a list of my favorite things.
one) peen and poon
two) me b/c i'm a badass
three) underwear b/c it's fits on my bottom
four) food when i am hungry
benny and i learned there is a real beach for the imaginary one. y tu mama tambien. i like sexy boys. we sat in the back of the car with them and saw things on the road that will stick with us forever. curly ocean waves juxtaposed with smooth skin of male juxtaposed with round and bouyant breasts juxtaposed with shaded picnic tabled conversation.
pizza from the oven. i think it dripped on to the bottom and burned a bit. but the top is cheesy. and full in my tummy.


i was enlightened today when i learned that beethoven was gay...
upon entering audiogalaxy's message board, i found some quite interesting facts:
offender bethoven is gay, limp bizkit rulez 666 limp bikit is a bad a$$ motherfucler
defender what's your problem, do you have any idea that you are talking about a master? your music is crap without any sense or without any knowlegde of music.. how you dare?
offender master? what master!?! just because he played some NONSENSE on the piano it is consider a MASTER!? get a freakin clue! besides that the music is boring, it is also DULL and EMPTY! limp bizkit sings about REAL emotions! that beats up anything, you ignorants! the people who listen to this are sad pathetic losers who have no life, and just want to cry! limo bizkit is MACHO music! you certainly are fools if you think being bored and playing NONSENSE notes on the piano is called ART!! the music, as I said, it's DULL, it has no emotions!! it's COMPLETELY empy. Now limp bizkit uses MODER instruments like ELECTRIC guitars (get with the times, you old geezers) and he sings about stuff that goes in real life, making people able to RELATE to the song, anc actually FEEL better!! now if you can't go to sleep, listen to some bethoven and you'll be SOOO bored at that crap that you'll go to sleep! don't be so OUTdated, and grow up (musically too!) Limp bizkit is world wide known, and if that is SO it must be because of a good reason, don't ya think? (upon being told that beethoven and the likes are world reknowned and have been around for awhile) Yeah, people still know mozart and the others because 1) there will always be bored people in need of boring music which 2) has made them kind of a legend. In the same way, the great art that is limp bizkit will be known for CENTURIES!! if limp bizkit would have appeared in the same years as mozart, bizkit would be more known and ADMIRED!
defender Now, why Limp Bizkit is a bad ass? Because of the publicity pre-created for this artist? because Fred cannot do a thing whitout raising his middle finger or because he self declared himself the voice of his generation? Take a look at his songs, they indeed talk about this modern real life, but that is no coincidence, do you think that Britney or the BSB or Manson are the only posers?
dude, i could quote this for hours for this is the stuff dreams are made of. one could not ask for more entertainment.


nobody knows yet.
graduation was a necessary something. not evil nor delightful.
we left behind the empty cups on a short table as feet shuffled off in another direction. the lights outside pierced the dark but our footsteps blended into the flow of traffic and lone man beating on a drum on the other side of the street. stretched out over the fountain of horse and men with water ricocheting of walls and faces in a strong stream of conciousness emitted from underwater suns. i could heard them laugh and mess around as they climbed over obstacles to reach the highest point, to peak out from behind the tallest. content with the stars faded above b/c the lights below were so bright, the glowing orange tower and underwater suns. the sound of water like the sound of silence stayed forever present, louder and softer with the turn of the head.
we passed by a dead dove, frozen in position. his wings rested on his sides that no longer carried forth breath. his feathers ran parallel and streamline gray and black. fragile bird. his head faced the east, the direction of the sun. johnny stuck out his finger and began to pet it. i suck my finger out to touch his feathers. we were silent, the four of us, around the bird.
someone got mad at me last night and hurt my feelings by being mean. i was crying in the dark. but all the mean things were true. true things i never realized. it was draining. draining enough for me to want to be alone for the rest of the day. in contemplation. and as an individual.
calling soft flour tortillas "shells" is an example of how northern my relatives are.
the last two days we spent in san antonio. i noticed the flowing water of the riverwalk and green emerging from the brown of the branches or the thickness of the soil. symmetrical buildings lifting up into the sky with windows and zig zag stairs creeping down the side. water at every meal. fajitas in a room with christmas lights and painted wall.
oh so bright.
oh, how we made sweet sweet love last night. a ha ha. at the end of the night, you smelled like me and i smelled like you. you were embedded in my hair, my arms and my belly.we're sexy individuals but hell, we're sexy together, too. almost overpoweringly sexy.
the windows were open last night. and our bodies were close in newborn feel. buried face in pillow and cheek to cheek. skin slick with sweat. i remember that. how warm and steamy the room seemed with you. and only you. two times the charm though. i laughed afterwards about a proboscas and chicken noodle soup. covered with a blanket and you. we smiled in the dark, held close and basking in the fan. i nuzzled up to you to get a little closer.


early afternoon gospel brunch. with plate of barbeque in hand and a bowl of fruit salad topped with half a tiny peach pie. they stood before us in bright red suits with black buttons and a matching black shirt with a straight collar that met at a gold button near the adam's apple. brother germaine on drums and the bass man backed up reverend and the other brothers. the guitarist lounged on the amp, huched over ripping out the chords.
"you gotta do good so you can get good."
funk and falsetto, preaching and raising hands to show we've got the love.
that punk kid is out on the park lawn catching a frisbee while his shirt hangs from his neck to act as a cape asd he jumps for the flying disc.
when we opened our eyes the world turned blue. our skin was pale and heated in the sun. herbalizer flowed beats out of a speaker and into ears. i slid into the pool and the water came up to my belly button. i stood on tip toes to keep the few inches of bare stomach free of cool water, but then prepared to succumb.
words of congratulations and hugs from family friends, an umbrella and a gift card. but when i spoke to him upstairs about her, it made me smile. danny catterson, you'll find her someday.
ben and i kept our eyes to the small screen filming classic film of our faces and shadows and the moon in slow moving black and white. gentle and grainy, lulled by the face of a small girl. or thick and jumping like the gesticulations of amy's ice cream man.
creamy white mexican vanilla shake froths bubbles and slurps up into the straw the acts as a pipe to the tongue. sweet as it hits the tastebuds and curls in ripples down the throat.
we laughed our asses off at glenn's house last night b/c the kid is a genius. i like to watch kids on film lick the window and drink lattes and laugh like horses.
i continue to unbutton the men's striped work shirt that keeps my skin from glow of one light. exposed pale and round with two buttons to go. blue hugs the lower half of my abdomen giving way to legs that cross at the ankles. belly exposed with hope of releasing heat into the cooler night.


i have been on make out club for the last half hour looking at the lovely boys who appeared with the key word photography. boys are good-looking. i would like to photograph every inch of the male body.
damion is away at the moment. driven off to lubbock. that is my explanation for the activity i am partaking in.
it would be sexy, i suppose, to climb on top of him with camera in hand.
she fed baby olivia a lime and baby olivia scrunched up her face.
i applied chapstick on the way home. it had acquired a slickness from sitting in the car.
well, we all got liquored up, hoss. mickey's, sauza and smirnoff. johnny c. and ben and i flailed around to ludacris and refused. and ben kicked me in the throat on accident as we donkey kicked our way through life. but eventually i smacked him in the face with my foot. and the salt was salty . limes were limey and the candy tasted good after our throats warmed and we sweated like horses. it was a real barbeque, you moron. shish kabobs on the grill for lord knows how long. these were stink's obsession. "what about the chicken?" i ate a hot dog and some queso that looked like dog food, but it was oh so good. everyone groped me and there were hits on the pussy. matt is the funniest fucking drunk i've ever seen. at least he doesn't dance like johnny. tash and i humped up on cristinky. it's a lie that she was the most sober. i kept having to play mother presenting laps to lie on and hands to rub backs and cups for water. but it was all good. i love those guys. benny sang to us with the guitar. softly strumming. and the bunny in donnie darko was so scary at two in the morning that we turned it off. matty curled up. and we all have the mark of the cult. pink middle finger, anyone?
p.s. smirnoff tastes like ass.


it's sweet you in
faded unwashed dirty blue jeans
that rip at the bottoms
and the sun creates lines on your face
soft face with a sarcastic smirk
that i kiss away
and scold you with my body
skin to skin
remember when you used to pull off your shirt
and we would lie in the dark with the
shades pulled up
and the moon watching through the
tree branches
still bare in winter's touch
my you are warm to olsen olsen
open legs
cotton tee-shirts and smooth
lower back which i kiss
sometimes we drown in the blankets
the handstiched blankets
and fight over one pillow
until i give in to you
my cheek nestles into your chest
it's quiet
nice with you
the last time i went back, no one was there. nothing but the hum of vending machines melding into the hum of flourescent lights lighting an empty hallway.


thought ninjas: meet skillz.
the door shut. and then there was silence. nothing but single lightbulbs whirring, a ticking clock, and white noise. it's lonesome as ears pick up the rumble of a car growing softer. wind still rustles through pecan tree leaves as the sun drifts further and further into a solitary yet peaceful rest. and heartbeat is the lullaby tonight.
sometimes i wonder if you'll turn around.
the car was still there when we returned from rock overlooking the city at dusk. and false moonlight radiated from lamps on tall poles to reflect in the spring water that licked at pebbled floor. tackled on the grass with you on top.
cristina and i immersed ourselves in art projects today. glue and razors and colored paper. not much speaking, but rather turning of pages, cutting of scissors, slicing of razors and internal beats coming from speakers.
dirty and wet
moist courderoy through the
washer cycle
spin and cycle and spin
slap against wall of metal
we grasp onto shards of people
who break with handling
and get sucked up into that jesus shit
who calls the shots as the clock
strikes one in the
morning after
why can't i be drowned in compliments? when we two affectionate and roll over to face to face. i want golden light surrounding.
i've been living on fruity pebbles.
i <3 my damion mason.


well, there's a car blocking the driveway as we head out to dinner. and i smirk as dad comes up to the car.
"what are you smirking at?"
"well, why don't you move it?"
he hands me the keys.
"how did you get the keys?"
well i'm not a genius, but apparently this is my new car. a ninety-seven green ford escort. a complete surprise to me.


i walked outside today and heard nothing but birds. it was strange in an urban sense to hear no cars, but merely the nature sounds of outdoor animals.
damion and i were outdoors yesterday. at the park and five mile. god, it was gorgeous. i like to be near the water and the trees with hanging branches. it was nice to lie fresh and under sheets with the window open and the blinds pulled up when i was next to you. colorful tubes drifting down th eriver with people passengers squealing loudly or tilting faces towards the sun copying flowers as they wake at dawn. i like to hold your hand.
i wish we had someone to call "the dude" like in the big lebowski.
it was quite the rawkus affair last night. boobie touching over dinner and exhausting rounds of dance dance revolution.it was hard to hear the beat over the shooting and kicking and racing of other games, but what can you do? i drove them around late at night, under the bridge and onto the other side of the city. the side we rarely see as the people we are. it's nice to mix it up. it's nice to fade into something else. donuts are good before you go to bed.
matty k and mahassen and i saw star wars after a soup and sandwich lunch at jason's. i was a little disappointed that no one was dressed as obi-wan or yoda. the best moments like that include a man listening to his star wars cd and another one calling a friend on his ceel phone while we waited in line stating, "yeah, i'm in line for star wars again..." and we were like, "again?" padua was beautiful. it's hard to believe there are such places as that on earth. with a lush green one could drown in and cool water spawning violet flowers and golden sunsets.
matt and i went for cookies afterwards. chocolate oatmeal cookies from underneath the counter. harvest bread company smelled of yeast and flour warm in the oven and soft butter.
i'm all teary from being around to many people. a lot is overwhelming right now.
little momo, the neighborhood refugee kitty, meows like a car horn. he's black and fuzzy and does not purr. i think his purring machine is out of order. he's funny when he chases the moths that come through the busted up screen door at daddy's. lying on laps and sleeping on pillows. and he hisses when we try to make him go home.
i'm drawing pipes for water to flow in on old business cards. they twist and turn and loop until there is a fresh flow of paper water.


it seems like recently everyone has been writing truly touching pieces about graduating. i on the other hand have not been hit by this magnitude and am looking forward to a lazy arse summer. maybe i'm growing far too "eh" about everything in life. i like to believe that once i get out of school, i'll be back to the non-drained exciting person i was in the fall. it's bland right now...and lacking adventure. maybe i can run up the train tracks to find a dead body. i feel very closed off, but clingy at the same time. and it's depressing to think that "these are the best years of your life". that would suck if it were true. i doubt it though. i'm sure i'll have much more fun avoiding work and scheming up get rich quick ideas. an hour and a half is a long time. how long would i feel bad without them?
words scrawled in green pen and written by a special teacher in a fresh book of ancient memories, a.k.a. a yearbook, "if there is one piece of advice i can add, it's that you should find out what makes you happy in life but never worry that your choice is final. you are intelligent and adaptable, and you should always be...changing."
an admirable aquaintance demanded, "make your own path, live your life and kick some ass, girl."
and my hero wrote simply, "i love you."
it's strange that the people i hardly know told me the best things. it's fuckin' candy for the brain to feast on. past the "have a great summer" and "wow, the school year went by quickly". i dig the individuals in life.
"i'm definitely shaking."
we might go out tagging tomorrow. it'll be nice to add a piece of color on a beige cement block or a cold metal pole.
i just wanted him to hold me. b/c when it gets late and the music fills the darkness of the house, i get sad. dragging your feet in the dirt makes for a crappy time, i suppose. i need him sometimes. and i don't want the damn tears to well up. this morning, i saw a bird lying on his back, but he was still moving. and i felt terrible. i hope the bird is still alive and now upright. b/c birds are meant to fly.
certain song remind me of people. i think of our kiss underneath the streetlight and whispering in his ear as i wobble on tip toes, maybe it's driving in the country with them or dancing stupidly in pajamas at two in the morning. god, it's the simple things. it's romantic in the dark.
let the wind whisper sweet nothings.
pedro the lion sang last night. and we nearly fell asleep to the voice of breezes through trees that play with wind chimes subtle and yet so rich.


here here ben. read the comment for my true feelings.
last night, little fireflies played holiday lights for summer trees. and daddy and cyan and i sang "my girl" in the car, and he even did some falsetto. i like wonton soup.
do we all wear full metal jackets?
growl. not much to say, but life is good. and when people tell you how they feel, it makes you smile.


when i was younger and couldn't sleep, my mother would play a tape of jack prelutsky poems. and most of the time, i still couldn't fall asleep. i mean, he's a genius. something wrong if you don't wet the bed before you fall asleep listening to him.

the visitor

it came today to visit
and moved into the house
it was smaller than an elephant
but larger than a mouse

first it slapped my sister
then it kicked my dad
then it pushed my mother
oh! that really made me mad

it went and tickled rover
and terrified the cat
it sliced apart my necktie
and rudely crushed my hat

it smeared my head with honey
and filled the tub with rocks
and when i yelled in anger
it stole my shoes and socks

that's just the way it happened
it happened all today
before it bowed politely
and softly went away


this is the first day my head has not fallen towards the head rest of my car and landed on the pillow of my bed.
the other day, we watched baby fat cheeks at scholtzsky's he dresses in the fashoinable attire of printed bloomers and a bib. real men go shirtless. soup in a bowl. hit bit his mommy, and when she cried out, he smiled. looks like we've got an evil one our hands.
i'm covered in teal and magenta inks stains as the result of a tumultuous battle.
jumble genius coming through. i've found my calling, and it's unscrambling letters to form words.
the faint came out in all black to a stage brewing with smoke and yellow light. out of control keyboardist moving to the beat like fluid gas when sweat drips off his chin and to the floor with a silent but present splash. we moved and it's just so god damn hot. pulling at collars and lifting up pants.
the marker marks the creases in my skin, the me in the epidermis.
the wind is blowing, and one side of the tree is in sun and the other in shade. little ella, small white cat, rests in the sun, breathing softly while the breeze rustles soft fur.
orange vitamins are yummy.
it's so hot, you don't walk. you melt from place to place, drifting mass from one space to another. my toes long for water to ripple into concentric circles, invisible with the exception of shadows on the bottom of the pool.
your house and your room just played one after the other on the playlistt. is it a sign for where i am meant to be?


"you'll be paid in experience, and that's tax free."
outside with the two-fisted pigeon and bum-y squirrel. you can't always be right. it's easy to fade into the background when you're a stranger to passersby. sweltering in the afternoon and instead, laze under shady trees or in shadowed alleys. dad kept making gorilla noises in the restaurants. whatever will we do?
well prom came and went. nothing too out of the ordinary, just a fun night with the "crew". well, other than everyone humping each other and drawing crowds for doing so. our fantasy forest meant trees covered in christmas lights, and damion and i slow danced and i pushed other people out of the way to make room for our gloriousness. i laughed at the white as white dancing, the medeival knight and mike ruiz leaping around the floor. the pineapple was good, the dancing was insane, and all the ladies lovely and the men stylish. dinner at starseed's, loud and memorable. only the least bit of groping during the chowing of fries. i dig dinosaurs and stubborn boys and stink's black eye. when the sweat evaporated away, so did our energy. the two of us stayed up talking and being close, soft and whispering.


rather than preparing for prom, i chose to slum it all afternoon.
highlight of the day: i saw a bum on the drag after picking my sister and her first boyfriend (aww) up for momoko. his sign said, and i quote, "big wacko, need prozac."
currently spinning: the hives: supply and demand


i watched them build a road. with flood light and hot tar and concrete. the big yellow steamrollers and bulldozers do not cower in the passing vehiclular light.
from the sidewalk, a couple snuggles while the crosswalk lights say walk and don't walk.
night drive in the dark with damion. my hand rests on his thigh while my fingers create circles. he's warm and the window is down. and we rest on each other at stop lights until we reach a point in which streetlights become few and then finally disappear as fenced land grows acres and acres. i like being under the covers with you b/c the night air has grown cooler and sneaks through the window you always leave open. and you keep me warm, hugging me with muggy grown arms and tossing insults to make me laugh. i'm glad i know you. we are both such teases with the greater aspirations of pirates. it hurts so bad but feels so good, a feeling words can't pinpoint. i kiss the top of your head and put my pants back on. you've got to follow orders like that when two sexy people don't know what to do with themselves other than care about the other's outcome. i like to bury into the nape of your neck and let your hands caress with the lights turned out. step out from light to dark, cloudy with no moon. and one from the window sees two passerbys holding hands in the streetlight . and then the water flowing.
lips are the most sensitive. run along shoulders and back to softness.


bald is rock and roll. stomping in puddles of our own sweat. humping the speakers and singing on top of the bar. les savy fuckin' fav. french for punk fuckin' rock. he throws whistles into the crowd, sucks on fingers and rips his shirt with bare teeth. and our faces grow red and our bodies grow muggy from moving so much, so fast, so loud. he wants pay-per-view porno and is carried on a plywood board back the stage. daddy to be sparkles on his shirt. he kept telling that kid to suck him and threw water at the others. jump across stage and get the kids to hold your mic (we're all too in love to say no.). the bass is pumpin' as he thrusts his hips and we jam in tempo. he gets away with it all. who rocks the party like we rock the body? tim harrington is my new hero. it's tantric vs. groovin.


the sun sets on the backyard. we hold hands and dance to belle and sebastian. and his voice, apple cider rushing through blood to warm you slowly for slow or chocolate coconut milk running cold down your warm throat for fast, sings the songs that make us happy. surrounded by magenta or blue or green or bright white stars, they are blackened silouettes on guitars and violins and trumpet and piano. we smiled as we kicked up dust. and they played your song (if you're feeling sinister) and my song (the state that i am in), and i smiled when i thought of you, a secret smile that no one notices. texas is one of the most beautiful places where trees mark the backdrop of the stage and waves of cool breeze ripple our hair and caress our faces. he reflects off the bass drum, pulsing the drum beats that become our heartbeats. kids dance in texas to all the music and holler about it all. we love the music because it becomes us.
i trust her. she pats my back when i begin to cry. because we're so alike, and somehow we messed up along the way. but i realize now...she is my best friend. i love you, ali.
the seas of wheat colored grass stretch in the wind to reach the thriving wildflowers. indian paintbrush, bluebonnet, firewheels, purple flowers and yellow flowers. from a distance the ground is multicolored, hiding drying soil and tanning grass.