is to watch more television. Her view is that the alleged increasing complexity of TV show plots doesn’t cause us to think critically, it merely causes us to want more of the show. She points out that shows like The Sopranos, one of the many series in this supposed smart TV era, may have more complicated plotlines but that doesn’t, as Johnson says, challenge our cognitive faculties. These elaborate outlines actively discourage viewers from thinking about anything but future episodes.
Stevens notes the sixteen minutes of commercials embedded in the episodes of these so called mind stimulating shows, which are just continuously telling us to eat this because it’ll make you happy, or to use this because we’re ugly, or go here because we’re social inept losers who ironically, are fixed to our televisions. America’s social skills are becoming more and more underdeveloped as we spend our nights observing Lauren Conrad or a pregnant teenager’s life lessons instead of experiencing our own. We long to be like these reality TV stars and actors, but you don’t see them slouched on their couch watching someone else live a fulfilling life. We feel the need to turn the TV on to fill the silence in a room, because we’d rather laugh at Saturday Night Live with our friends than talk to them.
The author tells us about the TV-B-Gone, a remote control that can turn off most TVs from twenty to fifty feet away, designed to restore tranquility in public places where televisions are placed. The question she raises about this device is whose right is it to decide what should be on television? My question is why do we need televisions in public places at all? Wal-Mart now has TVs for your viewing pleasure while you wait in line to buy your groceries, as do some gas stations. Why do we need to be entertained with dancing pictures during every minute of the day?
Your average 1960’s living room furniture was arranged to face inward, so that visitors and family could converse and discuss what the day had brought. Now we bow down to this neon God, center our time and sofa’s and meals around it, while wondering why society is getting fatter, and lazier, and coming up with technological “advances” that allow us to be only fatter and lazier yet.
I don’t think television makes you smarter at all, in fact I think it does just the opposite. I also, like Dana Stevens, don’t think it’s necessary to completely rid our routines of television. Is it possible to reverse our ways and cut back on our four hour a day TV watching, especially when they’re only getting bigger and bigger, and the clarity on the screen is becoming more vibrant than reality? We have a responsbility as humans to carry on intelligence, to read books, to be active and productive, to observe the world not through an electrical box and satellite waves, but the way we’re meant to see it- through our own eyes.
Stevens notes the sixteen minutes of commercials embedded in the episodes of these so called mind stimulating shows, which are just continuously telling us to eat this because it’ll make you happy, or to use this because we’re ugly, or go here because we’re social inept losers who ironically, are fixed to our televisions. America’s social skills are becoming more and more underdeveloped as we spend our nights observing Lauren Conrad or a pregnant teenager’s life lessons instead of experiencing our own. We long to be like these reality TV stars and actors, but you don’t see them slouched on their couch watching someone else live a fulfilling life. We feel the need to turn the TV on to fill the silence in a room, because we’d rather laugh at Saturday Night Live with our friends than talk to them.
The author tells us about the TV-B-Gone, a remote control that can turn off most TVs from twenty to fifty feet away, designed to restore tranquility in public places where televisions are placed. The question she raises about this device is whose right is it to decide what should be on television? My question is why do we need televisions in public places at all? Wal-Mart now has TVs for your viewing pleasure while you wait in line to buy your groceries, as do some gas stations. Why do we need to be entertained with dancing pictures during every minute of the day?
Your average 1960’s living room furniture was arranged to face inward, so that visitors and family could converse and discuss what the day had brought. Now we bow down to this neon God, center our time and sofa’s and meals around it, while wondering why society is getting fatter, and lazier, and coming up with technological “advances” that allow us to be only fatter and lazier yet.
I don’t think television makes you smarter at all, in fact I think it does just the opposite. I also, like Dana Stevens, don’t think it’s necessary to completely rid our routines of television. Is it possible to reverse our ways and cut back on our four hour a day TV watching, especially when they’re only getting bigger and bigger, and the clarity on the screen is becoming more vibrant than reality? We have a responsbility as humans to carry on intelligence, to read books, to be active and productive, to observe the world not through an electrical box and satellite waves, but the way we’re meant to see it- through our own eyes.
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
wednesday night rant
my mother is a child. almost every night i have to wake her up from sleeping on the couch after hours upon hours of playing computer games WHILE watching television. tonight i woke her up and she had fallen asleep with the remote control still pointed at the television. every time i awake her, she sits up a little startled, so i go back in my room, come out five minutes later and she's asleep again. i finally just stopped waking her up again and again and just started turning off the tv. i clean the kitchen and do the dishes every day. she leaves food out when she's done cooking. i didn't clean it up this last time to see if she would. she didn't. there's a bowl of mashed potatoes and another of green beans that has been on the counter for well over 24 hours. it'll still be there tomorrow. and the next day until i clean it up. she doesn't put anything back where it goes. she'll leave the butter on the counter and not put it back in the refrigerator. she let's the cats roam the kitchen counters and throw up on the dining room table and not clean it up. she eats a giant cup of ice cream drowned in coke or dr. pepper every. single. night. she smokes two cigarettes at a time and leaves the door open so the smell comes in the house.
WHY DID I NOT NOTICE THESE THINGS BEFORE!? GET ME OUT OF HERE. DEAR GOD, PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE.
WHY DID I NOT NOTICE THESE THINGS BEFORE!? GET ME OUT OF HERE. DEAR GOD, PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The Uses of Poverty: The Poor Pay All
Thesis: Poverty and those associated with it- the poor, serve positive and often necessary functions in society. These positive functions explain the persistence of poverty and why it is an obligatory part of the social order. Also expressed are alternate functions that could replace those served by the poor, but at a higher price to those more prosperous.
Summary: The author explains the continuous existence of poverty as an indication that it fulfills unrecognized, constructive functions. Among the economical functions is the fact that the poor are willing to work the dirty, underpaid, and often dangerous jobs that the higher classes are not. If poverty were to cease to exist, society would have to pay higher wages to those less eager to do these undignified jobs. Poverty also creates jobs for those who make careers out of servicing the underprivileged. It is noted that without poverty penology, the police, and other crime prevention organizations would be minute. Socially, the poor provide a cultural purpose “when culture created by or for them is adopted by the more affluent. The rich often collect artifacts from extinct folk cultures of poor people; and almost all Americans listen to the blues, Negro spirituals, and country music, which originated among the Southern poor”(p.22, Pp3). Another social function of poverty is that puts the minds of higher classes at ease, knowing that their status is certain as people feel the need to know where they stand, and the poor serve as a basis of comparison. Among political functions, the poor advocate conventional norm. “Not only does the alleged moral deviancy of the poor reduce the moral pressure on the present political economy to eliminate poverty but socialist alternatives can be made to look quite unattractive if those who will benefit most from them can be described as lazy, spendthrift, dishonest and promiscuous”(p.23, Pp4). The author also suggests functional substitutes to poverty, such as paying higher wages to employees doing the “dirty work”, and the professionals who prosper because of the poor could be found alternate means of work. A stated, many functions served by the poor could be eliminated and replaced, but usually at a higher cost to those who flourish because of the existence poverty.
Response/Synthesis: Americans today tend to believe that poverty is an overall horrific thing. What functional socialists do is make you question such judgments, as Grans has done in this article. I believe that our society would function much differently, perhaps worse or perhaps better, if poverty were to cease to exist. I don’t really believe that we can say without experience, what the outcome of such a situation would be. There may be latent functions, or unanticipated positive effects on social order and stability if poverty were eliminated. Deficiency in the lowest class certainly has no constructive result on the poor themselves, so is it ethically correct to condone and want for them to continue these poor quality lives for our own good? I believe it’s survival of the richest in America, and maybe even the world. Maybe society adapts to whatever is thrown at it. If there had never been such a thing as poverty, we would function just perfectly. But since it does exist, a complete turnaround would be a difficult thing to adjust to. Other roles need to be found for badly trained and incompetent professionals serving the poor, because they shouldn’t be serving anyone if they’re lacking the ability to do the jobs they claim they’re able to. Alternatively, on a psychological medium, maybe the idea of poverty is what keeps the entire country from turning into materialistic, selfish people. Of course, those people do already exist, but if poverty were eliminated, would we all be that way? Perhaps the poor keep us realistic and grounded, and aware of our society. If I never saw what could happen to me if I didn’t have the money and things that I do, I might not be as thankful, or I might spend more frivolously and not have a care in the world of what were to happen to me, as may the rest of society.
Summary: The author explains the continuous existence of poverty as an indication that it fulfills unrecognized, constructive functions. Among the economical functions is the fact that the poor are willing to work the dirty, underpaid, and often dangerous jobs that the higher classes are not. If poverty were to cease to exist, society would have to pay higher wages to those less eager to do these undignified jobs. Poverty also creates jobs for those who make careers out of servicing the underprivileged. It is noted that without poverty penology, the police, and other crime prevention organizations would be minute. Socially, the poor provide a cultural purpose “when culture created by or for them is adopted by the more affluent. The rich often collect artifacts from extinct folk cultures of poor people; and almost all Americans listen to the blues, Negro spirituals, and country music, which originated among the Southern poor”(p.22, Pp3). Another social function of poverty is that puts the minds of higher classes at ease, knowing that their status is certain as people feel the need to know where they stand, and the poor serve as a basis of comparison. Among political functions, the poor advocate conventional norm. “Not only does the alleged moral deviancy of the poor reduce the moral pressure on the present political economy to eliminate poverty but socialist alternatives can be made to look quite unattractive if those who will benefit most from them can be described as lazy, spendthrift, dishonest and promiscuous”(p.23, Pp4). The author also suggests functional substitutes to poverty, such as paying higher wages to employees doing the “dirty work”, and the professionals who prosper because of the poor could be found alternate means of work. A stated, many functions served by the poor could be eliminated and replaced, but usually at a higher cost to those who flourish because of the existence poverty.
Response/Synthesis: Americans today tend to believe that poverty is an overall horrific thing. What functional socialists do is make you question such judgments, as Grans has done in this article. I believe that our society would function much differently, perhaps worse or perhaps better, if poverty were to cease to exist. I don’t really believe that we can say without experience, what the outcome of such a situation would be. There may be latent functions, or unanticipated positive effects on social order and stability if poverty were eliminated. Deficiency in the lowest class certainly has no constructive result on the poor themselves, so is it ethically correct to condone and want for them to continue these poor quality lives for our own good? I believe it’s survival of the richest in America, and maybe even the world. Maybe society adapts to whatever is thrown at it. If there had never been such a thing as poverty, we would function just perfectly. But since it does exist, a complete turnaround would be a difficult thing to adjust to. Other roles need to be found for badly trained and incompetent professionals serving the poor, because they shouldn’t be serving anyone if they’re lacking the ability to do the jobs they claim they’re able to. Alternatively, on a psychological medium, maybe the idea of poverty is what keeps the entire country from turning into materialistic, selfish people. Of course, those people do already exist, but if poverty were eliminated, would we all be that way? Perhaps the poor keep us realistic and grounded, and aware of our society. If I never saw what could happen to me if I didn’t have the money and things that I do, I might not be as thankful, or I might spend more frivolously and not have a care in the world of what were to happen to me, as may the rest of society.
Wednesday, September 2, 2009
Smalex Smalman pt. 2
I was smitten. He officially asked me to be his on an exceptionally dark November night, or rather suggested it.
“We should go out.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Well, I’m asking.”
“Okay. Sure.”
I sat in my room gazing at the walls, and forced myself to grasp what I was doing. “Say it,” The trembling voice in my head said to me, “Say it out loud.” Three minutes passed. “Say it!” Two minutes passed. This time, the tone I used wasn’t as secure, but by God was it sure, “I’m setting myself up. He’s going to hurt me.”
“We should go out.”
“Are you asking me or telling me?”
“Well, I’m asking.”
“Okay. Sure.”
I sat in my room gazing at the walls, and forced myself to grasp what I was doing. “Say it,” The trembling voice in my head said to me, “Say it out loud.” Three minutes passed. “Say it!” Two minutes passed. This time, the tone I used wasn’t as secure, but by God was it sure, “I’m setting myself up. He’s going to hurt me.”
Tuesday, September 1, 2009
love knows no gender
http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/04/07/AR2009040701663.html
they're stuck at the crossroad
buried beneath shame
life is a curse now
love is a game
holy vows turn into civil rights
in a nation that doesn't pick it's fights
holy souls become livid mobs
because shackling "sinners" is their sacred job
a crime it is to love someone
what a twisted world this is
you could never bring them down
for love will always exist
they're stuck at the crossroad
buried beneath shame
life is a curse now
love is a game
holy vows turn into civil rights
in a nation that doesn't pick it's fights
holy souls become livid mobs
because shackling "sinners" is their sacred job
a crime it is to love someone
what a twisted world this is
you could never bring them down
for love will always exist
Monday, August 31, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
the smalex smalman experience
this weekend i've totally isolated myself. not that that's a bad thing. and not really that i had much of a choice. i did smoke some green out of my cool new one hit wonder cigarette looking thing and listen to records and sat on a pillow on my floor. i don't remember the last time i actually enjoyed staying home for an entire weekend without feeling like a huge loser with no friends. but i studied, i wrote, i cooked, i cleaned. it's been good. and i also decided to do a creative non fiction piece about my ex boyfriend experience. i wasn't so sure, though. it might be damaging to talk about how smitten and in love i was and to bring back all those traumatic experiences. but then i thought, i'm over this. and i've been over it for a while. and in the back of my mind "what better way to make everyone realize who he really is?" so here's an exerpt of what i have so far. enjoy!
The first time I met him I was at my friend Stephen’s house. Stephen had an older sister, Heather, who was even more intimidating than she was beautiful, and needless to say I did my best to avoid her. He was one of Heather’s close friends, and somehow we all ended up hanging out together in their maid’s room, which seemed to be neutral ground to the siblings and their acquaintances. There were no official introductions, which is how most social gatherings go when you’re fifteen. You just watch to see whose head turns when a name is called and then there’s always the awkwardness of knowing when it’s appropriate to call them by their name, since you never formally exchanged them. His best friend pointed out the prominent tattoo between his shoulder blades which spelled out in a beautiful cursive current, Foo Fighters lyrics I recognized that read “If everything could ever feel this real forever, If anything could ever be this good again” and below it, the name of a woman and numbers that I assumed to be birth and death dates.
“Who’s Lori?”
“My mom.”
In his tone there was a trace of longing and a dash of pain that I seemed to have been the only one to take notice of. The first night I met him was also the first night he slept in my bed. Despite whatever his intentions may have been, I stayed a virgin for another two years. The strange thing was, despite the impression I was given, he didn’t even try to kiss me. While I was lying there so eagerly, propped up on one elbow half listening to him speak- which he had been doing for twenty minutes- and half mesmerized by how absolutely beautiful he was, lying on his back staring at the ceiling so entranced in his own story. Flustered and all too eager, I inclined my torso down to him and pressed my lips to his, which were surprised at first and then quickly became comfortable with the shape of mine. My impulsivity astonished me. I’d never been one to make myself vulnerable.
The first time I met him I was at my friend Stephen’s house. Stephen had an older sister, Heather, who was even more intimidating than she was beautiful, and needless to say I did my best to avoid her. He was one of Heather’s close friends, and somehow we all ended up hanging out together in their maid’s room, which seemed to be neutral ground to the siblings and their acquaintances. There were no official introductions, which is how most social gatherings go when you’re fifteen. You just watch to see whose head turns when a name is called and then there’s always the awkwardness of knowing when it’s appropriate to call them by their name, since you never formally exchanged them. His best friend pointed out the prominent tattoo between his shoulder blades which spelled out in a beautiful cursive current, Foo Fighters lyrics I recognized that read “If everything could ever feel this real forever, If anything could ever be this good again” and below it, the name of a woman and numbers that I assumed to be birth and death dates.
“Who’s Lori?”
“My mom.”
In his tone there was a trace of longing and a dash of pain that I seemed to have been the only one to take notice of. The first night I met him was also the first night he slept in my bed. Despite whatever his intentions may have been, I stayed a virgin for another two years. The strange thing was, despite the impression I was given, he didn’t even try to kiss me. While I was lying there so eagerly, propped up on one elbow half listening to him speak- which he had been doing for twenty minutes- and half mesmerized by how absolutely beautiful he was, lying on his back staring at the ceiling so entranced in his own story. Flustered and all too eager, I inclined my torso down to him and pressed my lips to his, which were surprised at first and then quickly became comfortable with the shape of mine. My impulsivity astonished me. I’d never been one to make myself vulnerable.
Friday, August 28, 2009
here i am
i've been too lazy to write in this thing. too many things have happened for me to catch you up. so i'll just start with the here and now. i'm at brookhaven again for this semester and i just started classes on monday. so far it's FANTASTIC. i'm taking creative writing and i'm already in love with it. no math or science probably plays a really big part in me being so excited about school this time around. who knows, maybe after this semester i'll quit this whole nursing business and find my creative core and be a writer. or a journalist. i haven't decided which style i'm more into yet. i'm much more motivated this semester, also. i think it's just that i'm tired of doing nothing all the time. no job, and no school for the majority of the summer really made me feel like a worthless nobody. i could have been volunteering all those months or gotten an internship for tom's shoes. i don't know, i'm just glad to be doing something, and something that i'm interested in. that's all for now.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
semi intervention
this morning on my way to school:
i was in the far right lane on the highway and a white SUV to my left starts coming into my lane fixing to hit me, so i slam on my breaks and swerve and the white SUV hits the back right corner of my car which caused me to spin around completely and do a couple 360's, landing me in the middle of the lanes facing oncoming traffic and a semi truck hits me head fucking on. that caused me to spin a couple more times and i slam into the far left wall of the HOV lane. there had to have been at least 8 police cars and some fire trucks and an ambulance. and the majority of the time i kept thinking "shit, i caused all this traffic. i'm such a bitch" and being grateful that no one was in there with me. my car is totaled. and all i have are some lacerations on my right arm/hand from the glass and a burn on my chest from the airbag. i didn't even need stitches.
i keep hearing how lucky i am. the paramedics said they've seen people not make it from accidents a lot less severe. and for the first time in a while, i do feel lucky. odd as it sounds, i feel like i needed this. it's put a lot in perspective for me. i should have died today, and i would have died not as thankful as i should be. i have the most amazing best friend i could ever fathom. and i keep bitching about not having any more friends and being bored when i should really be thanking 'god' or the universe or who the fuck ever that i've got taylor banks, and my sister and michael, and my mom and everyone else that just gives a shit about me.
so fuck this. i refuse to dwell on all the good times i had with bad people. because if you guys can't fucking get off your goddamn high horse and be a little nicer to me, then fuck you. i don't care about you, especially if you don't care about me. i appreciate the memories but that's all they are now. this is it. i am letting you go. so please, go.
i was in the far right lane on the highway and a white SUV to my left starts coming into my lane fixing to hit me, so i slam on my breaks and swerve and the white SUV hits the back right corner of my car which caused me to spin around completely and do a couple 360's, landing me in the middle of the lanes facing oncoming traffic and a semi truck hits me head fucking on. that caused me to spin a couple more times and i slam into the far left wall of the HOV lane. there had to have been at least 8 police cars and some fire trucks and an ambulance. and the majority of the time i kept thinking "shit, i caused all this traffic. i'm such a bitch" and being grateful that no one was in there with me. my car is totaled. and all i have are some lacerations on my right arm/hand from the glass and a burn on my chest from the airbag. i didn't even need stitches.
i keep hearing how lucky i am. the paramedics said they've seen people not make it from accidents a lot less severe. and for the first time in a while, i do feel lucky. odd as it sounds, i feel like i needed this. it's put a lot in perspective for me. i should have died today, and i would have died not as thankful as i should be. i have the most amazing best friend i could ever fathom. and i keep bitching about not having any more friends and being bored when i should really be thanking 'god' or the universe or who the fuck ever that i've got taylor banks, and my sister and michael, and my mom and everyone else that just gives a shit about me.
so fuck this. i refuse to dwell on all the good times i had with bad people. because if you guys can't fucking get off your goddamn high horse and be a little nicer to me, then fuck you. i don't care about you, especially if you don't care about me. i appreciate the memories but that's all they are now. this is it. i am letting you go. so please, go.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
saturday night
yesterday, taylor and i went to good records on greenville avenue for their 9th birthday party. when we got there, i was so intimidated by all the cool ass people it was ridiculous. i thought it would be a good idea. you know, get our of the house, socialize. but we didn't know anyone there so it was kind of awkward just talking to each other. so we left, and around 11:30 we weren't doing anything but watching amityville horror in my bed and we think, "hey, that party is going on until 2:00 AM, we should go back." but of course we didn't want to go by ourselves again. so i hit up preston and he says he'll go, but he doesn't have his car so we have to go pick him up at his house, which is 20 minutes in the opposite direction. so we get there at about 12:45 and there's barely anyone there. huge disappointment. but preston immediately sees this guy he knows from his history class(who is gorgeous) and goes to talk to him. and then the gorgeous guy's creepy friend talks to me and taylor the whole time. so we stand outside good records and talk and talk and talk and every once in a while someone stops us to ask if they can have a ride, or where something is, or why there is a big stage in the parking lot of good records.
so eventually we walk across the street to taco cabana because the boys are hungry. and we see this guy sitting in a chair totally passed out. this cop goes up to him and hits his arm a couple times and he won't wake up, so he gets another officer to help pick him and arrest him. and immediately after that, a group of very loud, obnoxious, and obviously drunk young adults come barging in the doors, and the police don't do shit. i'd rather have 10 of the sleeping guys behind me than all of those assholes who were screaming in my ear and falling everywhere.
we go outside and the boys eat, and they creepy friend is talking about his job, which he explained earlier when i wasn't paying attention, but instead staring at the cute boy and wondering what he's doing taking to preston. it turns out the guy does something with filming. commercials and shows and such, and he knows chace crawford. what the hell!? we all knew chace grew up in dallas and his dad actually works in plano, but no one actually knows the guy, but the creepy boy does! it takes me a while to believe him and he says how he even has his phone number, so he pulls out his phone and goes to a contact listed as "chace c." that has a 310 area code and is obviously his number, because no one spells chace like that. so i start memorizing the first 6 number and he realizes what i'm doing and freaks out and takes the phone away. when we leave, taylor says "oh my god. i have chace crawford's phone number." WHAT!? it turns out she memorized it very quickly. so now we have his phone number. but what to do with it? there's no way to go about contacting him without him thinking we're total creeps. which i guess is the truth. successful night.
so eventually we walk across the street to taco cabana because the boys are hungry. and we see this guy sitting in a chair totally passed out. this cop goes up to him and hits his arm a couple times and he won't wake up, so he gets another officer to help pick him and arrest him. and immediately after that, a group of very loud, obnoxious, and obviously drunk young adults come barging in the doors, and the police don't do shit. i'd rather have 10 of the sleeping guys behind me than all of those assholes who were screaming in my ear and falling everywhere.
we go outside and the boys eat, and they creepy friend is talking about his job, which he explained earlier when i wasn't paying attention, but instead staring at the cute boy and wondering what he's doing taking to preston. it turns out the guy does something with filming. commercials and shows and such, and he knows chace crawford. what the hell!? we all knew chace grew up in dallas and his dad actually works in plano, but no one actually knows the guy, but the creepy boy does! it takes me a while to believe him and he says how he even has his phone number, so he pulls out his phone and goes to a contact listed as "chace c." that has a 310 area code and is obviously his number, because no one spells chace like that. so i start memorizing the first 6 number and he realizes what i'm doing and freaks out and takes the phone away. when we leave, taylor says "oh my god. i have chace crawford's phone number." WHAT!? it turns out she memorized it very quickly. so now we have his phone number. but what to do with it? there's no way to go about contacting him without him thinking we're total creeps. which i guess is the truth. successful night.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
hello, future.
taylor and i went to my seester's last night. it was quite enjoyable. and i'm totally moving into the little house/duplex thing behind hers. i can't wait. all we've got to do is convince taylor's parents to let her move there, which she says she can do. so COOL! i'm starting to like all these changes. things are looking up, y'know? i'm attempting to make new friends in the dallas area, i'll have my own place, i'll be the fuck out of mesquite, i can do whatever i want! this is awesome, really. i'm really excited for the future for the first time in way too long.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
