do you know anyone who can pull off saying the word sexy

summer blood is kind of..


maybe if you're sprung

maybe if i was sprung, i would play this song on loop
for now i can just front

this five am

this is five am when i'm breathing heavily, three lumpy pillows imitating the curvature of my spine
this is five ten when i tell myself a sordid story i'd forgotten about because i'd forced myself to forget about
five fifteen when i say my own name aloud just to see if i'd respond
five thirty i'll bend down a blind and squint to what i'll harass a creepy morning
and then i'll remember that i'm the creepy morning behind the blinds, peering out
i won't sleep until i hear another person wake up
because nothing puts me to sleep like the sound of someone else resuming awake

maxine, who are your friends

max
hey max

me ft. the soul sucking nap

i like my mind more than i like the world, but i keep letting the world dictate how i feel about my mind. i like my mind. i like it in here. if i could, i'd hole away until my body is dead. i am a fearful spec of a creature. i apologize to my mind for not letting it have the life that it has always wanted and deserved. i apologize to my mind for all the holes and gaps i'd given it. 

i'm a cold salsa

i'm a hot salsa

i am all salsa and i am stuck in the fridge 

(let's play a game

am i drunk

high

or dramatic?

each entry is different. 

all of the above and none of the above are valid guesses)

jump ropes and multiple orrrrrrrrrrr...

dipping my feet in my most androgynous experience yet. when did i get so into neck ties? and bow ties. and goddamn snap backs that keep finding their way back on my head. i am very comfortable this way. be eternally grateful for being sexually fluid (is there a pun there? there's a pun there probably).

androgynous mind, hey hey it's ok

i feel like a born again creature. recently, i'd been receiving an influx of the same question: which sex with which gender do i prefer more. the answer is so boring, i won't even get into it. guess though.

jaws and i have been texting back and forth about porn stars all day, which contributed to my face to face conversations for the night. he knows so many porn stars. thank jaws for opening my eyes to a few asian actresses, as dashua had put it. i'd been very steady on avoiding asian porn stars, i don't know why.  it's been an excellent night.

i'm going through a minor nipple analysis obsession lately. it'll pass. it should.

i might be incapable of casual sex. i think i might be only into coming when paired with feelings and whatnot. i won't test that suspicion, for fear of all human interaction, at the moment. and also sexually transmitted diseases, roofies, and the ever timeless, pregnancy. \

this entry took a very personal turn. it's only personal because i decided to bring details into the concept of sex. is it always so private? i'm the most secretive person i know, who the fuck do i think i am going on about what's private?

i need to fucking relax for a minute or two. 

how gay is too gay?

gay in the morning
gay while asleep through the day
gayest in the night

(that's the most unintentional haiku i'd ever produced, i'm beaming)

Mildred Pierce

swell friday

i don't like that

i get real friendly with most words. but some of them just taste terrible to me. some so terrible that i can't bring myself to ever use. some i can't avoid using no matter

blog/vlog - i just hate it
lesbian - sounds severe and fatal (still helplessly wishing i was one though)
moded - i fucking hate it.
courageous
stable
apple
milk
juice (groceries, ugh)
crazy
awesome
angel
angelic
evangelic
feel
juxtaposition (i intently used this word in a conversation once and i had never felt like a bigger douche cunt)
love (specifically as a term of endearment, it's gay)
rockstar (just lol)
sonic (i love sonic youth, but damn i hate that word)
super (are you kidding me, grow up)
canker (just lol)
poignant
guns .....n
roses (SHUT UP)
heartbreak (be quiet little girl)
ache (ew)
quiver
classic
classically
toxic
rawr (always gross, stupid stupid gross, not even a word)
random



some cool words

spit
crawl
kneel
flesh
whimper (partial to most graphic words)
leg
indelible
length
mouth
slither
writhe (harsh 'th' sounds are wet)
dispel
expel
goddess
gay (i like gay. it's simpler)
moist (i don't have a problem with it. the more i hear someone gripe about it, the more i like it)
vermouth
wring
spent (specifically meaning tired)
post-coital
squirm
sick
boogie (let's get down)
IDIOT
limp
drool
vandalism

formidable 

lessen

nocturnal emission (two words, whatever)

upset

murmur 

lousy 

SCOUNDREL (obviously)

i'm going to end this before i pull out a dictionary and categorize all the words based on my preference. 

this is a stupid one. this is what i end up doing when everyday is a saturday. SHRUG.

boiling two eggs this morning

it's been a terrible realization how intimate i find kitchens to be. i'm teetering the point of an inability to be in a kitchen with another human being. that's a lie. i'm not teetering. i listen closely from my bedroom till i can assure myself that the kitchen is vacant. i'm locked in my room right now unable to return to making my breakfast because the kitchen is momentarily occupied. 

i'm not squirming, however, i'd just like to slither back to the kitchen soon to claim my breakfast. 

i could do without

here i am, absolutely engulfed by my own trepidation as to who replaced the toilet paper in the bathroom. as far as i'm concerned, i am in charge of replacing empty rolls of toiler paper. ferna comes home for the weekend, the scary stories are shared, and i piss on my toilet paranoid as to who had replaced the goddamn toilet paper. from 1 to DAMN BRUH, how paranoid am i being? i walked back out of my backyard and everyone crowding around the fire were paying too close attention to a baby crying next door. mind that before i had gone inside to piss, we were discussing crying babies and scratching on doors. (i'd just recently gotten accustomed to my own fears of the supernatural. bare with me. BEARS).  

again, my mind reels. 

i turn here now to declare my infuriating need for solitude. it's not until i surround myself with other human beings that i realize how terribly i need my time to be alone. while listening to my friends discuss and converse and share, all i could occupy myself with was the immutable urge to lock myself in my bedroom and mind my own business. not that i detested the company, i just wanted my mind to myself. i didn't want the pressure of sharing my opinions or my sidebar comments. i just wanted me, to myself, intently listening in on the thoughts that wrap me up till five in the morning. i just feel better when it's quiet or i'm alone. is this age? no, fuck that simplicity. this is just preference. the noise i like is the noise i make for my own enjoyment. 

a lot of things have changed. 

my body rejects most everything

if abstained long enough, my body can't hang. just because i've clung on to my alcoholic tendencies, doesn't mean my body has made peace with it. if i binge drink after three days without it, catch me with my head down, dead to the world. swearing or yacking, stumbling through unreality. cigarettes, caffeine, and red meat follow under the same category. all the things that i love to ingest into my person, i have to fight my way through their unforgiving repercussions. the first time i started hooking myself on high doses of caffeine, my gag reflex would start knocking. i get the shakes and the wild eyes. my stomach would flip, and i'd fight the urge not to throw up. (ie. right now. i'd stopped drinking black coffee again for some time now. i just picked up black tea to keep me afloat and even that caffeine intake is overwhelming. in short, i am literally gagging as i compose this entry). the first time i picked up smoking, my nicotine tolerance was so low that smoking before class meant that i'd have to spend at least ten minutes in the parking lot with my head between my knees. the light-headed onslaught of nausea and regret would inhibit me, quite literally, to the ground. i may have actually thrown up a few times. it took my body quite some time to get used to it, but eventually it did. if i take a week off smoking nowadays, it's guaranteed i'll feel the faint warning of light-headedness once i take my next drag. i'm trying my best here with alcohol. god knows i'd been running amok with my shit. (a big thank you and fuck you to san francisco, as always, for prying my eyes open the morning after every wreckage). i am not making a sweeping declaration. beercules will not make vows. I AM TRYING, FOR THE LOVE OF P...nevermind.  in summation, goddamnit, i'd been realizing lately, with this very clear state of mind, that i had forgotten how alright i am with not being chemically tampered or altered. my reliance relies on none of all my vices. i was julius caesar once. i am julius caesar always. until you assassinate me. 

sick of puking sick of repressing sick of swearing sick of stumbling sick of regretting sick of shamelessness sick of embarrassments sick of me and sick of you 

be better than the gap. 

dry, with a broken neck

suicides in parking lots
collar on collar
stupid socks
hair always unsatisfyingly long
letters are creepy
creepy letters
creepy, romantic letters from a pervy, charming idiot
artichoke
cut me up
can't swallow right
spit or swallow
or sip

you're welcome for my reeling thoughts

nervous ticks and a hat

i need a new computer desk. mine is miniature and unsteady. it's not a computer desk at all. it's just a pathetic piece of furniture with legs made of toothpicks and table surface made of index cards. it squeaks with every movement i make. 

artificial flavored cherries are disgusting. but i like real cherries. i like choking on cherries and cherry seeds. artificial flavored grapes are great though. 

my hair always gets caught between the hinges of my glasses and every time i have to rip my hair off, i get a small squirt of irritation. 

ok. well this was fun. 

let me dip

sometimes you wake up on average mood and stride across your house hoping to find peace in snacks. you gather your ingredients. sometimes a smile stretches on your tired face. you think "even though this salsa sucks, we'll have a great time." but then you turn your body towards disappointment and find that someone had finished all the chips. you stare at nothing in particular with your head tilting down in front of you. maybe pout at the ingredients you'd collected, trying not to glance at the mirror near you. then as inevitability would have it, you replace the ingredients back, and return to your bedroom with a glass of tang. sip at it for a few seconds while deliberating how you actually feel about tang. then put on your mildly inconveniently-sized headphones and listen to some dsbm to ease your dissatisfaction.

then you come across these italian fucks again and it's like they really understand your chip/dip dissatisfaction.

if you didn't wanna boogie till we're drenched, you should've said something

i had this dream about attending a baby shower for a venus fly trap. it was open bar and i got down with every girl there. then they brought out the strippers and it suddenly became my birthday bash. i don't remember who brought them, but four girls danced around me as i sweat profusely. two of them were of average moves and face. one of them was a maney bitch with below average face. the last one was my girl and i'm pretty sure she fell in love with me. she broke my shit bad and i groaned in agonized infatuation. i wanted to take her home, but the venus fly trap began to die, and the party turned into a somber pre-funeral show. the strippers disappeared and everyone ignored the open bar. the fly trap gasped its final breath... then the fucking thing came back to life. 

i'm really sorry about the dream sharing, after endlessly saying what a bore it is to do.

but here, get down to this

we tiptoed around each other like heartbreaking new friends

this is not me losing my mind.

this is not me losing my mind.

i am not a frog.

this is not me losing my mind.

this is not about me.

or you.

the end goal is to go through an entire day with out wanting to kill yourself.

the end goal is for this not to have to be a goal anymore.

this is not me losing my mind.

this is me remembering this.

i shuddered till my muscles turned white and my head ached in a helpless way. i shuddered and my voice quivered and i didn't close my eyes. i shuddered and i sobbed and i said the things i'd always needed to say. i said "i don't know" too much, but i think she understood it. the traffic seemed inappropriate for someone frantic to breathe. "san francisco is not the place to freak out." san francisco exhausted me of what i had left. the alarms wailed and i couldn't close my eyes. i placed my hand on her shoulder till my muscles turned white and my grip ached in a helpless way. i shuddered and i gagged. i shuddered and my voice steadied at the right words. i began to laugh because it was hilarious. i merged my laugh with another sob, wedged in another laughter, and i wasn't sure which one i was actually doing anymore. it was the longest drive home i'd ever needed. it was the longest drive with my hand clutched on her shoulder all the way through. this is not me losing my mind. this is me remembering this. i was very tired and my mind cleared itself in a helpless way. this is not self-pity and this is not self-loathing. this is me remembering this. this is me as someone i could be. this is me not slurring. i talked precisely and certainly and aimlessly. i enunciated every letter with a profound voice. i am not losing my mind. i shuddered and i was honest about what i needed. this is not

me

losing 

my 

mind. 

for all the lovers out there

dry hump to this shit
god bless your bliss

shit man, my bad, am i projecting again?

i project at my truest form when i start to run my dry erase markers dry and when i stick crudely-noted post-its everywhere. or when i talk shit about no one in particular on pieces of paper or used napkins. or when i binge on downloading music from sketchy sites which are probably equivalent to dark, dirty hooker alleys. or when i make coffee simply to decorate my room with. or when i write tasteless haikus on everything. or when i deliberate tasteless haikus in my head and burn it in there. or when i sink into reliving the shit storms of all spaghetti girls. or when i try to define my life in my head. 

i should do improv. 

s/o to and lol @ mother's day feat. dad

on mother's day, my father single-handedly destroyed our celebratory dinner. our family is commonly known for our dinners, and the last few years, vagger has been taking over the cooking. this year, my mother's request was a very tasteful pasta dinner with vagger's trademark zuppa toscana. mind this, my father does not get down with pasta. my father doesn't even get down with cheese. as jerk of the year, my father was an hour late to the dinner because he decided to take a very long shower. also mind my sister's short fuse box, she was already losing it just waiting to finally eat. so we all sat down the table. my father, idiot of the night (i'm talkin' foot in mouth, salivating ass hat qualities) decided to power through the pasta dinner by complimenting my sister's creations with sheer sarcasm. every ten seconds--zero exaggeration--he would comment on how delicious the food was. and how he could eat this shit every day if he made it. for style and all around swagger, he'd change things up and ask her about the recipe and the ingredients whilst throwing in another fucked up compliment. she rolled her eyes and told him he was annoying and that from that night on, he was no longer invited to her dinners. i couldn't even look up the table to put a picture how tense the dinner was. i slammed my head down on my plate and ate like i was somewhere else. i felt like i could've broken my neck, wishing i'd dissolved into my seat. the best i could manage was telling him he was getting himself into severe trouble. she retorted with terse, snide comments such as "why don't you just eat at China Express." i laughed at that one, nervously. but conclusively, she topped her exit with a very controlled "shut the fuck up" and "you are so annoying." then she ran upstairs and i was left to deal with the wreckage of the dinner table. everybody left as soon as they'd finished eating because who the fuck wants to soak in that strangling dinner. it was my mother, my father, my grandmother, and me left on the table. i would've left but i didn't want to leave my mom. i saw her shoot him a very stern look. a look that i rarely see her give. the glory of the moment, i went to the fridge, popped a beer, sucked on it till i was numb, and sat back on the table. if you think my father had stopped talking after the chef's wince-worthy exit, think again. he ran his mouth until my grandmother started cleaning up the plates and doing the dishes. he ran his mouth even after i finally went upstairs and saw that vagger had been crying. his sarcasm did not once surrender. he dug his hole, kept digging, then took a nap in it with a smile on his face. it had been, by far, the dinner that will go down in history (in my history as i'm sure nobody wants to remember that fatherly fiasco). 

epilogue

my mother requested a photo after the meal. my sister was still upstairs hating my dad. she denied the request until i told her that it was for our mother. i told her to clean up her face and steady herself for one photo, so she did. the weight of the air never faltered. the blinking of the self-timer pressed on every second on the clock. after four shutter clicks of our wooden smiles, we all dispersed away from each other and i continued to have an affair with my beer. then my mother, that sweet woman, threw in another request for us to all go bowling. it was almost amazing to believe the kind of composure my sister had to manage. she rejected the request, at first, but ultimately gave in because IT'S NOT FATHER'S DAY, DAD. so we went to bowl. some of the tension stayed at home, but not entirely. also mind that beside my brother, my father's favorite is my sister. since he got the boot of the night, he tried his very best to get on my good side. he even went so far as asking if i wanted a beer. we went to the bar. he bought me a beer. he bought himself a beer. and he bought himself a shot. this was our coping mechanism of the night. bowling awkwardly while feigning celebratory enthusiasm with intermittent bar trips. 

IT WASN'T FATHER'S DAY, DAD.

hats off for being an unapologetic asshole

ps. thinking back, it was a really good time (for me)

pps. i am my dad

very rare to medium but never well

nobody has ever been worth the pain

a crippling belief i can't expel