Saturday, June 30, 2012


I just think it would be better if all y’all knew where I’m coming from. A lot of blogs seem like mindless computer talk that comes from nowhere and no one. I’m nowhere and no one, so don’t read this post because it’s fake and I think you’re a schizophrenic if you’re still reading this nothing. Forever 21 sells straightjackets in the basement. They’re all pretty and bejeweled. They’ve got a really nice lime green vinyl one. CUM ON FEEL THE NOIZE. 

 This is an over-glorified (I’m not trying to be cynical—it’s just that people POSE for pictures.), over-exposed portrayal of ***my life. ***

 I have a cat. Her name is Star, but she only responds to Starla, so that’s what I call her most of the time. She’s kitten sized and will be forever. That’s why I like the song “Star Me Kitten” by REM so much and used it as my URL (which I should change to something more specific and thoughtful if I ever want anyone to read my blog ever.) I think the chorus is something like “So fuck me kitten…” so I’m not sure if me and Stipe are on the same page about our Stars and kittens.

She’s pretty cute.

the lighting is icky, but YOLO.

This is kind of my band-ish thing. We’re called Eyelashes or PEN15 or Penisland (you know, PEN ISLAND.) We’re a fake band. We play annually at our school talent show each year. 

eating... AS A BAND.
the people being sat on are our groupies.

This was our performance this year.

i played guitar. the bass didn't work and i dropped my pick at the end. ***yay**

My friends and I met Eric Erlandson at a book signing, as well as Patty Schemel and Melissa auf der Maur. The vibe when we were meeting them was kind of like “What website did you find us on? You girls are…cute. I signed your thing so….move along now. Go find your parents.” I dunno, Hole is my favorite band, and this was really disappointing, so I sobbed and went on a huge rant about dying and how the universe should kill us all because nothing matters anyway and all sense of anything special is fake and made up and if Kurt Cobain wasn’t worthy, than why should we be?!?!?! (Obviously, I chose not to say most of this out loud.)

i got my copy of my body the hand grenade signed

I HAVE FRIENDS. Here are some of them.

(we make balloon animals-- that's what these kids are into these days)

lauk (lark)

ruby and lauk

me and kate-- or if you're reading this, (eh i doubt it) KATE AND I
kate-- i must admit, I AM PROUD OF THIS PICTURE OKAY?
ruby and her sissss
I went to play at mini festival thing with Ruby. I played bass with her on a version of “Sticks and Stones” by the Pierces. Someone said we reminded him of a “female version of the Violent Femmes.” I must admit, I was delighted.

before the show, i decided i wanted to be bleeehhhck.
you know...
you already know who it is

me skipping

i ate three bowls of these strawberries. i like strawberries. a lot.
             Fast forward to the last day of school with (in order of appearance) Ruby, Adrianna, and Kate. (Kate wasn't exactly in any of the pictures that I posted, but we're in her house!)

i was humping sitting on a sea manatee in front of a mapplethorpe print
as i said on facebook, "mapplethorpe would approve" 

heheh. that's my boner.
REWIND BACK TO FIELD DAY!!!! Our social studies teacher, Dom (DAAAUUUUMMMM) was wearing a Marilyn Monroe t-shirt.


 He’s pretty macho and likes protein bars and muscle milk and kick boxing and Linkin Park and stuff, so he failed to recognize the sex icon-starlet upon his chest (he needed to borrow a purple shirt.)

Kate and I got a picture. Yup.

We had to draw a picture for the art challenge portion of field day. HAY IT’S DAAAUUUMMM.

the judges did not appreciate it and we got fourth place (out of five places)

I felt like I should post a song. This song is everything. Listen to it. FEEL THE LOVEEE. These. Sentences. Are. So. Choppy. And. Short. Does. This. Drive. You. Crazy? I. Don’t. Mind. It. Too Much.

I have a brother, if that changes your opinion of me. My brother is nine and he’s really chubby and only cares about baseball. Let’s just say we’re not the closest siblings in the universe.
Here’s the last conversation we had:
Robert: If you look at me, you’re gay.
me: Is being gay a bad thing?
Robert: Yes.
me: Why?
Robert: Only dumb people are gay.

Also, giggleguffawlaughgigglegiggle, I might as well just come clean now and tell you that I have a stupid crush. I think I’ll be writing about him a lot.

I’ve recorded every conversation we’ve had thus far in my diary.

I WILL be writing about him a lot.

**names have been changed**
all pictures taken by nikon p300 or scanned

Friday, June 29, 2012


Dreams are weird. Sleeping is weird. It's one of those things that used to be an obvious necessity. All animals need to do is eat, survive, and reproduce. It's not like the dodo bird died out because it forgot to fill its Ambien prescription. Sleeping was never something that was such a burden. Sleeping is TOO easy and had to be ruined by buzzing iPhones, homework, finals, and mirrors. 

There’s this whole thing about staying up and watching Vlogbrothers videos—or Glee reruns, or Tumbling or reading physics textbooks or browsing Wikipedia for new anxiety disorders to tell everyone you have—until two in the morning that is just so attractive to every single adolescent in this universe. It’s a bit of an acute information overload where your brain is trying to process the heavy flow of stuff, but there's too much, so it only picks up little tidbits. Like, after you've seen twelve episodes of Buffy and you limp over to your room, all stiff and sweaty and your head is all heavy, something happens. 

 First off, it takes a few Lizzie Bennet Diaries (you know, that running Tumblr joke-thang-- "How long did it take you?" "Uhm about five songs.") for everything to power down. (OH EHM GEE THERE'S SOMETHING WRONG WITH ME I CAN'T SLEEP I'M AN INSOMNIAC WHEN WILL THAT BITCH TEXT ME ALREADY?!?! **reaches for phone**) You drift off into the first four stages of sleep (non-REM sleep.) The first two are pretty light and three and four are deep sleep. Overall, there isn't a crazy amount activity in the brain. The "dreams" you're having are little flashes. You-- or your "dream avatar" or whatever-- don't experience everything 100%. These dreams tend to be really nice and pleasureful. After these four stages comes everyone's favorite, REM sleep. This is the hardcore DREAMING-dreaming. There is WAY more activity in your brain (rapid brain wave movement--> rapid eye movement.)  This is when you fully experience stuff in real life time. These dreams tend to be a lot more negative. I think the more vivid everything is, the more closer to reality everything is.

It's like eating. Indulging yourself with fluffy, airy, sugarfrostqueenrich-iced donuts and smooth, creamy, golden ice cream seems like good fun. Everything is super pretty and dainty and over-romanticized.

^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ THIS isn't reality.^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^ ^  

A sad girl wearing a tight American Idiot shirt sitting, with her fingers in her mouth and Nutella all over her face, and her scraggly black pubes peaking out of her blood-stained Old Navy underwear is reality. 900 calories and who-cares-how-many-cookies-that-was later, EVERYTHING IS SO AWFUL AND GUILTY OH MY JESUS LORD. This "little harmless Dopamine" ends up being an ugly dress or five hundred Hell-ish jumping jacks and missing how Bones figured out that janitor died. 

The eating (non-REM sleep) was sweet wisps of sunshiney nostalgia film camera shutter deep-rich-sing-click joy. The aftermath is stinging eyes and sunburn and sticky aloe vera and WALGREENS IS SO SUCKISH AND STUPIDLY EXPENSIVE AND I CAN'T BELIEVE THEY RUINED AN ENTIRE ROLL OF FILM.

You think you're so kewl using your little indie metaphors and two cent instantly streamed Netflix documentary knowledge? Cluck off, witch.

                Everything seems super extreme, whether it’s in really good way or a really bad way. Everyone thinks dreams have some crazy, intense, spiritual meaning, but I don't. I just think we're reliving the ultimate moments of glimmering euphoria tingle, sadness, numbness, etc, but in a new way, shape, and/or form in our own little worlds in our heads. Experiencing stuff keeps you in touch with your hungry human void-- you're just feeding it more and more and finding and forgetting small parts of yourself. 


**some people call these inspiration posts, but that's like totally mainstream**

These are nostalgia inducing things that are super distant, yet closer than close. 
dirty marble eyes
stand- rem
(I had to)

pink haus

kurt in a dress 
a crying baby in a boxy icky runny nose sweaty printed sweater

smashing pumpkins
d'arcy is a goddess 
this is *dreamy*

this person is a genius
exotic, alien, totally normal everyday civilization

i'm a *cliche*
by tetradia