August 2009
23 posts
Also...
Is anyone else excited about this week’s True Blood?
Late night/early morning thoughts:
Dead poets are never at a loss of words, or so I was told by a former shadow of myself. Dead poets are all the same, I mumbled, looking down into my half-empty pint of Strongbow Cider. Dead poets are nothing but hopeless drunkards- lost souls always bitching about social maladies in the dark corners of smokey, old-man pubs. Or this is the conclusion I came across as I closely examined myself...
You seduced the seasons As well as my reason The reasoning that kept me bound to belief That nothing beat Life, not even love.
Note to self:
Don’t go sailing and NOT wear sunscreen.
OOOOOOOUCH!!!
Vielleicht bin ich müde...
For those of you who enjoy my work, my next tumblr.com post will be prose. I promise.
A personal rant (caution! the following two paragraphs may contain emotion, self-discovery dribble):
Today, I came to the startling conclusion that I have severe ”daddy” issues. Also, severe “mommy” issues. Fuck. Let’s go with the all-inclusive disturbingly deep parental...
“(303): You know the guy who poops at a party and then leaves and you go in, do...”
– -textsfromlastnight.com (HAHAHAHAHA)
Hmph.
Sometimes, you feel like a nut.
Sometimes, you feel like cracking nuts.
I wish
I wish more people appreciated Susan Sarandon.
Men, please heed these words:
Sometimes, you should just keep your mouths shut.
July 2009
22 posts
Fucked and beautiful
Life will always be something amazing. Understand that, and enjoy it while you can.
I sent a drunk email a week ago. I think it merits a response, but the recipient currently refuses to acknowledge my existence. This bothers me.
I sat in an empty IHop with John Lennon. The late night brought a thick silence to our lips, as we both pulled drags from cigarettes. He sipped his coffee - two sugars, one creamer. I drank the same but preferred to sit and stare into its milky depths. “I know why it rains, Cat,” he said, breaking the stillness of the moment. “So do I, John. It’s...
From the poem ‘All One’, Mary Elizabeth Coleridge (1861 - 1907)
Be still, my beating heart, be still! There is no hope for thee to-night. The fading of the wintry light Has made a blackness of the hill.
Be still, be still, my beating heart! For thee to-night there is no fear. The moon has risen white and clear, And we shall neither meet nor part.
After a week of melodramatic crap, I have realized...
Here are some thoughts:
Fake mustaches make Life MUCH more enjoyable.
I’m 24 years old, and I still stuff my bra. There is nothing wrong with that.
Apparently, the David Bowie shaggy mullet isn’t in style anymore; thus, I need a haircut. It’s been way too long.
My cat pisses on EVERYTHING dear to me. It’s not an emotional thing so much as a game to her. “Hey,...
Always the drunk texter...
never the drunk textee.
Old work
The bar’s patio was crowded - smoke, smoke, hipsters, smoke. In fact, smoke was so prevalent it stuck to each molecule of the summer air. Much like the smoke to air ratio, torn jeans and tight, tattered shirts clung to individuals (mostly males because it’s a “statement”) as they puffed cigarettes and drank long island ice teas. Men chattered, tossing their overtly...
How could anyone dislike Gladys Knight? …yea. You couldn’t come up with an answer for that one, huh? I thought so.
“It’s easy to cry when you realize that everyone you love will reject you...”
– -Chuck Palahniuk
going to work
dinoblade:
i don’t wannnnaaaa :( P.S. we’re not done yet. please, just talk to me. this needs to be made right
Darling, I’m in the same boat - even down to the PS. part of this post. Work SUCKS.
Thoughts for the day -->
I’m getting too old for this shit.
Men serve as constant disappointments.
No more self-centered individuals!!! Please!
Cat piss on the bed, cat piss on the bed, cat piss on the bed.
“I require only three things of a man. He must be handsome, ruthless and stupid.”
– Dorothy Parker
Anxious
Perhaps this is the booze speaking, but it sucks.
It really sucks.
Previously posted on myspace.com
Written several months ago after taking home a stranger from a bar:
They fucked to the Clash – fully clothed and drunk off cheap whiskey. It was a meaningless fuck, but David needed carnal release from his emotions. Recently, he found lust to be a suitable escape from the stresses and realities that clouded Life. It served as proof that he could feel. ...
If only I wasn't so neurotic...
1 tag
Stunning
Today is a Susan Sarandon kind of day.