so maybe i was wrong about radiohead.............................

"the panic...
the vomit..
the panic..
the vomit.."

This is an exercise we had to do for my creative writing class on dialoge. we had to have two people speaking to one another, both with a secret that they're not telling the other one, and the secret can only be revealed in the title. anyway, its not that great, but i havent updated my blog in a while and this is the only thing i could think of to put up here.

MARIA HAD POISENED HAROLD’S FOOD, AND HE KNOWS IT
“Here it comes!” Maria Carried the try of roast pig from the swinging kitchen door to the table and set it in front of Harold. “Just how you like it, honey, with a light glaze of brown sugar.”
“Mmmm……” Harold stuck his nose in the rising steam and took a long, good, whiff. “Smells delicious Maria, would you like me to cut you the first piece?” Harold raised the long knife and held it over the pig.
“Oh no, no no, it’s for you honey, I wouldn’t dream of taking the first bites. The honor should go to you, after all, you deserve it.”
“Is that so?” Harold said quietly. “Well then,” he said, addressing Maria, “I guess I’d better get to it.”
Harold thrust the knife into the hind quarters of the cooked pig, and ran the sharpened edge all the way down to the silver platter resting beneath. Then, with a large fork in one hand and the knife in the other, Harold gently lifted the slab of mean onto his plate, resting it between the mashed potatoes and the green beans. He cut a small piece with his fork and lifted it to his mouth. Maria had been following the movements of the ham intently with her eyes, and when Harold suddenly dropped his fork, she nearly jumped from her seat.
“You know, Maria, I think we should have a toast first, whatya say?”
“It’s a lovely idea, but we wouldn’t want the meat to get cold, go ahead, try it and tell me what you think.”
“All right.” Harold slowly lifted the food to his mouth, watching Maria’s eyes trace the movement.
“No, I think a toast…”
“Oh come on already!” Maria suddenly interrupted.
Harold’s eyes narrowed with a suspicious glance. “What’s the matter honey?”
“Oh, nothing,” Maria said sighing, “go on with your toast.”

so today was the day that the people in my creative writing class critiqued my short story i turned in on mon. they all said they really liked it, and they all said they 'didnt get it'. i think thats a good sign. dont you?

Harold. (A way to understand the world)

A poem by The Anthony G. Saldana Memorial Sanatorium

Birds
1. The one outside my window
2. The one that makes the sound "Clack Clack"
3. The one with wings that go so fast.
4. The old one that is no longer around.
5. The red one with the sweet song.
6. The dead one my cat brought in.
Houses
1. White with a picket fence, a dog, and a mother.
2. White with a picket fence, a dog and a crying baby.
3. White with a picket fence, a cat, and a single man.
4. White with a picket fence and a small girl in the front jumping rope.
5. White with no fence
6. White with red trim and a badly kept yard.
7. Blue, like the sky on a good day.
Smiles
1. Wide, and full of joy.
2. Small, with laughter.
3. Forced.
4. Sly, and suspicious.
5. No smile.
Today's tasks
1. Finish the floor.
2. Start the walls.
3. Add a secret place.
4. Join in a game.
5. Lie
6. Maintain an acceptable amount of friends.
7. Ask Jean why she is so sad.
8. And back to the beginning.

there is meaning behind misspellings and missed punctuation marks.never question an artist. BITCH. i do what i want. you dont know me.

siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh

mamma said there would be days like this. you know, days when you are attacked by bunches of monkies who sing "new york, new york" while they beat you sensless.

(my mamma was crazy)

Ok, so today in writing class, our teacher was talking about all these poets who wrote anti war poems blah blah blah. So he asked us to write a poem about how we feel about the war. After about ten min or so, he asked if anybody wanted to read thier peoms, and of course the stuck up pretentious people did. All thier poems were alike. "oh horrible destruction" this and "oh broken soul" that. anyway, for what its worth heres thge poem i wrote. it may be pretentious and crappy like the rest of them, but i wrote it and that makes it special. i call it...."Poem."

So we're going to Iraq
'cause Bush don't give no slack
Nothing much i can do,
'cept sit here and moo.
Though mooing probably wont help,
and nither would gathering lots of kelp.
I'd probably just annoy everyone,
and they would tell me to stop.

and since i was in a poetry mood, i wrote another poem, but it doesnt have anything to do with the war.

MECHANICAL FRUIT

What a sight it was
to see an orange
with mechanical legs
run all around.
It ran up the walls
and onto the cealing.
It scurried across the floor
with incredible speed.
You said you invented it
to keep you company,
although i dont know
how well it will work
cause its just an orange.

An AIM conversation between ME and a Friend (CARO)

ME: caro?
CARO: antlers?
ME: they're not very big right now. just had them trimmed
CARO: mm, i'm thinking of perming mine
ME: yes. nice long curly antlers
CARO: i try to look my best i do
ME: and you should. how else do you expect to attract strong young bucks?
CARO: *L* that's right, i met a cute one yesterday over by the river lakes. his name was Star
ME: lol. what a cute name, i bet he's "simple"
CARO: he's a star buck, get it?
CARO: hrhr
ME: ohhhhh. haha. see, im really too stupid to really know what im talking about. so i pretend and hope the person im talking to doesnt know more than me, but you do and you have brought shame upon me and my family
ME: so i have to kill you know
ME: know=now
CARO: ack!
CARO: *runs to the nearest Office Depot*
ME: ok, ill let you live, but just this once
ME: lol. office depot??
CARO: it's the safest place to run if you don't have a gun
ME: umm...ok
CARO: you can use one, a stapler gun
*from office depot
ME: ic. it all becomes clear....
ME: so why you up so late?
CARO: paper :-(
ME: ugggh. that sucks. im up late cause im SO bored i cant even sleep. how lame is that
ME: really, im asking, how lame is it?
CARO: it's as lame as my having a pimple on my neck
CARO: i do, it's annoying
CARO: arRghhhhhh, i wish that pimple would just go away. GO AWAY PIMPLE! WE DON'T WANT YOUR KIND HERE IN THESE PARTS!
ME: lol. thats right. get all bigot on its ass
CARO: LOL yes, all bigotlike
ME: right on. tell it, its children will be bastards in the eyes of god
CARO: in the eyes of our godS
ME: right. the gods of [insert religon here]
CARO: i think you should add this conversation in a diary entry
ME: i was just thinking that
CARO: except hide my last name and stuff
ME: wiiiiiierd
CARO: wooooOOOOOooooooo
CARO: that is odd
ME: no, ill give out your number, address and where you like to hang out
ME: HA!
CARO: pls. tell them that i like getting electrocuted as well

Guuuuuuuuuuurl! Where you at?

I spoke to one of the drones today. He said it was nice. I didn't believe him.

Woman In a Resturant

They're staring, they're judging. They shouldn't. They don't know about me, they don't know what I've had to put up with. I can feel their eyes on me, scanning me up and down, searching for a weakness to exploit. They wont find it though, no. I've learned to hide myself, hide my shortcomings. That's perhaps the one good thing he taught me, how to hide, how to cover up defects. If a weakness would show, I knew he would go after it, sooner or later. So I hide them, bury them, until only I know where they are. These people won't find them, they can't. They can sit at their tables, enjoy their food, use their fancy silver knives and forks, but they can't reach me. They can't get to me. Not even the waitress, who asks me what I want to drink. She'd like to ask me more questions I'm sure, she'd like to dig in and find where I'm hiding myself, but I wont let her. I could duck under the round table, I could climb into the wood rafters on the ceiling. There are many places I could go to escape her and her questions. I could go to the rest room, I remember them from the last time I was here. I remember they were nice. Stainless steel fauces, bright shiny blue tile floors. The spotless clean walls. I remember it was soothing, being in there. It was a nice break, and I didn't want to go back out and sit with him, and eat with him, and talk with him. I think we were sitting at the table by the window, where that old couple is sitting now. Yes, I remember it because I remember the view. Such large windows, floor to ceiling. I could get lost staring out of them. But now that inquisitive waitress is back, and now she wants to know what I want to eat. I can pick anything I want from the menu, my choosing. Such a new thing to me. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. I see the advantages to eating alone. I should tell her something fast so she'll go away. I'll have the Linguini with clams. Clams. They're supposed to be an aphrodisiac. That makes me laugh. Perhaps that's why he wouldn't let me eat them. Well, I can eat them now.

one wonders about the state of affairs.

got a hole in my head
always lets good stuff out
always lets bad stuff in
cant do anything about it
cause it in the back of my head
and i cant reach it

all this welled up anger can't be good for my blood pressure.

i have a guest book now. please sign. NOW!

Cloud Cover

All y'all hoes. ALL Y'ALL!!!

If I could fly, i would never land.

'cause people on the ground totally SUCK.

I've started walking to the store instead of driving. Mainly because i want to save on gas, but also because i feel like my car is going to completely break down any day now. Yesterday, on my way to the store, I saw an old woman sitting on the sidewalk near the Arcata Coin- Op Laundry. She was wearing brown pants, with a hole on the left leg just below the knee. She had a red coat that was obviously decades old. I gave her a cookie. I am so generous. I am Jesus.

They say there is a way to set up a comments page for my blog. i tried. it didnt work.

What I Like: A Love Poem By The Anthony G. Saldana Memorial Sanatorium

I like
New York in 1900
Los Angeles in the Fifties,
London in 1965
and you,
right now.