o fuck it.

i cant post a bunch of things i wrote, because im scared that it would hurt your feelings.

see this for further.

my understanding of modern poetry

It’s like Mad Libs, only not in the back seat of a car or not in the first through sixth grade. It’s also like vomiting on a page everything that your brain won’t let you synthesize into a cogent emotion that you can sympathize with somebody later, when you’re older and less fucked up (or later today, and more fucked up). Oh, and then you take the vomit and you put a frame around it, and probably get rid of most of the uninteresting fluids (leaving the undigested parts, the stomach lining and blood—if there is blood. Actually, blood is more interesting, but will be described as “salient,” “visceral,” or other words that smart people use when they don’t know what else to say).

fold

Born contrary: Early and impatient,

I can’t tell (not one to hold out on my hand, but I can’t tell).

I can’t bluff—but misdirect

(As anyone would rather tales of their own tells told).

Convinced of a con, he calculates my pockets and

Shrugging them off as shallow,

Demands high stakes (but doesn’t go all in).

I’d rather be silent,

Holding drowsy, apathetic crowns close,

Than be caught empty handed, flushed with a smirking swagger.

I hope you like this title

Shreds of papery skin like feathers, ruffled and anticipating

the checking and rechecking double-checking.

Because my insatiable pins and needles in a

temporal space I can no longer scratch, calm or reach

will take her from the doors and windows and keys forgotten.

My arteries hammered, strummed and plucked like thrash metal

when the creak of sneakers creeps up the stairs.

Now knowing that you’re looking, I multiply by at least 2.

Every sentence that comes out feels like codes,

a word game, highlight and translate, replacing

adjectives, verbs, people, places and things, with

sounds that will make you stay.

Supposed to be makes my fingers bleed and

my moth eaten lips a history of when I last fucked it all up again.

Present and not present, watching and watched,

only feeling identified through the same scrutiny that silences me.

Hypomanic Train Thoughts

Everybody gets a little hypomanic after drinking coffee. It doesn't last long, but it totally happens to most people.

Anyway, I get hypomanic on the train 'cause thats when my medicine (I have ADHD) and coffee both kick in simultaneously. It's probably for the best that this happens while I am (usually) not around anyone I know. I've stopped writing down all of the ideas I get on the train, because they were usually intricate business plans that would make me sad later, when I no longer had the energy to follow the plan.

So today I had the following thoughts:

1) We should just fucking own the word "hipster." Seriously you guys. I was visiting my friend in Philly this past summer and he almost hit me when I referred to his socialist style run, art adorned, PBR'd house as a "hipster colony for lost boys." Ugh. we all know grown-ups who are all "yeah...I was a hippie." When you are telling your nieces/nephews/children all about your life as a crazy 20-something (in response to their adolescent embarrassment of being seen with you), you will refer to yourself as a hipster. If you make the argument that "hipster" refers to an "erudite class of bourgeoisie, marked by affluence, ennui, and social apathy," shut up. You're a fucking hipster.

2) My office has a personality disorder. Specifically a Cluster B personality disorder. Specifically Borderline personality disorder. It meets the following criteria:

1. frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment:

(the bathroom door only gets stuck when I'm about to leave for the day)

2. a pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation.

(It is either FREEZING or a SAUNA. The lighting is either THE SUN or THE LUREY CAVERNS)

3. identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self.

(Since I have been at Sinai, this office space has been filled with 5 different programs)

5. recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior

(Those holes where a drill and possibly a cabinet once were are VERY obvious--need attention much?)

7. chronic feelings of emptiness

(In the creepiest way ever, I suppose due to the plaster walls, you can never tell when other people are in the office with you. It always feels like a ghost town, even when it's packed)

THATS 5. IT MEETS CRITERIA.

horseapple, and other stuff we eated

I don't know if I'm alone here, but it kind of weirds me out when people list (in awesomely boring detail) what they ate. And please, also notice that these people rarely/never ask you to reciprocate with your own super interesting menu rundown. And they rarely/never warn you "hey, do you want to know what I ate previously to right now?" No. It's just an opening statement for bait, a half second pause, and then they just start talking, as if you are hanging on their every fucking word. You might as well tell me what your shit looked like today.

People who agree with me:

"yeah, its just as boring as when people tell you their dreams, only more arbitrary and retarded."

--josh

"...a blog where you make a post everyday with a list of the things you ate that day - except it's a joke. and not an actual list would be funny...17 peanuts, half a box of pop tarts and a head of cauliflower with sesame dressing, [me: 3 1/4 jelly beans (popcorn flavored)], white chocolate fondue, [me: instant creme brulee (with wasabi foam).]"

--robin

I am embarrassed to have dated you (Part 3)

So yeah--here's another dating horror story. I am really ashamed of this one.

I got pressured into yet another string of awkward dates with this guy (previously referred to as "Justin"), this time it was for: (1) dinner and a show (I should mention that it was dinner before a show that he assistant directed at a very well respected theater/arts center. I was PRAYING that he wouldn't be a huge pretentious show-off the whole time. He was, but that is not part of the story); (2) lunch the next day (I guess he had planned on sleeping with me).

(1) "Is there a doctor in the house?"

So I agreed to go out with this guy again because he offered to take me to a show he had assistant directed. Before the show, he took me to a sushi place that you could see directly into (like all the way to the back of the restaurant) from the street. I really hate places like that because I (surprisingly) have a touch of social phobia. However, in this instance I felt an odd sense of relief, like I knew that I wasn't going to be left alone with this guy who smelled a little too much like a woman, wore MAKE-UP over his pimples, and smiled like this dude. So first of all, after we sat down, and the hostess gave us our menus, he started to emphasize the cocktail list. For those of you who don't realize, if you do this on one of the first few dates, you might as well have "I am a sex offender" embossed on your everything. He then took a gander at the menu, and wiping the gross beads of sweat that were forming on his forehead (even though it was like the fucking polar ice caps in there). Oh. I should mention that he was one of those dudes that says "and the lady will have.."

Dinner conversation covered the following topics: His bisexuality, and how he wants to do couples sometimes. Also, a cast member and her family were literally sitting at the table next to ours. It might just be me, but the last thing I want to do while eating raw fish is listen to a dude describe how much he enjoys other dudes' dicks. I assume that this also might have been true for the cast member and her family, however I don't have exact confirmation on that. He only became embarrassed when the cast of his show walked right by the restaurant and made faces at us and waved their arms in the window--because being seen with me is pretty bad I guess.

He was annoying all the way to the theater, and through the overture. The night got really interesting when, as the leading male was making his first entrance, he was hit by a large piece of rolling scenery, staggered center stage, and kneeling down while clutching his side yelled, "HOLD!" (which means "stop everything" if you aren't a theater gay like me).

The curtain was drawn, and the house lights came up. Justin looked panicked, and then sprinted out of his seat towards the back of the theater. Then the house manager actually said "Is there a doctor in the house?" Yes. That is one of those things that I've always wanted to hear in real life. Long story short, the dude was fine, his understudy went on and was great. However, this meant that the date I wanted to be over was going to take a while longer, because Justin, as assistant director, had to give the cast notes after the show. Barf everywhere. I waited back stage like an asshole, everyone in the cast passing me and looking at me like "oh hey! You must be a fan! Aren't you so lucky to be meeting me right now?!" I had no interest in talking to any of these people, but had to say shit like "really nice work," and "you guys really pulled it together! Wow!" By the time Justin was done, the trains had stopped running (the trains in this particular city stop at midnight). OH. HOW CONVENIENT. So I was stuck right near Justin's apartment, which I now had to sleep in.

We get back to his apartment (which he described as "a panty dropper"--again. sex offender), and he proceeds to have a MASSIVE panic attack about emails he received from the director, etc. I read the emails and, trust me, they were fine. A normal person would've been all "ok," and gone to bed or whatever. But no, I was now stuck in this crazy dude's apartment for the night, with no trains running to get back home. He then put his head in my lap and started talking to me like I was his fucking therapist. I tried to redirect him several times, and he started freaking out saying "WHY CAN'T YOU JUST BE PRESENT WITH ME RIGHT NOW?!" um.. He then explained to me that he was "sorry" but he just didn't "feel sexy right now."

I have never been more relieved in my entire life.

(2) "Bean-O"

The next day, he stirred around noon (I had slept on the couch), and had (stupidly) decided to give him another chance. I figured, "whatever, he's going to buy me lunch then I'll go home." I should have just gone home. So we go to this place, where he insisted we sit in a booth, and that we sit on one side, next to each other (which was fucking weird). I immediately noticed that our server was anxious, and had a "training" badge on. When she spoke, it sounded like something they make you memorize when you are training: "Would you care for any beverages or perhaps one of our specially prepared appetizers?" Justin was not cool with this. He became furious at this poor girl, and kept mumbling stuff about tipping under his breath. I said "give her a break, she seems nervous. Also, I always tip at least 20% It's just wrong to do anything else, because waiting tables really sucks. And she's trying really hard." Justin got all huffy and snapped at me, "Well, I'm paying for this so I can tip her whatever I want." What an asshole.

We ordered (actually I ordered first this time, because I didn't want to hear "and the lady will have.." again in my life), and then he started rummaging through what can only be described accurately as a "hip-slung Murse." I heard something rattle, like pills, and I asked if he had to take medicine with food, or something. He then planted the BIGGEST bottle of "Bean-O" on the table, and stated: "This is so I don't fart myself to death." Yes. Charming. He took a pill, and went to the bathroom, leaving the bottle of Bean-O on display next to my plate (the plate I was gonna eat off of). Then, I (obviously) texted everyone I knew, because this was the 2nd funniest thing this kid had ever done. I ate as quickly as I could, and got the fuck out of there, making sure that he saw me hand a bunch of cash to our waitress.