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Writer's Block: And the Apple Goes To [18 Aug 2009|02:07am] Who is/was your favorite teacher in school? View 517 Answers paul w. birt is my favourite prof hahaha 4 comments|post comment

Writer's Block: Pick and Stick [24 Jul 2009|01:06pm] If you could only eat one kind of cuisine—Mexican, Thai, French, Italian, Indian, Chinese, etc.—for the rest of your life, which one would you choose? View 503 Answers Indian! om nom nom butter chicken, tikka masala, butter chicken, naan 1 comment|post comment

hung like a squirrel. i needed to be angry permanently [06 Jul 2009|12:27am] [ mood | angry ] everytime i look out my living room window i see snow even though it is july i know that there is snow around my car in front of my house with my expanding chipmunk cheeks and my sunburnt back reflecting the only thoughts that keep me alive i am alone kiss me when you're sober it's hard to do the walk of shame when the person you want to run away from is driving you around downtown toronto and you have the greasiest face in the world and he just ignores you and pretends he's confused until he goes out with his asian friends who tell him what happened and he's no longer confused but wishes he were invisible and had a time machine and could cut off his own tongue and hands. WHO taught you to be so pointless and so callous and so incredibly cruel. you're hung like a fucking squirrel. you're nothing special. CUNT, i would've kissed you sober. 6 comments|post comment

Writer's Block: Listen to This [06 Jul 2009|12:14am] If a friend asked you for some new music recommendations, what would you suggest? View 504 Answers LITTLE BOOTS the magic numbers tom jones 2 comments|post comment

Writer's Block: RIP Michael Jackson [26 Jun 2009|11:51am] In honor of the King of Pop: What is your favorite Michael Jackson song? Submitted By deathbylies View 508 Answers Don't Stop 'Till You Get Enough! for life. ever and ever. i could listen to it on repeat and never get bored post comment

Writer's Block: There Once Was a Girl from Nantucket [12 May 2009|01:50pm] It's Limerick Day! Share a favorite or compose your own humorous five-line poem with an AABBA rhyme structure. View 501 Answers there was a young woman from eling, she had a peculiar feeling. she laid on her back, and opened her crack and pissed all over the ceiling! thanks daniel cleaver, i.e. hugh grant in bridget jones's diary post comment

Writer's Block: Historian's Choice [07 May 2009|01:59pm] If you could live in any era of history, which one would you choose? View 501 Answers the 1960s or 1970s so i could fuck young michael caine senseless in reality probably the late 15th century, early 16th century so i could hang out with henry viii and get to know his wives. i'm sure anne of cleves had a great personality! ha 3 comments|post comment

Writer's Block: Heart to Heart [14 Feb 2009|06:46pm] Valentine's Day: love it or hate it? View 500 Answers HATE IT. Nothing better represents stupid commercialism and the raping of whatever cultural customs western society feels like than "Valentine's Day". And St. Patrick's Day is ANOTHER story... there were never any fucking snakes in Ireland. 1 comment|post comment

[14 Jan 2009|09:32pm] empty. 7 comments|post comment

SO THIS IS THE NEW YEARRRRRRR and i don't feel annnnny different [10 Jan 2009|12:49am] eins-talk to someone i've never talked to everyday (difficult) zwei-obviously, lose about 50 pounds drei-learn more german vier-learn more welsh fünf-go to wales sechs-stop being alone/find somebody tooooooo looooooooooooooooooooooooooove sieben-take a chance, take a chance, take a chance acht-go to the garlic festival in k-town 3 comments|post comment

hopes and dreams [31 Dec 2008|01:15am] i want to feel the sun on my eyes smile again make bad jokes slap my knee and then watch the trippy scene in space odyssey. but bowl. mostly, bowl. post comment

it doesn't feel like christmas, charlie brown. [21 Dec 2008|03:04am] The snow's coming down I'm watching it fall Watching the people around Baby please come home The church bells in town They're ringing a song What a happy sound Baby please come home They're singing deck the halls But it's not like Christmas at all I remember when you were here All the fun we had last year Pretty lights on the tree I'm watching them shine You should be here with me Baby please come home Baby please come home They're singing deck the halls But it's not like christmas at all I remember when you were here All the fun we had last year If there was a way I'd hold back these tears But it's Christmas day Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home Baby please come home post comment

[28 Nov 2008|10:31pm] hahahaha. how true 1 comment|post comment

currently [12 Nov 2008|11:05pm] Symptom Recital I do not like my state of mind; I'm bitter, querulous, unkind. I hate my legs, I hate my hands, I do not yearn for lovelier lands. I dread the dawn's recurrent light; I hate to go to bed at night. I snoot at simple, earnest folk. I cannot take the simplest joke. I find no peace in paint or type. My world is but a lot of tripe. I'm disillusioned, empty-breasted. For what I think, I'd be arrested. I am not sick. I am not well. My quondam dreams are shot to hell. My soul is crushed, my spirit sore: I do not like me any more. I cavil, quarrel, grumble, grouse. I ponder on the narrow house. I shudder at the thought of men. I'm due to fall in love again. - Dorothy Parker post comment

[26 Oct 2008|04:17am] now, we are not the best versions of ourselves. post comment

[02 Oct 2007|08:59pm] that there that's not me i'm not here this isn't happening i'm not here in a little while, i'll be gone the moment's already passed it's gone you have made the life i lead foolish too. 4 comments|post comment

when i was seventeeen [06 Aug 2007|01:23am] [ mood | depressed ] Roman I On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans. - Un beau soir, foin des bocks et de la limonade, Des cafés tapageurs aux lustres éclatants ! - On va sous les tilleuls verts de la promenade. Les tilleuls sentent bon dans les bons soirs de juin ! L'air est parfois si doux, qu'on ferme la paupière ; Le vent chargé de bruits - la ville n'est pas loin - A des parfums de vigne et des parfums de bière.... II -Voilà qu'on aperçoit un tout petit chiffon D'azur sombre, encadré d'une petite branche, Piqué d'une mauvaise étoile, qui se fond Avec de doux frissons, petite et toute blanche... Nuit de juin ! Dix-sept ans ! - On se laisse griser. La sève est du champagne et vous monte à la tête... On divague ; on se sent aux lèvres un baiser Qui palpite là, comme une petite bête.... III Le coeur fou Robinsonne à travers les romans, Lorsque, dans la clarté d'un pâle réverbère, Passe une demoiselle aux petits airs charmants, Sous l'ombre du faux col effrayant de son père... Et, comme elle vous trouve immensément naïf, Tout en faisant trotter ses petites bottines, Elle se tourne, alerte et d'un mouvement vif.... - Sur vos lèvres alors meurent les cavatines... IV Vous êtes amoureux. Loué jusqu'au mois d'août. Vous êtes amoureux. - Vos sonnets La font rire. Tous vos amis s'en vont, vous êtes mauvais goût. - Puis l'adorée, un soir, a daigné vous écrire...! - Ce soir-là,... - vous rentrez aux cafés éclatants, Vous demandez des bocks ou de la limonade.. - On n'est pas sérieux, quand on a dix-sept ans Et qu'on a des tilleuls verts sur la promenade. 29 sept. 70 Arthur Rimbaud I When you are seventeen you aren't really serious. - One fine evening, you've had enough of beer and lemonade, And the rowdy cafes with their dazzling lights! - You go walking beneath the green lime trees of the promenade. The lime trees smell good on fine evenings in June! The air is so soft sometimes, you close your eyelids; The wind, full of sounds, - the town's not far away - Carries odours of vines, and odours of beer... II - Then you see a very tiny rag Of dark blue, framed by a small branch, Pierced by an unlucky star which is melting away With soft little shivers, small, perfectly white... June night! Seventeen! - You let yourself get drunk. The sap is champagne and goes straight to your head... You are wandering; you feel a kiss on your lips Which quivers there like something small and alive... III Your mad heart goes Crusoeing through all the romances, - When, under the light of a pale street lamp, Passes a young girl with charming little airs, In the shadow of her father's terrifying stiff collar... And because you strike her as absurdly naif, As she trots along in her little ankle boots, She turns, wide awake, with a brisk movement... And then cavatinas die on your lips... IV You're in love. Taken until the month of August. You're in love - Your sonnets make Her laugh. All your friends disappear, you are not quite the thing. - Then your adored one, one evening, condescends to write to you...! That evening,... - you go back again to the dazzling cafes, You ask for beer or for lemonade... - You are not really serious when you are seventeen And there are green lime trees on the promenade... --- With the lull of summer, I found this refreshing. But I wonder how much is lost in the translation... If only my French reading were higher than a first grade level! -Mt -Arthur Rimbaud. --Translated by Oliver Bernard. post comment

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