Saturday, February 19, 2011
Who got the job? I did!
I found out the day before yesterday that i got a sales job at STA, a student travel agency. I am so thrilled to start training on March 7th!
Sunday, February 6, 2011
Trying twitter
Trying this twitter thing. Lamiles288 is the name.
Things worth following:
@Friends (of course)
@Tferriss (Timothy Ferris author of 4Hour Work Week)
@JonStewart
@wnycradiolab (Radiolab podcasts on iTunes that Austin introduced me to)
Things worth following:
@Friends (of course)
@Tferriss (Timothy Ferris author of 4Hour Work Week)
@JonStewart
@wnycradiolab (Radiolab podcasts on iTunes that Austin introduced me to)
iPhone poetry
Thoughts can pop into my head at any time whether it's while driving, right before bed, in line at the post office or pushing the cart in the grocery. Usually i have a pen, but rarely do i have paper. So instead i opt for using my iPhone Notes app.
Experpts: from plain ole thoughts and blips to full out poetry. enjoy. (Nov-Feb)
Feb 1.
Stare at the sun no damage done
Jan 22.
Love is such an intoxicants. It makes me fall all over the place. And all I know is that your favorite place on Earth is on my hipbone.
Jan 22.
You. Are. Gorgeous. But I hate you.
But your looks have nothing to do with it.
You once said "I cut off all my hair to punish myself".
But it was long before that statement that I decoded your disgusting mentality.
Don't you get it.
You will always be ugly inside.
And one day that scowl will bubble up and stain your face.
It's your ulterior motives.
It's your beauty pageant faux smile.
It's your delusioned self image.
It's your self hatred.
It's your motherly tendencies when they aren't warranted or wanted.
It's your blackout rage.
It's your unhealthy relationship.
It's how no one feels welcome in your home.
It's how your mother calls your old friends crying over the bitch that you've become.
It's how no one bats an eye when you freak out, scream, and run away.
It's how you dip out to the closest city when you're embarrassed instead of apologizing for your drunk antics.
It's how you think you are so much better than me and name call when I'm in ears range and you think I cannot hear.
I see that fake smile.
It turns my stomach into stone and it churns solid blocks of disgust when you speak forced words of thank you.
I try not to gag as you climb in the back seat.
It's why I think of you as trash.
Money or no money.
It's why I hear your words and laugh them off.
But why do I tolerate you?
Is it empathy on my part?
Am I looking for a source of entertainment?
Are you becoming my angry poetry muse?
Should I idolize your insanity?
I think i'd rather eliminate you from my thoughts.
Be gone you pathetic excuse for a decent woman.
Be gone.
Take your trophies and use them to induce vomiting, you're looking rather pudgy today.
Jan 22.
We are not together, but we sleep together.
We are not together, but we still love each other.
We are not together, but we still think of one another.
We are not together tonight.
And my cold toes attempt to warm each other.
A spot for your long body is not saved.
Yet I find myself on the left side of the bed.
How accustomed I was to your demeanor, to your way of sleeping and rising earlier in comparison to my grasps at never ending naps.
Jan 8.
Disappointments bitter stain.
I feel it eating through my positivity.
I feel it festering beneath my grumbling tummy.
I feel it but I do not want to feel it.
I am aware but I want to sink down into the covers until the bed sits above me hovering.
And no one can see me down there.
No one can watch me, judge me, dictate what they think I must be feeling.
What I must have done to deserve this punishment.
I want cold butt to cement floor down in the couches depths.
I want to feel the crumbs between my fingers as I maneuver myself into the fetal position.
I want to hear each tear resonate as it crashes.
I want it so cold that those tears burn my cheeks, freeze on the way down and cut like glass just so that I can feel like my tears are justified.
Jan 6.
When the thought of you enters the Mind, the Mind leaps upward and away from the Body.
It floats alone.
It teeters to the rhythm of the words you say.
It nestles itself in the warmth beneath you muffling the words "I'm still hurt".
It levitates and rolls with the wind as if powered by hot air, but easily deflates like helium balloons with the interference of your high frequency pitch.
Empty, it sits on the floor with its legs straight out in front cracking its toes and rolling its ankles in confusion.
Yet sometimes the heart stands on tip toes, reaches with fingertips extended and waiving at the body pleading to be put back in its place.
But the Mind tells the Body to pay no mind to its advances.
Its ulterior motive is to divorce the heart.
To separate entirely.
To be completely distant entities.
If only Mind and Heart and Body hadn't let you get in-between.
Jan 3.
Adjustments come and go,
Flirtations fade,
Let anticipation be nothing compared to ambition,
Don't let moments define you,
Only see the glow from the silver lining
Dec 30.
Shift. Adjust.
Let lust dictate,
and precipitate your feelings.
Dec 28.
Lonely. Ness.
Keep them separeate.
Don't think of them as one.
Singularity isn't just symptom.
Nov 28.
Lined like ants.
Paused as if ready for battle.
Yet armor lay at their feet.
No stern faces of dark circles around their eyes.
They are rested yet anxious.
Nov 28.
I'd rather die than listen to your poetry.
Fuck pellets of perfection,
Forget rhyme, rhythm or talent,
Leave that shit for the poets,
The saps and the pussies.
Don't start with that alliteration.
No pantooms or odes.
I'd rather place my head on the chopping block.
I'd rather watch blood with such high viscosity
That it flails and leaps toward the opened mouth
Pleading "no more! No more!"
Nov 28.
Let the coffee steep in your veins
Heart paces up and down the hall of your mind
No patience to stay in one sector
Or in one subject
Or in any avenue worth contemplating
Instead, it sloshes by those real, intelligent thoughts
Opting for more delicate dainty delusions
Don't confuse this inability to settle with stupidity
Instead it is tactic, methodology, pure practice.
Pure genius is trickery
Teach yourself that ADHD is simply symptom and not strategy
Let those worries get washed behind fleeting thoughts
Let stories of the diluted past warm your delicate mind
Replace stress with extravagance of nonsensical remembrance.
Experpts: from plain ole thoughts and blips to full out poetry. enjoy. (Nov-Feb)
Feb 1.
Stare at the sun no damage done
Jan 22.
Love is such an intoxicants. It makes me fall all over the place. And all I know is that your favorite place on Earth is on my hipbone.
Jan 22.
You. Are. Gorgeous. But I hate you.
But your looks have nothing to do with it.
You once said "I cut off all my hair to punish myself".
But it was long before that statement that I decoded your disgusting mentality.
Don't you get it.
You will always be ugly inside.
And one day that scowl will bubble up and stain your face.
It's your ulterior motives.
It's your beauty pageant faux smile.
It's your delusioned self image.
It's your self hatred.
It's your motherly tendencies when they aren't warranted or wanted.
It's your blackout rage.
It's your unhealthy relationship.
It's how no one feels welcome in your home.
It's how your mother calls your old friends crying over the bitch that you've become.
It's how no one bats an eye when you freak out, scream, and run away.
It's how you dip out to the closest city when you're embarrassed instead of apologizing for your drunk antics.
It's how you think you are so much better than me and name call when I'm in ears range and you think I cannot hear.
I see that fake smile.
It turns my stomach into stone and it churns solid blocks of disgust when you speak forced words of thank you.
I try not to gag as you climb in the back seat.
It's why I think of you as trash.
Money or no money.
It's why I hear your words and laugh them off.
But why do I tolerate you?
Is it empathy on my part?
Am I looking for a source of entertainment?
Are you becoming my angry poetry muse?
Should I idolize your insanity?
I think i'd rather eliminate you from my thoughts.
Be gone you pathetic excuse for a decent woman.
Be gone.
Take your trophies and use them to induce vomiting, you're looking rather pudgy today.
Jan 22.
We are not together, but we sleep together.
We are not together, but we still love each other.
We are not together, but we still think of one another.
We are not together tonight.
And my cold toes attempt to warm each other.
A spot for your long body is not saved.
Yet I find myself on the left side of the bed.
How accustomed I was to your demeanor, to your way of sleeping and rising earlier in comparison to my grasps at never ending naps.
Jan 8.
Disappointments bitter stain.
I feel it eating through my positivity.
I feel it festering beneath my grumbling tummy.
I feel it but I do not want to feel it.
I am aware but I want to sink down into the covers until the bed sits above me hovering.
And no one can see me down there.
No one can watch me, judge me, dictate what they think I must be feeling.
What I must have done to deserve this punishment.
I want cold butt to cement floor down in the couches depths.
I want to feel the crumbs between my fingers as I maneuver myself into the fetal position.
I want to hear each tear resonate as it crashes.
I want it so cold that those tears burn my cheeks, freeze on the way down and cut like glass just so that I can feel like my tears are justified.
Jan 6.
When the thought of you enters the Mind, the Mind leaps upward and away from the Body.
It floats alone.
It teeters to the rhythm of the words you say.
It nestles itself in the warmth beneath you muffling the words "I'm still hurt".
It levitates and rolls with the wind as if powered by hot air, but easily deflates like helium balloons with the interference of your high frequency pitch.
Empty, it sits on the floor with its legs straight out in front cracking its toes and rolling its ankles in confusion.
Yet sometimes the heart stands on tip toes, reaches with fingertips extended and waiving at the body pleading to be put back in its place.
But the Mind tells the Body to pay no mind to its advances.
Its ulterior motive is to divorce the heart.
To separate entirely.
To be completely distant entities.
If only Mind and Heart and Body hadn't let you get in-between.
Jan 3.
Adjustments come and go,
Flirtations fade,
Let anticipation be nothing compared to ambition,
Don't let moments define you,
Only see the glow from the silver lining
Dec 30.
Shift. Adjust.
Let lust dictate,
and precipitate your feelings.
Dec 28.
Lonely. Ness.
Keep them separeate.
Don't think of them as one.
Singularity isn't just symptom.
Nov 28.
Lined like ants.
Paused as if ready for battle.
Yet armor lay at their feet.
No stern faces of dark circles around their eyes.
They are rested yet anxious.
Nov 28.
I'd rather die than listen to your poetry.
Fuck pellets of perfection,
Forget rhyme, rhythm or talent,
Leave that shit for the poets,
The saps and the pussies.
Don't start with that alliteration.
No pantooms or odes.
I'd rather place my head on the chopping block.
I'd rather watch blood with such high viscosity
That it flails and leaps toward the opened mouth
Pleading "no more! No more!"
Nov 28.
Let the coffee steep in your veins
Heart paces up and down the hall of your mind
No patience to stay in one sector
Or in one subject
Or in any avenue worth contemplating
Instead, it sloshes by those real, intelligent thoughts
Opting for more delicate dainty delusions
Don't confuse this inability to settle with stupidity
Instead it is tactic, methodology, pure practice.
Pure genius is trickery
Teach yourself that ADHD is simply symptom and not strategy
Let those worries get washed behind fleeting thoughts
Let stories of the diluted past warm your delicate mind
Replace stress with extravagance of nonsensical remembrance.
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