"redefining rape"

Creative writing assignment: Write a bad poem

Yesterday was yesterday.
Wait is that blue?
The worst thing ever is republicans.
math isn't real and the sky is up there.
can you believe tomorrow is Tuesday?
Clowns and Santa make me angsty.
Maybe you are the worst person.
WHAT?!
Stupid economy and slaughter houses.
Jocks get special treatment for being assholes.
Spinach is good for the soul, I guess.
Can anyone remember the last time I wanted to say something?
Cocksucker.
sometimes I forget why I want to drink water.
And the worst is being the odd man out,
maybe the odd man in.
Or the guy that shovels shit.
We all don't shovel shit.
Elephants.
Friday is more certain than Saturday.
People are douchebags on Monday.
Mega shark should eat them.
Sushi?
flowers on wrong occasions.





PS. Speaking of Mega Shark eating them, today is the birthday of my one true enemy in this world. I shouldn't even acknowledge it but at the same time, I like remembering how I will never be like him and it makes me smile.

running with the bulls

A few nights ago as I thumbed through the pages of my poorly organized, horribly written performance studies text book I turned the page and fixed my eyes on this:

the lascaux caves in the south of France

Two years ago I stood in these caves accompanied by nine of my closest friends. In the cold cave I looked at the first art to ever exist and my hands shook at the sight of the advanced perspective and technique used. The caves made me so emotional I remember little Scotty grabbing my hand. I remember not being able to look at him because on the tears rolling down my cheeks.
I didn't cry.

I let out a sort of high pitched squeak as I flipped the book around showing the room my discovery. As I began to recount my experience to the group I was sitting with not really using words.
It took me back, back to the cave and what happened there.

futhermore,

Last night I sat in the Fishbowl polishing off a bag of salt and vinegar chips and I thought to myself, "wow. this has been the best part of my day"
then, I said out loud, "wow. this has been the best part of my day."
the three people sitting in the Fishbowl looked up at me as I licked each one of my fingers.
"should I worry that this has been the best part of my day?"
The one I was closest to in the room said, "NO," immediately as if it was an impulse.
the mother of the group thought about it and then said, "well, just think about why that is."
finally, the brutally honest one said, "yes."

I looked at him for a moment and he looked back at me and the corner of a smile flickered on his face.

"You're right."

so, fuck it.

alright.
enough is enough.
I am done with this whole hopeful thing.
its getting to the point where its embarrassing.
my effort is now going to be so minimal when it comes to seeing people. if they want to see me they can.
if not, I'll be a hermit or something.
I like sleeping. in fact, i love sleeping.
I would be happy sleeping all day.
I have things to do. I should do my work. I should study. I should stop being preoccupied with the idea of actually being satisfied.

six word stories

found a rad website while I was stumbling [and procrastinating]
six word stories. here's one of theirs:

They lived happily ever after. Separately.

here are some of mine about the past week:

Just wanted to feel. Oh well.
The heater rumbled. I am cold.
Suddenly responsibility. I am a godmother.
Lets watch Megashark and be sarcastic.
Writers block. Need some help. You?
Third wheel on date. Second wheel?
Left early. Saw snow. Worth it.
Ate too much sushi. Happy full.
Didn't know how to comfort you.
Said the phrase: Lets be friends.
Acted for a minute. Craved it.
First line on a shirt. Cool.
Bought juice. Wasted money. Not there.
Salt and vinegar chips. My hero.
Can't skip ahead. Not this time.
My crush is big. Is yours?
Come see the Vagina Monologues. Please.
Crane Wife 3. My theme song.
Next door neighbor, loud boyfriend visit.
'Try a Little Tenderness" Dancing alone.

the blood of.....

creative writing assignment: Write about the funniest thing you've ever seen.

[and just because I am who I am, mine is a bit morbid. but still funny. and still to this day the funniest thing I've ever seen.]

A kind of numbness had settled over the house. In the past three days I had already witnessed things I never expected to witness. The first was my parents hugging. I was so shocked at the sight of this phenomenon that I nearly dropped my bowl of mac and cheese on the clean kitchen floor. The second was the sight of tears in my father’s eyes. I had inherited his stoicism so this was the more shocking of the two sights. His face was red and he wiped tears from his eyes as he calmly told my sister and I that his sister was dead.

The next few days were filled with white flowers and family meetings. Somehow I became in charge of the well being of all five of my young cousins. I was thirteen at the time, which clearly made me an authority on death. We all sat up in my room as I helped them draw pictures to put in her casket. Then we all sat at the top of the stairs listening intently at the “plan of action” for the service and what would become of her house and cat. My youngest cousin tapped me lightly on the shoulder and whispered, “When does Auntie Melissa get here?” I looked at her hopeful face and said, “She won’t.”

We passed the casket as we walked in and my eleven year old cousin Logan stopped and put his hand on it as we passed. I looked at him confused, scared myself to touch the casket and he looked at me and shrugged.

The two of us sat in the front row on the left side of the church with our older siblings. Everyone was sobbing as the service began but we just sat there, without a sound watching the faces of our fathers as they talked about my aunt.

I myself had made the decision that I did not want to be religious at this point in my life. When the priest asked us to come up to receive the body and blood of Christ I awkwardly stood up to walk up to eat the cardboard like bread. I didn’t want my grandma to have to think about the fact I didn’t want to be Catholic on top of everything else on this day. Logan followed closely behind me, confused because he had never been to church.

As I went back to the pew, I watched Logan receive the body of Christ and then walk swiftly over to the goblet of red wine. He took the glass from the priest and right there, in front of the church, he chugged the wine. The priest looked as though he had just watch him crucify Jesus. Logan looked at me and shrugged the same familiar shrug and I began to laugh. No one could hear me because of the loud organ. He smiled as he sat down and his teeth were stained red from the cheap wine.

and you paint them you say? you'll PAINT it?

I am all too abruptly deeply unsatisfied. It probably hasn't been abrupt it hasn't.
Rather, its been a gradual, deeply rooted state of dissatisfaction.

There is an excitement that builds like towering sky scrapers when I think about little, seemingly unimportant things.
and then, they crumble. They crumble almost as fast as I built them.

Well,
it wasn't for nothing.
but don't DRAW it. Don't paint it. that would be so...strange.
I bet my monologue will be better now because of that.
it was for my craft.
my fucking craft.
the craft I need to exercise.
I'm afraid I'll be out of shape by the time I get a chance.
out of shape in the same way I breathe so heavily as I walk up the library stairs.
Its not the time for thoughts such as these.
it'll happen.

[I need to sing again.]

you know whats keeping me in some little way satisfied?
all the books I have to read.
[!]