abstinence sweatpants.

It's important to take a good, informed stance on moral issues in life. Understanding and valuing your positions are important when you're exploring a really complex topic. Unless, of course, you're dealing with abstinence, in which case K-mart offers these abstinence sweatpants to get your point across and influence others to feel the same way.




Don't they look like PINK by Victoria's Secret? Ew.

feed me.

I read Summer Crossing in an hour one hour ago, and I don't know what to say exactly. I'm going to the library in two days to go see the original manuscript (I have to). Then maybe I'll go do what I dreamed I did one night and change my last name to Persons; maybe, maybe, by taking on his original name, I can take on his everything.

Now I want to write a book of love. I want to start it with the car accident story Chris and I tell every person that asks about us. Can I draw circles around couples that already existed? I'd like to tell about wounded pride, true-and-tried short notice, bagged votives that fill space in waxing days, mitten in glove easy love.

I guess what I mean is, please read Summer Crossing.

backhanded compliments, pt. 2

Usually, as has been previously discussed, I love backhanded compliments. Last night was a different story.

I left the group I was with to change my shirt, in the middle of which this guy bursts into the room.

ME: Uh, hi?
HIM: You remind me of this girl I know.
ME: ...
HIM: I actually don't know her. She's from this videotape.


AIEEEEEEEE

MARRIAGE.

I am all the fuck about this poem:

Marriage by Gregory Corso

Should I get married? Should I be good?
Astound the girl next door with my velvet suit and faustus hood?
Don't take her to movies but to cemeteries
tell all about werewolf bathtubs and forked clarinets
then desire her and kiss her and all the preliminaries
and she going just so far and I understanding why
not getting angry saying You must feel! It's beautiful to feel!
Instead take her in my arms lean against an old crooked tombstone
and woo her the entire night the constellations in the sky-

When she introduces me to her parents
back straightened, hair finally combed, strangled by a tie,
should I sit with my knees together on their 3rd degree sofa
and not ask Where's the bathroom?
How else to feel other than I am,
often thinking Flash Gordon soap-
O how terrible it must be for a young man
seated before a family and the family thinking
We never saw him before! He wants our Mary Lou!
After tea and homemade cookies they ask What do you do for a living?

Should I tell them? Would they like me then?
Say All right get married, we're losing a daughter
but we're gaining a son-
And should I then ask Where's the bathroom?

O God, and the wedding! All her family and her friends
and only a handful of mine all scroungy and bearded
just wait to get at the drinks and food-
And the priest! he looking at me as if I masturbated
asking me Do you take this woman for your lawful wedded wife?
And I trembling what to say say Pie Glue!
I kiss the bride all those corny men slapping me on the back
She's all yours, boy! Ha-ha-ha!
And in their eyes you could see some obscene honeymoon going on-
Then all that absurd rice and clanky cans and shoes
Niagara Falls! Hordes of us! Husbands! Wives! Flowers! Chocolates!
All streaming into cozy hotels
All going to do the same thing tonight
The indifferent clerk he knowing what was going to happen
The lobby zombies they knowing what
The whistling elevator man he knowing
Everybody knowing! I'd almost be inclined not to do anything!
Stay up all night! Stare that hotel clerk in the eye!
Screaming: I deny honeymoon! I deny honeymoon!
running rampant into those almost climactic suites
yelling Radio belly! Cat shovel!
O I'd live in Niagara forever! in a dark cave beneath the Falls
I'd sit there the Mad Honeymooner
devising ways to break marriages, a scourge of bigamy
a saint of divorce-

But I should get married I should be good
How nice it'd be to come home to her
and sit by the fireplace and she in the kitchen
aproned young and lovely wanting my baby
and so happy about me she burns the roast beef
and comes crying to me and I get up from my big papa chair
saying Christmas teeth! Radiant brains! Apple deaf!
God what a husband I'd make! Yes, I should get married!
So much to do! Like sneaking into Mr Jones' house late at night
and cover his golf clubs with 1920 Norwegian books
Like hanging a picture of Rimbaud on the lawnmower
like pasting Tannu Tuva postage stamps all over the picket fence
like when Mrs Kindhead comes to collect for the Community Chest
grab her and tell her There are unfavorable omens in the sky!
And when the mayor comes to get my vote tell him
When are you going to stop people killing whales!
And when the milkman comes leave him a note in the bottle
Penguin dust, bring me penguin dust, I want penguin dust-

Yes if I should get married and it's Connecticut and snow
and she gives birth to a child and I am sleepless, worn,
up for nights, head bowed against a quiet window, the past behind me,
finding myself in the most common of situations a trembling man
knowledged with responsibility not twig-smear nor Roman coin soup-
O what would that be like!
Surely I'd give it for a nipple a rubber Tacitus
For a rattle a bag of broken Bach records
Tack Della Francesca all over its crib
Sew the Greek alphabet on its bib
And build for its playpen a roofless Parthenon

No, I doubt I'd be that kind of father
Not rural not snow no quiet window
but hot smelly tight New York City
seven flights up, roaches and rats in the walls
a fat Reichian wife screeching over potatoes Get a job!
And five nose running brats in love with Batman
And the neighbors all toothless and dry haired
like those hag masses of the 18th century
all wanting to come in and watch TV
The landlord wants his rent
Grocery store Blue Cross Gas & Electric Knights of Columbus
impossible to lie back and dream Telephone snow, ghost parking-
No! I should not get married! I should never get married!
But-imagine if I were married to a beautiful sophisticated woman
tall and pale wearing an elegant black dress and long black gloves
holding a cigarette holder in one hand and a highball in the other
and we lived high up in a penthouse with a huge window
from which we could see all of New York and even farther on clearer days
No, can't imagine myself married to that pleasant prison dream-

O but what about love? I forget love
not that I am incapable of love
It's just that I see love as odd as wearing shoes-
I never wanted to marry a girl who was like my mother
And Ingrid Bergman was always impossible
And there's maybe a girl now but she's already married
And I don't like men and-
But there's got to be somebody!
Because what if I'm 60 years old and not married,
all alone in a furnished room with pee stains on my underwear
and everybody else is married! All the universe married but me!

Ah, yet well I know that were a woman possible as I am possible
then marriage would be possible-
Like SHE in her lonely alien gaud waiting her Egyptian lover
so i wait-bereft of 2,000 years and the bath of life.

I know it's mad long, but please trudge through, at least, the first three stanzas. I'm not saying they're badly written, I'm just saying y'all need to get to "penguin dust!" and Rimbaud's picture hung on the lawn mower. My spouse, if I ever have one, will behave that way, I just know it.

OH NOETRY!!!!

Guys, guys. I found my first attempt at blogging. www.ohnoetry.blogspot.com. When I was fifteen, I thought the thing to do was to go to poetry.com, pick a random poem, and pop off at the mouth about it. How Baby Teen is that? Make sure to check my completely arbitrary and confusing rating scale!

OHNOETRY.BLOGSPOT.COM

There are only two entries. I considered doing another now but then I realized what a horribly mean thing this was to do in general. Eek!

so tru

INTERVENTION IN A NUTSHELL

NANCY WU IS THE BEST.

This is not an overstatement. She's doing the most exciting things about design that I've seen in a while. She used to focus more on advertising - cool, understated logos for the likes of Revlon and Rice Krispie Treats, as well as other corporate unimportance - but what I really like are her personal projects. Check out this Chanel beef jerky purse. I think it is Amazing.





For me, it represents the dual meaning of the word "consumerism," and I'm way into that.

Another awesome thing that she does - something I would actually wear, as opposed to the jerky purse - are these incredible cut-up Nike Dunks that she makes into beautiful gladiators.




I would wear the SHIT out of the grey ones, to be sure. They're not available until Spring 2010 (whaaatttt) and they'll likely be Way Too Expensive for your girl over here. Sigh. But aren't they the most incredible things?

There are so many more beautiful sketches and projects on her website. Make sure especially to look at the Grapes of Wrath packaging.

nwudesign.com

notes.

How are you supposed to write an essay defending homosexuality in the Boy Scouts when all your notes have to do with K Records? Seriously - the margins are all filled with them.

Baby Bee's Notes:



"Breakfast in cemetary, boy tasting wild cherry, touch girl, apple blossom, just a boy playing possum."

took a long time to come.

I used to think that I wanted to be married, if I ever chose that, to Bob Dylan's "Wedding Song." I think I was operating under the mindset that if something states something outright, then it must be true. Whatever, I've changed my mind now, and I know that the perfect song is "This Will Be Our Year" by The Zombies. "The warmth of your love is like the warmth of the sun, and this will be our year, took a long time to come," and later on, "smile for me, little one," convey the sweetness that I want, and matched with the darling melody and chorus they're especially perfect.

Also, how sick is it to want your wedding song to be by a band named "The Zombies?" You don't need to let me know, for I already do.



Smile for me, little one!

holidays.

What does everybody want? I want And All the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks by Kerouac and Burroughs and a new nickname (specifically Bruiser). I want to give the best, most fitting gifts to people. Do you guys want to know what to buy my mom? I know she's pretty hard to shop for, so here's your easy guide for this year.

"i would like dior show mascara , not the waterproof. pretty kingsize pllowcases. nailpolish in the colors i like so i can take it with me to salon. guest soaps. pillar candles. black cardigan. oh, nice pj bottoms! YES I would love to see Chris."

I'm way into that list for some reason. I just like personalized, telling little artifacts like that a whole lot in general, I guess, especially when they pertain to the people I love.

1959

Hi

WHEN I was fifteen, I liked this a lot. My boyfriend told me today that he thought I would like it, not knowing the aforementioned fact. Check yourseld before you wrekc yourseld



this is great

must list, vol iii.

There are so many right now. I'll try to keep it straighter than narrow.

1) The Twilight Sad's version of Half A Person. One of my favorite songs (Smiths, y'all) played sparsely acoustic and sung in a Scottish brogue. The height of loveliness.

2) G.I. Gurdjieff. He was a philosopher who believed in what he called the "Fourth Way," which draws parallels between sleep and wakefulness and human consciousness. I know, I know, that sounds really hackneyed and overdone, but he makes it lovely. His thinking reminds me of reverse Buddhism, where instead of eschewing the trappings of societies and people to achieve a kind of nirvana, you learn all you can about them and completely take them into yourself. He says that until you've reached the point where you've gleaned all you can from what life offers you for consumption, you're asleep, and you'll wake up upon understanding all these little constructs. I'm butchering this. Google it, will you?

3) The Sexy People blog. It's all vanity portraits from decades past. This is my favorite:



4) The Indian Beatles. The dancing and lyrical content of this version of "I Wanna Hold Your Hand) is mystifying and obscenely good.



5) Long Distance II by Tony Harrison:

Though my mother was already two years dead
Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas,
put hot water bottles her side of the bed
and still went to renew her transport pass.

You couldn't just drop in.  You had to phone.
He'd put you off an hour to give him time
to clear away her things and look alone
as though his still raw love were such a crime.

He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief
though sure that very soon he'd hear her key
scrape in the rusted lock and end his grief.
He knew she'd just popped out to get the tea.

I believe life ends with death, and that is all.
You haven't both gone shopping; just the same,
in my new black leather phone book there's your name
and the disconnected number I still call.

6) Gourmet Ramen (wait, am I in college?).  I'm talking about draining
most of the water, mad teriyaki and soy sauces, cut up veggies if you got
'em, MAYBE an egg if you're feeling adventurous.

7) THIS ALBUM COVER.



8) Prince Street in general.  I NEED to go to the New
Museum of Art (I think that's what
 it's called?  It doesn't actually say, the building is just
a bunch of stacked boxes
with a huge HELL, YES sign in rainbow bubble letters),
I keep missing the open hours by a hair.