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Tuesday, May 31, 2005
I apologize to everyone I've been a beast to, these last few weeks. The stress of finals is not a good enough reason for me to abuse and manipulate every person I come in contact with. I'm sorry. | Monday, May 30, 2005 Something else from my ancient journals. I was 10 when I wrote this. 6/26/94 Today at about 8:40 PM I got grabbed by a guy on a white bike with black or blue spekles a blue shirt dark brown hair and glasses. He had a triangle head big lips and the tires on his bike were thick and about "40 in diameter. He odviosly didint have a criminal mind because he came up to me in broud daylight with no mask or anything on a bike. This is how he grabbed me: first of all me and julie were walking to her house with a load of rocks (2 to be exact) and all the way thier has been this guy riding in front of us on side of us all around than he comes up to us and askes us, "what time is it"? and we say, "we don't know" and walk away but he follows and says "I'll show you what time it is and grapes my left chest of my shirt!! Me and julie screamed and ran all the way to the other corner than some nice people that take care of retarted people offered us a ride home. We said, "no" and walked to her house. (and when the guy grabbed me I started to run he was still on his bike and when I started to run he got knocked over onto the cement!) What was really runny is that thier was lots of people playing ball in thier yard walking on the other side of the street and also he grabbed some one elce the same night in the same area. And I never saw him before in my life. I hope the poilce catch all the weirdows who grab kids and even kill them. I was lucky the guy was dumb. Or I could have been killed. It's not fair for kids today (and pareats) we have to live in a world of fear. |
Ferreting through old journals.. and in celebration of memorial day, here's a little rhyme I wrote back when I was 17, right after 9/11 when there was the big Anthrax scare. It is set to the tune of "On Top of Old Smokey." I hope I have Anthrax I hope I'm diseased and I hope I spread it with every sneeze I get a letter wrongly adressed It says "to the White house" Damn, I'm impressed Well, I'm sure old Georgey won't mind if I peeked I'm a good citizen (even if I'm a freak) I open the envelope take a deep breath In comes the Anthrax to summon my death Ah.. wartime teen angst. |
Rules for my favorite game | Sunday, May 29, 2005
 What Type of Villain are You? mutedfaith.com. |
Today I rewrite the mermaid story. Here's an excerpt, tell me what you think. “Greetings aquatic enthusiasts! My name is Sam Delphis. I work at the Glenn Aquarium. As a marine biologist, I am well versed in the mating habits of many aquatic mammals. There’s the female dolphin, whose pulsing vaginal muscles can squeeze a thunderous orgasm from her mate. The blue whale, whose penis shoots 400 gallons of sperm with each ejaculation. But today, I am here to discuss the mating habits of a very special creature. The magical, singing ladies of the sea. Folklore has dubbed them mermaids.” Sam’s audience of Oscar fish waved their fins in applause. He could see the lanky, cream-colored form of his naked body in the reflection of their fish tank. Behind him was the reflection of his apartment. It was nearly as bare as Sam was. White walls, a couch, a TV. Sam continued his speech. “The first step is to find a mermaid. And yes they do exist. You can track one down the old-fashioned way, by standing on the beach and blowing a conch shell. However, not everyone’s lungs have enough air pressure to coax a mermaid-alluring song from the discarded shell of a Strombus gigas Linne. I, myself have problems with it, so I found my mermaid on an Internet dating site. Contrary to what you may assume, mermaids do surf the net, as well as the tide. They have high-speed, wireless connections in their underwater castles.” The Oscar fish swam in circles around the mermaid statue stuck in the bright green gravel at the bottom of their fish tank. Sam went on. “Once you find your mermaid, once she follows the song of your conch, or once she responds to your online post and you spot her magnificent fin breaking the waves along the beach, you must woo her into making love with you. A good way to do this is bring her a fresh cooked lobster. Mermaids can’t really cook food down there in the briny deep, so they get absolutely horny over human dishes.” The Oscar fish popped open their puffy mouths as if to say, “Yes, it’s true. Underwater cuisine really bites. Sometimes literally, if you try to eat a feisty goldfish.” Sam watched his arms wave wildly in the tank’s reflection as he spoke. “If the mermaid is into you, she will begin to sing after feasting. A mermaid’s voice is such a powerful aphrodisiac that you will find yourself naked, splashing in the water beside her after only a few notes of her song. And let me tell you, each note lasts about 2 minutes. A heavenly warble, capable of shattering a greenhouse. Physiologically, mermaids can do this because they don’t need to breathe while singing. They have gills on their tails, so… well then, um…” Sam became flustered when he noticed his throbbing hard-on, poking toward the fish tank from his naked pelvis. The Oscar fish seemed to sense his arousal and swam in even faster circles, in blurs of shiny black and orange. “The first step is to locate the mermaids golden hole of paradise. Reach through the gills of her pelvis, she’ll giggle as you do this, until you feel the slick, strong muscles of her fishy vagina gripping your fingers. No lubricant or foreplay is needed, since you’re in the water, after all and your mermaid is already horny enough from the lovely food you brought her. Your penis will glide right in. You will feel her velvety membranes gulping at your member…” Sam stopped and began to pull at his cock. “Let the rhythmic flipping of her tail guide your thrusts. The slippery surface of her gills will rub against your testicles and thighs as you pump in and out of her colorful fin.” Sam yelped and jumped when he heard his apartment buzzer. He plucked his khaki shorts from the carpet and scrambled to pull them over his legs. He called through the intercom. “Who’s there?” “It’s Mel-o-dyyy!” a high, clear voice sang. |
Little potato. Hah! Heres to sublimation.. | Saturday, May 28, 2005 New hair! Cherry red! My teeth are huge. | Friday, May 27, 2005 Sunny. Wild storm, running through wind.. 2 Rainbows =) | Thursday, May 26, 2005 D is For Desecration Emotions run high at the art college during finals week. Not only are there tests to take, but projects to complete and rewrites and presentations. The last minute has arrived and everyone's scrambling to catch it before it rolls off into burning summer, not to return until September, when it takes a new start. I want to slaughter. I want to peel away the skin with my nails until I hit blood, then lick the exposed muscle tissue, grinding the rubbery veins between my molars, jabbing a sword up the anus, twisting it round and round until the innards liquify... I'm not really this morbid and obscene, I'm just showing off. And fucking stressed. | Wednesday, May 25, 2005 Kinda scary.. |
Today, I stole the neighbor's cat. It was in our backyard when I came home from school. I opened the screen door and called to it kindly, wiggling my fingers in front of me. Finally, it scampered into the kitchen. I bent down and stroked it's head. It trembled beneath my hand. What a strange little cat. White fur, bright green crossed eyes. Bud, my black cat got jealous. He started circling around me and mewing. I told him, "Hey, man. There's enough of me for both of you." And realized I've said that sentence before, in a much different context... It will be 6 weeks tomorrow since I've had sex. This is my celibacy record for the last 5 years. The longest I'd gone without fucking prior to this 6 week stretch was a month. I don't feel comfortable sharing the specifics of my decision, yet.. but losing 3 boyfriends and a girlfriend in 3 months, none peaceful partings, has a way of making the human mind associate sex with eventual tragedy. Some aspects of my celibacy are relieving. I get more sleep, I smell better, I'm not dreaming of "last night" throughout my daily routine. I'm more focused, more productive, have found myself talking to all sorts of interesting people I never noticed before, because I didn't want to fuck them. However, this cat thing scares me. I have a feeling if I don't get laid soon, I'll become a cat lady. Then what's next, collecting ceramic Santa Claus figurines? My goal was to hold off until the end of the school year. Let's see how I do. | Monday, May 23, 2005 Will everyone just be nice to me already so I don't get a fucking ulcer!!! | Sunday, May 22, 2005 Following for 8 miles. Found a plastic snake. My toe is sliced. Wrote 8 pages. | Saturday, May 21, 2005 My parking space fetish story turned out to be 8 pages long, so I'll only post the last page here. If you want to read more, let me know. Now some nights, some foggy nights in the summer time, I tell my boyfriend I’m going out for drinks with my friends from work and instead drive out to the suburbs, return to that park near my mom’s house. I bring a yellow condom, choose a thick, long rock of cement from the parking space, the space I squatted in the night I watched Mary fuck the old man, and I peel the condom over the rock with a snap of latex. I pull down my pants and underwear, lie on my back in the center of the space, between the safe confines of the yellow lines. I cram the rock inside my pussy, the sharp edges scraping my pillowy vaginal walls through the condom as I work it in and out. I groan softly, the pain and hardness stirs my insides to burst out in violent orgasm. My pussy cream collects in globs of goo on the condom, the way the old man’s semen did. Sometimes the condom will break and chunks of gravel will crumble off the rock and get stuck deep inside me, up near the curve of my cervix. For weeks, I’ll find sparkling gems of asphalt on the toilet paper after I wipe myself. When I am finished, I lie there, sweat cooling off my forehead, the gravel of the parking space pressing into my bare ass, an oil stain soaking the back of my shirt. I stare up at the fog, the green trees and the black sky. I start to wish Mary would have been there to watch me please and hurt myself in this space, in this empty parking space, this geometric temple of pleasure, so she could sneer at me and tell me how gross I am and I could blush again. Next is the dust bunny fetish. I promise that one won't be so gross. | Friday, May 20, 2005 Spiders on my leg, on the train. People scum coats the seats. An eye on your shoulder. Discomfort. Steel on steel. Flickering tube lights. An anal invention. The hard way to hear an overpriced body bag. California is next. Violators will be arrested. The light breaks. We're shot from the tunnel. Puncture in the bath house. People reproduce. This is Chicago. "I gotta get off this train. I'm sleepy." "Better now than next week." * Coming up, by request: The Parking Space Fetish, Dust Bunny Love, The Inpenitrable Television glare, a starving Nigerian woman and the pope. | Wednesday, May 18, 2005 A challenge: Give me anything, any person place, thing or concept and I will turn it into a fetish. I'll write a scene where its used in a sexual context, for some form of erotic gratification. I dare you to stump me!! | Tuesday, May 17, 2005 One year ago today, I dreamed I was waiting in line for the bathroom at a hospital, behind a little girl with a deformed head. Somebody had yelled for us not to go in there. Last night, I dreamed I was at writer's conference in a big hotel. The power was out, so the whole place was dark. The readings and panels were held by candlelight. I was there with Claire and Joe. Joe wanted to leave. He was drunk and sulking over something, slumped in one of the overstuffed chairs in the lobby, hiding beneath his baseball cap. Claire wanted to stay. She was thrilled by the lightless ambiance and the gathering of so many creative minds. I was torn. The conference was cool, but I was also very drunk and couldn't fathom sitting quietly, listening to editors relate the gritty realities of publishing. | Sunday, May 15, 2005 I am an uber-jerk. I have blown off every social engagement I had, this weekend. I am sorry. I have a happy secret that you can't know yet. I got myself a pair of rose-colored glasses. | Saturday, May 14, 2005 When grocery shopping in 847, I put on my "normal" suit: jeans, long sleeve shirt (to cover the arm tatoos), blonde hair combed down. This way, if one of my many local enemies spots me from afar, they will not recognize this conservative-looking girl as "crazy Allison" and then not proceed to gutter-stomp me in the produce section. Also, people actually say "excuse me" when I look normal. When I'm in my freaky clothes, I am apparently subhuman. The frumpy suburbanites run me down with their carts and I get bruised. What's funny is sometimes the same ones who glare at me disapprovingly when I'm in my typical art-slut outfit, will go so far as to make small talk with me when I'm in my normal clothes. The bald, middle-aged guy will say, "Gee, these peas look freezer burned." And I'll smile and be like, "Yeah. They should put some fresh ones out." And he'll think I'm just a sweet, young wife. Ahaha! | Tuesday, May 10, 2005 This site runs my life now. | Monday, May 09, 2005 Alas, I have no "dialect."
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I'm back and I haven't changed a bit. I was going to kill this blog on the 7th. Thought 1 year of rambling entries was more than enough. And besides, there's a lot of people out there who dislike me and this blog was giving them a portal to watch me with. Ooh paranoia! I thought I'd declare it was ending so they'd go away. Even though I now have another blog, where I write more candidly, more indepth, more cohierantly under a fake name, I'll still keep this one, where I can write as me with as little sense or relevance as I desire. Today: Well, there's nothing like an EVIL weekend to keep you in top form all week. The more you fuck up on Saturday, party too hard, make a grand-ass fool of yourself, the harder you'll try to compensate by being on time and prepared for every practical obligation Monday through Friday. Enough of this 2nd person shit. This blog post is about me, of course. And this morning, I was chipper and awake. My tutoring intuition on overdrive, my senses keen so I knew exactly what to ask and say to get the best stories from my tuttee. I was on time and paying attention in science class, am now at work and ready to get some writing done. I just opened an e-mail that confirmed I have an internship this summer at a magazine. I've got my shit together, right? Though my chest still stings from heaving whisky vomit all over an unfamiliar bathroom, reminding me with each breath what a mess I really am. | Sunday, May 08, 2005 When is Orphan's Day? |
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