Archive for the ‘Crisis’ Category

I have noticed recently that people don’t seem to understand how swear words and the internet go together.  Here is a few set of rules to help you guys out:

1) You can swear on the internet.
I’m giving you the personal permission to do it. No one’s going to slap your hand. No one’s going to give you a time out. No one’s going to put soap in your mouth. Have you seen the internet? You saying, “Man, today fucking sucks,” on your Facebook status because you have a cold is just about a million times less offensive than child pornography or racist YouTube videos.

2) But you don’t have to.

Okay, so let’s say your Great Aunt Erma just Googled your name and found your blog and now you don’t want to offend her. That’s fine. You want to keep up a public persona that pretends that you don’t swear to be professional? Alright, wonderful. However, just don’t for the love of god, don’t do number three.

3) Comic strip swearing is stupid.

“Man, today was such sh*t. I f***ing hate rainy days. &^%#*$@ this.” This isn’t Family Circus or Cathy or some shit: this is the internet. It’s not formal. Using comic strip swearing is dumb. Either say it or don’t. If you’re a professional and you write this in a Facebook note, everyone knows what you mean. Obviously. That’s the whole point, isn’t it? You’re angry! Rainy days are awful, and the whole world needs to know! No reason to sugarcoat it! That little asterisk in your fake “shit” looks like the dot above the “i” anyway. If you really don’t want to offend anyone, just don’t swear. Say, “Today was awful. I really hate rainy days.” See? Not so bad. (And further, if you send an e-mail with comic strip swearing in it, who is your audience?  Who honestly doesn’t mind comic strip swearing in a personal e-mail, but would be offended by the word “fuck”?)


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Poetry Is

Poetry Is

Create Your Badge

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More like Spring bullshit. You want to know what’s new with me? How about some existential crises? I also feel like I have no grasp on my own writing anymore. I may or may not get a tattoo with Raise Up Roof Beams lyrics and probably freak Nathan out, who, I have to remind myself, is not actually my friend no matter how much I like to believe that he is. I do not have his phone number. We do not hang out. I have never made him and Anne dinner.

Reading Sartre and cannot help but think of Beth as Anny and Randy as Antoine. For no reason at all. I really should not have taken two and a half philosophy classes this semester. Why? BECAUSE IT’S FUCKING ME UP. Also its so much goddamn reading. Of course I can go to class and reading a hundred pages every night. Why can’t I do that? I mean, that’s absolutely reasonable. I have lost my ability to connect with literature. Because I can’t do anything but read for main points. Except for with Sartre. I’m too emotional, and yet too distant. Walking paradox.

I wish I could have classy blog posts like Alison Feldish.
I wish I could be in Costa Rica like Abby.
But most of all I wish I could be with Kenny.

I have been working everyday, but I have not been doing enough work. I do not feel like I am capable of working hard enough to be a good writer, because I will always favor sleep over writing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry to myself.

“our mother has been dead for so long now”

More Nausea, staying up late tonight.
I hope it warms up so I can wear these dresses.

All my affections,

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2) If religion were to disappear, what would you want to replace it?
Literature. What is religion but a constant? I grew up in a secular household. My mother presented the idea of God and Christianity to me, but we never went to church. It makes sense, then, that I became so obsessed with reading. Stories teach you things, perspectives. Poems satisfy the part of me that like puzzle boxes and falling in love. And falling out of love. And trying to comprehend how beautiful water is. And how light is my favorite thing that I cannot hold. And how sometimes I think everything is ending. And how sometimes I think my Grandfather is the sky. Adrian, my pen pal from Canada, wrote raw poems and posted them on Diaryland (ha, the internet) for everyone to see. Somehow, I found him. They were magic. I carried them with me. He doesn’t believe in them anymore; he told me he stopped writing because he grew out of it; he didn’t need it anymore. But none of that matters. His poems still exist and will always exist and I can believe in them and they just won’t fucking leave me or break my heart and I can’t miss them like I miss everyone else and how I have always missed people.

And it means something.

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Spinning Plates

My Life:

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If we are so privileged, why are these things so hard?
This guy.
I’m picking up a philisophy minor ala Kelsey, Wall, and I believe Blankinship?
“We like to have concrete answers, and Shelley provides us with none.”
I think I’m going to write my Novel paper about Hobbes in Frankenstein.

keep talking
about apples
but when I
hand you
one it
even fit
into your

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