just like salt

she's all salt, only loved when its cold out,
pressed flat by echos and silloheutes;
she sunk beneath the yoke of a jaundiced sky
always boasting its vicegrip clamp
on her blunted maws, ever
more wasted, this cure for starving hollows,

on a centerway night, a brazen
limbo of wax and wane, she drank
up the moon, only to brood in her silver lattice
of smoke and mirrors. she's all corners,
in this undulating heep of leches. she's minded
nothing of a storm inking through her veins

always only waiting. a stranger carried in
on the lupine swagger of a low tide undertow,
his hands were made to carve a wrecking
ball from his bones. he's all sauce,
no spectre, strangling his whisper, "girl,
you better not hibernate your heart."

now: in a skim pinch of weeks
her eyes burn like cherries in the pitch.
And in the shatter of her edificed stupor.

she dances,
this naked devil.

Bad Review, what??

Album%20review%3A%20Kings%20of%20Leon%2C%20'Come%20Around%20Sundown'

"In search of the grandiose, Kings of Leon seem to have forgotten how to rock. It’s as if the quartet wanted to become the next U2 so badly that it lost sight of how it got here in the first place. Propulsion, hooks, sexiness, songs – all abundant on the band’s first and best album (“Youth and Young Manhood” in 2003) -- are missing in action."

Definitely did NOT dig this review at ALL. Even though I wish they still would pursue shit with their crucial, raw sound, they still make excellent music.

Anyyyway, how excellent would it be to go to this show? maybe i can accidentally happen to make my epic journey to the westcoast while J is in FL. . good way to distract myself

Actually..

The best kings of leon experience I've had might have to be their show back in 2006 with Incubus, the pretenders, lets see who else was there.. Iggy Pop! who told my friend she had a nice ass (in front of her dad, mind you). .. This was a crazy night.

Even better K.o.l story!

This picture is totally worth a thousand words, but it will suffice to describe the context: Bonnaroo 2010, my first real festival. I hadn't known any of these girls until this crazy southside tango trip to TN, and then there was the Kings of Leon adventure: We'd just lost sweeney, we were all in a different... "chemical" conditions, and this picture really just hits the nail on the head in terms of our collective.. mind state.

So funny story...

Real quick, just another note: my boyfriend just walked in on me trying to record "dusty" for the vimeo video submission. he definitely snuck up on me and he heard me bout to jump on the most hornin K.O.L. song (next to soft, maybe... i want you too? that black guy with that downstairs gift situation). come to think of it, this band may be the perfect candidate for a sex playlist, no?

definitely also just found a picture we took from the bathroom at ram's head live when K.o.l came back in 2007!

Kings of Leon Contest!

All about at least trying to win this Kings of Leon joint and rack up some crucial points. I can't believe I had the chance to meet them when I was 17 (in a casino nonetheless!). I bet Sam wouldve been all over that London shit. Too bad she's a nutjobweirdo now that accuses people of nonsense, but its all good! cuz there's always the slight possibility of marijakarma actually making its way into the world.

Nothing. Not REally.

signs and symbols
on eyelids drooping
behind a paned glass window
unpained, and pending closure--
these are mine. lights
flicker on. flicker off. across

the street, it is lonely tonight,
damp with the mourning
the sky must be cradling
in its burgeoning brow.

a monochromatic dinner
too bright to eat today,
departs from its steam,
while a patchwork lazy-boy
holds me up in front of it.

everything is backwards today,
some things are flatlined. other
things, in shadows and shades
just beyond the reach of the visible
spectrum, dry-heaving their drama.

sleep is more catatonic, and dreams, those self
same images blearing across the day’s ellipsis,
though only on beta waves and spindles.

static crunches both the screen of the television
and the lanky veins that should bulge somewhere
under my copper-plated skin.

limbic phenomena fails me now,
as the calm solipsism of dementia settles in,
and i’ll stay behind this window in the pearled
armory of my pupils, with that ancient luster
dissolving, and letting logic dry up,
decrepit and
arrhythmic.

we are girls so mean to girls?????

We want different things

I am submerging myself into something that is so much greater than myself... it is more important than myself, my family, my friends, and even my boyfriend (my best friend).
I wish that some people could understand that. but if they don't, that won't stop me from leaving them behind.
i'm so confused.

Collab Song with Kate (in progress)

Chords

Verse

Amadd9 Gm/Bb 4x

Chorus

C F/C

C Em

C F/C

Em* Dsus2/E Gm/Bb

Lyrics

Verse1:

We trample the moonlight—

we don’t ask questions

of rainbows in spilled milk.

Dreams leak out of the cup

but never run dry

or stain our stubborn bones.

Chorus 1x:

Sour, sweet, or bitter biting,

Just Live hard and love free

Dance naked in the downpour

Drenched in revelry

Verse 2:

Under teacup eyelids

full moon dayglows

Blinking back the stars

Bald knees scraped on asphalt

Puddles in our jeans

mud hearts cake & creep

-------

Chorus 1x

Jizz in my Pants

Andy Sandberg is hott. even in this ridiculous music video.

Blast from the Past with a side of Indigestion

I was having a really stressful day on Tuesday, eg: the bus was late to take me to class, I had a meeting/interview with LInda Clement to write my recommendation for an internship at NIH, my friend is moving to Dubai so I had to him in DC for the last time before the move, I had to go to help center, pick up Nick from class, and make a $130 deal with my brother. All this in one day. As you can imagine I was having mad anxiety, plus dealing with my brother is never a pleasant experience.

And that was just the context for the thing that put me over the edge: While I was getting ready to go over to that 70s house after I'd gotten back from DC, my phone rang and I picked up an unknown number, but had a really bad feeling. No dice. It was Kyle. That promptly began a downward spiral into a fulblown panic attack. Yes, pathetic. So I told him I'd call him back.

I was waffling back and forth between calling and not calling. Felt like I owed him the chance, just like, human-to-human, to hear him out. But I know that I'm a very all or nothing person, so I pretty much saw it going one of two ways: either I was going to shutdown entirely and be completely unaccesible emotionally, or I was going to have an emotional breakdown, something close to hysterics.

Being that shutting down has been the general trend for quite some time now, I saw that as the more likely of the two, but the issue with going all cold/numb is that it fucks you up in the future, you know? ie. not so human. But in the end, I called back, still in the throes of a pseudo heart attack & what actually happened was totally unexpected.

At first I kind of tried to deal with it like I was talking to someone at Help Center, which is pretty much how I dealt with his dad, when he called back in January to update me on his and Kyle's rehab situation (AND also guilt trip me and tell me that the family loves me and misses me, etc). But at some point in the conversation, he said something that made me laugh. Essentially, after that point, a huge change happened in me, and even though I was and am acutely aware of falling into the old routine and all of the angst that being in a relationship with him entailed, I shit you not: I felt better after talking to him.

Not just better. I felt like all the stress was deal-with-able. All the anxiety just kind of wiped clear. The more I mull it over, the more my feelings sound like an addict finally getting a fix after months and months of withdrawal. I don't like that idea. Even though I'm not technically doing anything destructive, the idea of being that connected to someone, especially that that someone is Kyle, is pretty terrifying.

I'm not entirely sure what to think about any of it. I couldn't talk to Nick about it, because I know how he would think it's stupid for me to even give the guy the time of day, and his erratic, ambivalence towards me is no less confusing in terms of biasing any possible answer.

So, pretty much, I'm just asking for you to philosophize over the situation. If you have no response, that's totally OK! and to be honest, quite understandable. If I were to talk to my mom, she would just tell me everything I did wrong. I'd rather focus on trying to figure out my feelings on the matter, cuz not being 100% sure of my feelings certainly hasn't done me any good.

End Long-winded-and-incredibly-ridonkulous-hyperanalysis-of-a-probably-completely-unimportant-event-in-the-life-of-mandy.

Props to your dedication to my mental health if you got all the way through this! You're probably higher on God's scale than Mother Theresa.

oh yes... and this

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uuGaqLT-gO4&feature=player_embedded

Draft

An Incubus


slipped into the bedroom well after

her catatonic blundering left

the thumbturn haphazardly horizontal, and

she, drained by drunken key-search fumbling,

left her wide yawn last to close

on the night. With the clanging noises

to gain entry blunting the edges of all

other sounds—the whine of hardwood

panels under pressure as they strain

against the nails that hold them

down—her ears are turned to inward

silencing.


Hypnogogia is off for the night, subdued

to the shadows by flesh-bone-blood—

no need to creep around the body out cold

and dreamless, stealth lost on the piss-drunk

girl, still vacuum-sealed in bar-sweaty

spandex.

She stirred, mumbled.

Still again, the intruder, treading the fine line

of grey-out amnesiac security, pushed

shadows from eyelashes across her

cheekbones like ink stains her mascara

made the morning after.

The sun slunk

in through hang-over inertia, and blistering

recollections leaked pus onto her pillow

as she sat up, the sleep-sand deserting

her eyes. The fragments reassembled

into a limbo somewhere between

dream and memory.

An incubus

came to bed last night.



^^ not a true ending. plus the indentations are all fucked as well as the linebreaks... yeah...

apotheosis

The word of the day is agape & I am writing from on bed of lofty thoughts; It is so easy to love, but much harder to do it well.



There is a skepsis in the notion of love proper, but when you stumble upon it, it is the verdant overgrowth of friendship. Compassion, admiration and not loving your own reflection someone else's eyes, but grateful for their existence, striving to their essence.

Very Nessessary

"The word of the day is soporific." - a cross between sleep and terrific, horrifically soporous...

The world equidistant-
the input to each sensory modality at the same degree of separation from the subjective experience-
the celestial bodies all orbiting in concentric circles of the same diameter, the focal point on a different plane of existence, despite being amidst it all.

Induce/Birth a visceral energy, an emotive response, to anything at all-
though no thing elicits any thing.

Follow a course through any route preset by another self-disclosing testimony of disconnection-
find failure in the forced efforts of others & the danger
of empty assurance in projecting the nothing into something, self-created, born from imagination.

When you rest still-
"let the chips fall where they may"
-there is still nothing. A chaos
in the silence. Fall to sleep
without pain, without grace,
without contentment or extacy,
nor blind acceptance-
but a resilient knowing that you
are of a lone privation.

Modernification of Words

Word History: The lowly kiosk where newspapers are sold or advertisements are posted is like a child in a fairy tale raised by humble parents but descended from kings. The word kiosk was originally taken into English from Turkish, in which its source köşk meant "pavilion." The open structures referred to by the Turkish word were used as summerhouses in Turkey and Persia. The first recorded use of kiosk in English (1625) refers to these Middle Eastern pavilions, which Europeans imitated in their own gardens and parks. In France and Belgium, where the Turkish word had also been borrowed, their word kiosque was applied to something lower on the scale, structures resembling these pavilions but used as places to sell newspapers or as bandstands. England borrowed this lowly structure from France and reborrowed the word, which is first recorded in 1865 with reference to a place where newspapers are sold.
- Dictionary.com

In our day and age, it seems like language is probably the aspect of life most taken for granted, next to family, central heating, and grocery stores. The evolution of language is an absolutely fascinating phenomenon: what words are appropriated into new forms, what words are (like google), how (and which) words make their way into the languages of other cultures but still retain the basic sound from their origin...

These are interesting things that the average person completely takes for granted. Another example, pointed out by a wonderfully blazed individual, was the cleverness of "Cheez-Its" which verbed a whole subcategory of dairy products as a marketing strategy that makes you feel active while you're eating a processed snack with high salt content.

Or take, "conversate," a word that pretends toward more formal language, but has actually made its way into the dictionary as slang, an appropriation of conversation instead of using plain old "converse" (which is already more formal than it would be to say "We talked" or "We spoke").

Who makes these rules? How many times does a word need to be spoken for it gain enough prestige to enter anything from Dictionary.com to Merriam-Webster? And when that word is entered, how does one definitively decide its spelling? How does this affect communication between generations?

special languages

we imbibe special languages,
all lost in the sauce, pseudonyms
and nick names align morphemes
into sonic synchrony, as a chorus
of frequencies coalesce in fractions
of consonants and vowels the angle
between an "a" and an "o" as in a whistle
mouth-made just for your best friend
who gets all of your pillow talk since your
peers pickled like preserved pork rinds
in the blistering surface of your cerebrum's
unforgiving neural loops as they rewind
over and over and over until there are only
levels of nonesense to engorge your staunch
second stomach. man, you will eat away
and never fill.

man, you incredible creature, fit with an art so sublime,
and yet you convolute its processes with the onslaught of time.

Form = Function

typical depiction of Mandy. all day every day!
:)

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please give a girl feedback on a distracting philisophizication

in limbo with the L word (& i dont mean lesbian)

there is something to be said for witholding the words that are dancing on the very tip of your tongue, longing to jump off and see if they will fly or fall. regardless of the consequences or expectations an assumptions, taking that leap keeps the mind just as restless as standing idly by while those words remain unspoken.

sometimes, those words want out so badly that they press up against your teeth and squeeze out in the form of insinuations (when you are genuine but unsure), passive aggression (when you are resentful of making the first move) or inuendos (when you are ingenuine but sure). it is cause for contemplation: (shoulds or should-nots put aside momentarily) it is an undeniably unnatural process for humans to 'come out with it' with intentions purely displayed, clearly stated, baring all with no hidden motives.

when one an individual capable of such a feat, it is no surprise that he or she would initially interpret these motions incorrectly, superimpose them on personal perspectives or inflate them with his or her own insecurities. if this individual is prone to excessive overanalyzing, it would also be no surprise that he or she would be very skeptical of the sincerity of this person. it is so easy to become intrigued by this self-inflicted mystery, though the answer is clear as day to the naive one, who takes everything for its face value. quite interesting that an excess of experience can result in just as much misinformation as a deficit of perception and understanding.

once this individual has internalized the sincerity of the motion(s), there are two essential ways to respond. ideally, one would respond in kind, with just as much straightforward virtuosity. but the more selfish route-coincidentally, also much more easy to fall into step with- yields a visceral disturbance in the heart of the beholder.

this can manifest in many ways, whether it be amplification of attraction or aversion, or a nebulous mix of the two. to run to or away from this perceived phenomenon might result in a change in the personal perception of the way the world works, but really it is all neither here nor there, when he or she has still failed to consider the "other side" as a self within itself.

so, where are we now?