| how illogical |
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| 05:57pm 19/03/2005 |
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mood: rambunctious music: beulah. disco.
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my friends have all gone to save the environment. ergo, i stayed behind to eat french bread and brie in my dorm room, read the master and margarita, and get my hair cut off.
( go on, don't be shy. )
la la la la la california la la la la la.
a. |
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4 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| that guy has better boobs than i do. |
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| 03:42am 13/03/2005 |
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mood: tired. tired. tired. music: personal jesus. depeche mode.
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in the past 24 hours i have:
had a top-notch conversation
read two chapters of the master and margarita
been straddled and whipped by a drag queen
smoked 3 cigarettes
watched a stoned guy make a triple peanut butter and jelly sandwich
made contact with ann dooty glaviano for the first time in years
written a story about royal blue napkins
i'd say things are going pretty well.
a. |
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5 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| bet the hand that your money's on. |
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| 05:15pm 11/03/2005 |
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mood: relieved. music: letters from an occupant. new pornographers.
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i still feel like i'm playing a game of high stakes ( canasta ).
today all signs pointed towards happiness. i wore turqoise chuck taylors and my hair faux hawked itself when i attempted to let it air dry. my sweater was just warm enough, and my morning coffee and cigarette ritual was perfect. my ipod treated me well all morning and now i'm locking myself in toumey with a couple of good russian novelists to discuss the meaning of life.
but before i do so, i must share some ( imitations of life ) |
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10 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| feliz cumpleanos. |
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| 12:01am 08/03/2005 |
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mood: birthdaylicious. music: president of what?- death cab for cutie
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today is my nineteenth birthday, therefore, i ask you to:
tell me something
you've never told me before
always wanted to tell me
something
that will make me dance
or laugh
or sing
or smile.
a nineteen year-old a. |
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7 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| you must be greta garbo. |
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| 03:08pm 07/03/2005 |
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mood: pensive. music: lithium. nirvana.
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these things i do adore:
audrey
overcast days
patent leather shoes
rubber stamps
the word libertine
black coffee
uncanny similarities in thought
red nail polish
virginia woolf
unnecessary (and often incorrect) punctuation
anna akhmatova
the faint
black eyeliner
saying 1986 in russian
cohen
my new izone camera
kurt cobain
chuck taylors
tea
the new turkish gold package
good poetry
librarians
rigby and his one checkered shoe. |
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hit me with your best shot. |
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| i know you as sasha. |
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| 01:20am 05/03/2005 |
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mood: complete. music: jeff buckley. hallelujah.
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i realize now that
the curve in my
spine is a direct result
of being bent over a book
for my entire childhood.
in the fifth grade
the teacher gave each of
her students a book.
i got wuthering heights.
in russian class
i wrote my name above my phone number.
"who is ally?" asked the girl.
i explained that ally was my name.
i asked marina what her name was,
and she told me it was tiffany.
how strange to sit next to someone
for six months
and not even know her name.
"her beuaty in the moonlight overthrew you
and she tied you to her kitchen chair and she broke your throne
and cut your hair
and from your lips she drew a hallelujah"
scraping pennies from the seats of
your red jeep.
renting thumb wars (not one of our finer moments).
your voice over the phone
telling me to get in my car
and just drive.
you would tell me where to go
and i would be grateful that i listened.
telling your dad you were
"moving furniture".
seeing rigby for the
first time come out
his little house
wearing his checkered
chuck taylors.
every day is more beautiful than the last.
i used to live alone before i knew you.
i miss you.
a. |
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1 wound - hit me with your best shot. |
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| a reaction to emptiness. |
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| 12:11am 02/03/2005 |
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mood: halfway back to normal. music: let's talk turkey. ima robot.
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where to begin, where to end.
congratulations kelley, jarrett, and karen. you guys are going to be AMAZING.
these past few days have been full of handwritten journal entries, utterly random and uncontrolled outbursts of unexplainable emotion, a complete and total lack of emotion, words.
i am having a secret love affair with sarah lawrence's graduate program for writing. i'm sorry alabama, i've been seeing someone behind your back. at this point it is merely an internet relationship, but i will be going to new york to be with her.
matt buff is taking me to huckleberry finn's playground. i want to live in the pocket of air underneath the waterfall.
today someone asked me if i was "the moaner". the answer is yes. thanks.
i have concluded that i do not owe anyone an eight pound lump of screaming flesh that has to pop out of my vagina.
just give me one chance
to feature you in sunshine
and we can both dance.
a. |
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4 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| no eres ignacio. |
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| 06:26pm 24/02/2005 |
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mood: artistically satisfied. music: derelict. beck.
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i saw bad education yesterday night.
i loved his orange socks and the crucifix bunk beds.
you're the man, ( mr. almodovar ).
there are not words to describe how boldly i adore pedro almodovar.
- &
****
0 hl ^ 7&&
--//// oiszf1#@
i crave
the sound
of my
heels clicking
on the paved streets,
names and numbers
fashioned out
of brilliant neon.
i wish i did not want.
*9
((((((( pleh....%
J%?/+
my ego realized that it must absolutely put a halt to being offended in blount class. after last semester i got so used to not being taught that this semester is strikingly more compelling, and therefore actually challenging and intimidating.
there is so much i don't know
and i just get terrified sometimes
that i won't learn it all.
a. |
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7 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| completely fucked. |
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| 10:38pm 18/02/2005 |
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mood: fucked. music: voices
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audrey came to tuscaloosa to see my play.
so did my mom.
audrey says she loves me...and she means it...and that audrey thinks i'm beautiful...now i'm just dictating what she's saying as i contemplate the next 24 hours of my life.
i've got a beatnik in the corner of my room named stephanie who hasn't slept in days.
please send donations to the:
My Mom Knows I'm Gay fund
po box 862592
tuscaloosa, al 35486
a. |
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10 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| heffalumped. |
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| 02:59am 16/02/2005 |
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mood: tired as all fucking get out. music: popular mechanics for lovers. beulah.
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vagina monologues: banned from UA for inappropriate advertising.
its at the jupiter now. entry age for the jupiter is 19. um. audrey is 18. oh, and um...SO AM I!!!
fuck.
i saw the heffalump movie tonight. if i hear one more song with a fucking cheery overtone and racial connotations i am going to throw up all over myself. otherwise it was really really cute. :-)
thank you ooooooooooooocccccccc soundtrack people for this beulah song. oh, how i love thee. however, that does not make up for the hatred i harbor for sandy.
a.
p.s. my little sesame seed, one day. just one. |
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5 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| the heart grows fonder... |
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| 04:34pm 14/02/2005 |
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mood: ecstatic music: crazy little thing called love. queen.
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i got a librarian sweater from my mom today. it is cream and has pearly buttons with a ladybug on the side. it is tres cute.
audrey has come to the conclusion that i am not a fifties housewife. bravo, audrey.
This is the first day of my life
Swear I was born right in the doorway
I went out in the rain, suddenly everything changed
They're spreading blankets on the beach
Yours is the first face that I saw
I think I was blind before I met you
Don't know where I am, don't know where I've been
But I know where I want to go
So I thought I'd let you know
That these things take forever, I especially am slow
But I realized how I need you
( And I wondered if I could come home )
-bright eyes
(cliche, i know...but today is the universal cliche day...)
<3,
a.
p.s. 3 days, baby, 3 days. |
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7 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| podarok! PODAROK?! oh, i am so fucked. |
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| 08:02am 08/02/2005 |
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mood: happy. at last. music: speak slow. tegan & sara.
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soooooo...
took a russian test this morning...had to compose two fucking dialogues. TWO. not just one little dinky one...no TWO. gosh. not that i'll drop russian or anything, but that definitely confirmed italian for next year as an addition.
english was cancelled.
spent all fucking morning reading communist manifesto...and then steffen made this big deal about ipods in class and mine was taken out for an example. normally this would have been cool and all...yet we were talking about it in terms of consumerism and conformity (my iskin for the sake of individuality didn't help much). then my bag was the topic and how it was handmade, and as far as market value goes it is "priceless" and how i made an effort to stand out. awesome. whatever. my bag is really cool. hmph.
after a midnight expedition to wal-mart (which started out as a pen stop), i had my first waffle house waffle. our server was this extremely quiet girl in my russian class. when she wrote out her name as the waitress on our ticket, she wrote it out in russian. those who do not speak often have so much to say.
( the adventures of princess sparkle. )
p.s. my new screen name is: thedivinesophia
i figure if you're my lj bud i like you enough to want to talk to you.
p.p.s. audrey! 9 days. NINE DAYS. love you, sesame seed. no emo songs. promise.
p.p.p.s. pumpkin- jamie rose is the only person who thinks my prom dress is pretty. *tear of a fashion victim* |
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8 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| seafoam |
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| 09:21pm 02/02/2005 |
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mood: disillusioned music: ima robot
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a sturdy man
peering into yellowed pages
absent-mindedly walked
into me
obediently
i whispered
an apology.
while wishing
i had a pair
of his
dignified,
brown,
leather,
masculine
shoes
on my tiny feet
i realized that
it is impossible
to slay the mermaid.
a.
p.s. thank you audrey for opening my eyes a little bit wider tonight. |
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9 wounds - hit me with your best shot. |
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| fuck. |
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| 09:24pm 01/02/2005 |
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mood: exhausted beyond coherence. music: enjoy the silence remix- depeche mode.
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depeche mode remixes and bubble wrap.
my life is amazing.
a. |
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hit me with your best shot. |
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