the eggplant garden

Duh

2009-11-08T22:11:00.002-05:00

I haven't posted since June, and lots has happened since then. However, I don't think I'm going to be posting on this anymore. I'm not sure if Yellow Kettle really exists anymore. We'll see.

On June 2, 2009, I'm in a mood.

2009-06-02T12:32:00.003-04:00

I miss my family.

Today I watched a television show that I used to watch with my parents. It was the series finale, and at the end it goes four years into the future. At this point the main character has passed away, leaving behind his friends, his brother, his wife, and his three or four-year-old son. This made me very sad. I know it's just some ridiculous show, but I was saddened that this person, such a likable character, would not be able to see his son grow up. He won't be able to grow old with his wife. And I guess this is what makes me miss my family even more today.

My granddad did see his children grow up; he saw their children grow up, and he grew old with my grandma. But I guess that doesn't make it any easier. Today is my first June 2nd without my granddad. I keep thinking that everyday that he isn't here. Tomorrow will be my first June 3rd without him, and the days will keep adding up.

I'm in a mood, and it's making me think about what it is that I want. I'm realizing that it's a lot simpler than I thought.

Survival Methods for a Body Without

2009-05-06T00:02:00.001-04:00

Perspiration
It was a battle between the softness of the blanket I
made two winters ago and the heat of a Virginia August.
The softness won, and we took on the heat, removing
each article of clothing. Skin of a new taste committed
itself to memory. Our bodies created air-like contortions,
filling each space. We distorted, sinking, in our own
creation. We thought it was enough—but we’re only
human. It’s natural to want more.

Rain
How unfortunate when hope is dissected – an empty rib
cage falling to pieces. I escaped to an empty lot by a
convenience store. You followed, thirsting for nicotine. I
waited, but only because the light mist was turning into
a drizzle. It was difficult to light your cigarette when you
emerged. The rain thickened to camouflage my tears.
You didn’t see that I was weak and needed you, but I
saw that you were lonely and wanted me. We found
ways to pass the time.

Water
He pressed his lips to my hair. I lifted my head and
kissed him on the mouth, thinking how sweet a stranger
could be. Then half a thought of good sense found us,
and I turned away from him, unaware of the protocol.
He slid his left arm underneath my neck, pulled me
close, and let my head rest in his nook. Each toss and
turn had him waiting to pull me back into the mold of
his body. Sunday morning’s sun struck us with such
hostility, perhaps scolding us for our errors in judgment.
The drip of the A.C. unit made me think of water torture,
as I laid in bed wondering if this first time was the last
time. I touched my fingertips to where his teeth touched
my skin and wondered how I would look when the
violet faded.

Recall

2009-05-06T00:00:00.002-04:00

This poem has lots of indents and is about a bunch of stories that I heard about both of my grandfathers. I never asked them about what I heard, because I heard most of these stories after they passed away. I didn't distinguish very much between what stories go to which granddad -- a family has to keep some secrets, right? You know what to do if you feel so inclined.

Preparation

2009-05-05T23:58:00.002-04:00

Again with the indents. So this one is about my market day. If you really know me, then you know what that means. Want to read it? Ask.

Movement

2009-05-05T23:56:00.000-04:00

There, on your piano, sits a crystal
vase. Inside are the flowers she
cut from the garden you share, but
only she tends. You’re wondering if
she’s going to throw them out soon.

She cut them over a week ago, and
they’re starting to wilt. You’ve
offered to buy fresh ones,
suggested she replace them with
new ones from her garden. But—

you don’t know that each day she
watches their color fade little by
little, while their stems stiffen and
their leaves begin to ripple and
wave around the edges.

You don’t know that she finds this
metamorphosis beautiful. You
don’t see the beauty in dead
flowers, and it’s making her realize
that you don’t want the same things.

Geography: A Lesson for Granddad

2009-05-05T23:54:00.001-04:00

I. Inheritance: I didn’t know you liked old clothes.
Vintage, I correct Grandma. A clothes bag sits on the
foot of my bed, some hers, some my mom’s. Now, mine.
One of a kind, custom made, silk imported from Japan.
Trying them on and seeing how they fit. You’d probably
remember some of them. Matching belts make their
young silhouettes become my own.

II. Separation: Where is Ohio? We can’t drive there?
Papers changing the name on the title of the car from
yours to Grandma’s, that’s where they’re coming from.
Funny—she never learned to drive, and now will own a
car. At seventy-six, her first car, not even automatic.
Ohio: somewhere around the middle, I say. It’s far.

III. Rebuilding: Only one more and it will be done.
We’re sifting through the boxes in your closet. I didn’t
know you collected quarters. Grandma says you loved
the states. Hawaii—found at the laundromat. We
examine the contents of my coin purse. Grandma insists
on the change machine. Two bills later the map is filled.
She wants it framed, but not all the quarters can lay flat.

IV. Assimilation: Save money so you can come back with me one day.
I’m wearing the clothes my mother wore when my
father was falling in love with her. Grandma is hemming
the dresses she was once measured for, so they fall just
above my knee. I haven’t been to the islands where
these clothes were stitched, where you married my
grandmother, where my mother was born. Wondering
who is falling in love with me, I’m smoothing the silk.

Dark Greens

2009-05-05T23:40:00.002-04:00

I have another version of Dark Greens, but I don't want to put it up here without the right indents so if you wanna see the revision for this, just ask, and you shall receive, probably in the form of an email or snail mail.

Creases

2009-05-05T23:18:00.002-04:00

I'm not putting this one up because HTML coding is fucking bitch, and it has about fifty indents plus some line breaks. Anyway, Creases is about a shirt of my granddad's that was given to me after he passed away in October. I kept it folded because I didn't want it to lose the scent of his cologne. But one day I took it out, held it, looked at it, and found some fold bathroom tissue that he had placed in the pocket. If you want to read it, let me know. We can arrange something over lemonade or tea.

After Him

2009-05-05T22:31:00.001-04:00

Sitting on a bench with a man who is not my father,
my mother is beautiful—but skinny, as a bird. It’s
hard to tell just how blue her dress is, because after
thirty-some years the Kodachrome isn’t as true. Their
knees are barely touching, and I know she loved him.
Not because of how he is looking into her eyes
(they are both looking at the camera).
I know because she told me. He was young, but he had
ideas. When my mother was young,

before the word doctor preceded
her name or the letters MD followed it,
before her degree meant nothing to
people who spoke a different language,
before America was no longer a dream and
home was a twenty-hour flight away,
before her hips began to spread
and she learned their true strength,
before she was anyone’s only nourishment,
before she petitioned her parents for a new life,
before she learned to drive,
before she learned to balance a checkbook,
before she had her children baptized,
before she took her mother to an oncologist,
before she explained to her daughter why
Grandma needed a special bra,
before her daughter’s soccer practice was a
priority,
before her youngest son went to war and
returned with invisible scars,
before her children stopped going to church,
before she watched her father’s last exhalation,

she loved a man who had ideas. He was not my father;
he was a revolutionary, and he fled to the mountains.
So she flew away.

Dear Amanda

2009-05-05T22:23:00.003-04:00

Sometimes I wonder if I look like you. Once when I was eight, I think, my father
showed me a picture of you. He started to get sad, so I quickly turned the page in the
album. I used to wonder how he felt, having lost his mother. But now I find myself
wondering how you feel, having lost ten children.

When I was younger, I couldn’t talk to God. I talked to you. I felt like we were both
lonely. You were this person who I never knew. Everyone who knew you would say
that you would have loved me. Someone once said that you would have thought I
was funny. I’ve been told I’m very much like you.

I thought I was going to have a baby once. I never told anyone, not even you, until
now. If I had a girl, I would name her Amanda. I woke up one morning, and my white
shorts were red. I thought it was normal, but the doctor said sometimes it doesn’t
hurt. Some girls just don’t feel these kinds of things.

1614

2009-05-05T22:19:00.001-04:00

Ignoring any warning, we walked down the paved
path, around to the back, and looked for a way inside.
A car passed through the alley, and we froze in its
scattered light. We stood on the back porch of past
neighbors we never knew. They called the cops once
when the music was too loud. We looked into the
glass panels of their back door. The bottom left one
was missing.

Preparing myself, I removed my coat, and handed
her my purse. Sticking my legs in first and going in
sideways, I stood up in the apartment below ours.
She followed. We made our way out their front door
and up the stairs to go home. The dust from the plaster
kissed the hardwood floors of our humble box with
nuclear fallout. Our door was wide open.

This was what they meant when they said luxury. A
wall was knocked down to expand the kitchen. She built
a fort in the pantry, and its walls disappeared as easily
as the blankets and sheets. No longer could we joke about
finding a pantry boy to do the dishes and cuddle with us.
Our connecting bathroom, our tunnel to each other was
too big to be called cozy.

Someone else will call it home. Others will lay drunk on
the balcony in their underwear or fall asleep in the rain.
Another girl will draw a bath, and forget to pay her rent.

Dear Diary

2009-05-05T16:48:00.002-04:00

I've neglected this a bit lately, but does it matter? Who the hell reads this, anyway? Here's a little update for stalkers and friends. Finals are almost over. I just need to finish my twelve page paper for immigrant literature on how religious faith and assimilation are related. I've been writing songs for a band that I'm in with two of my homies. They're funny. And gross. I like writing about gross things. The other day I wrote a poem about Anne Hathaway. She's not gross. Sometimes I like writing about things that aren't gross. But I saw an interview where she said this thing about how her ex-boyfriend wanted to throw out the dried flowers, but she thought they were beautiful. And that's when she realized they wanted different things. I really liked that epiphany from dead flowers. So I guess it's not really about her, just based on this heartbreakingly romantic thing that she said. Hmmm I'll post more of my poetry later. What else? Oh, I've been interning at Gallery 5. It is really dope and I like it a lot. I work in the store, and get new sellers to sign contracts with us to sell their merchandise. I also make stuff and sell it there in the store. It's called GallowLily's. There's a really cool story behind the name. Perhaps I'll tell it one day, when I have all the facts straight. For anyone who doesn't know, Gallery 5 is the second oldest firehouse in the country. Now it's a gallery and performance space. Upstairs is the store, and that's also where the gallows are located. There used to be jail cells up there, too. At some point, I think during the civil war, it became a police station, and then went back to being a firestation. There's a big steamer downstairs. It's cool. You should stop by and check it out. My grandma is coming home soon from the Philippines, and I am super stoked. She's been gone a long time, and I miss her a lot. I miss a lot of things a lot. I might go to Florida in a few weeks, and then to New York next month. We'll see. Plans always change. You don't make any cents, but I don't want your money. Paper cuts. Edits. Get it? Yeah. I knew you would.

Suck it with love,
Kimberly

Ready, Set, Go!

2009-03-24T22:47:00.002-04:00

The Not-Sow-Secret Garden Harvest is now on sale at www.theeggplantgarden.bigcartel.com! This will be available for about a month. After that, another harvest will be on sale.

Happy Harvesting!

Slowly But Surely

2009-03-15T19:58:00.003-04:00

Just had some pictures taken of the first harvest! Wanna model some pieces or interested in taking some pictures? Email us at TheEggplantGarden@gmail.com. The first "harvest" to be featured in the store will be The Not-Sow-Secret Garden. Check the shoppe soon!

Happy Harvesting!

theeggplantgarden.bigcartel.com

2009-03-15T15:36:00.001-04:00

Coming soon! Hopefully fully launched by mid week!

It's all one great big fabric...

2009-03-08T21:26:00.002-04:00

and I wouldn't mind a few cutouts.

Deer Ewe

2009-03-08T21:17:00.002-04:00

Dear You,
Who are you?

It's snowing!

2009-03-01T20:03:00.000-05:00

This time, I'm not lying.

What's in a mother fucking name?

2009-02-28T11:29:00.003-05:00

Blah, blah, blog.

Yesterday I made a loom - I got the directions from a Threadbanger tutorial by Bobbiclothes. With this loom, I made a scarf and wore it all day yesterday. It's my new favorite scarf. I think I'll wear it today. Actually, I know I will, because it's wrapped around my neck right now.

Suck it with <3,
Kimberly

I Don't Want to Talk to Anyone But You

2009-02-21T22:23:00.003-05:00

In the past couple of weeks I've seen elderly men who, from a distance, resembled my granddad. Today I went to visit his grave. They finally put the plaque in. I saw his name, engraved, the Sacred Heart and Blessed Virgin on opposite sides. And for some reason, this made me cry.

Before, his name was in removable rubber letters on a silver name plate with the name of the funeral home on top. It was small and temporary. This was it. This is it. I guess there was, and maybe even is, a little part of me that think this is all just a joke. Or a test. Like the next time I visit his grave, his name won't be there. Instead it'll read CONGRATULATIONS. Then someone in a black suit and dark sunglasses will approach me and tell me that I've passed. I am now emotionally ready to work for a secret agency as a spy. After this, they'll tell me to go to my grandparents house, where my granddad will be sitting in his chair, watching tv.

He's the one person I want to talk to right now, and I can't.

I hate everyone a little bit today. Even when I runaway, I can't get away.

I Really Like Making Pastry Pasties, Ya'll

2009-02-15T10:24:00.002-05:00

Well, I mean I guess I do. I made mine to look like whip cream with a cherry on top; although some people referred to my boobs in the pasties as cupcakes. Either way, I was very happy with the way they turned out. Let me rewind and start from the beginning, or at least close to it. Actually I won't start there. I'll just start with last night. Okay. Here, wait, not yet, all right, now.

Last night was the best Valentine's Day of my entire life. Seriously, no question. I didn't have a "valentine" or anything fucking aCUTEly lame like that. Nope, last night was not amazing because I had that one special person by my side. It was wonderful because there were a bunch of special people! On February 14, 2009, I danced in my first burlesque show, The Death Match of Love at Gallery 5 in Richmond, Virginia with the Modern Burlesque Brigade.

My burlesque name is Yellow Kettle, which is also the name of my crafts and jewelry stuff. I did my piece as a cooking show, to the song "All Blues" by Miles Davis. The band picked it out for me, and I was really pleased with it. It involved confetti, condoms, a fake cake, and the pasties mentioned above. Oh, and lots of licking. The premise was that I was doing the recipe, and it was a little off so I do another recipe, and that one tells me to remove my clothes, so I mix in my robe, hat, apron and garter. Before that I "accidentally" put in too much of an ingredient, and I grab some condoms and confetti from the bowl and throw it to the audience. That was a good moment for everyone, I think. Finally when my cake is ready, I smell it, and the aroma of the fresh baked love moves me to take off my dress. I rip open the snaps, except for one, turn around and remove the dress completely. I grab the cake, hiding the pasties turn around, and show the audience what we have made together. Then I go center stage and raise the cake to reveal my pasties. After that I touch my finger to the "whip cream" and give it a lick. I wink, and peace out. Hopefully a video will surface and some pictures too, and I can put them up here for all my loyal readers (me and maybe one other person) to indulge in.

I also did the introduction to the intermission. That was basically me, in a huge trench coat, with two pieces of cardboard - one (to cover my two pieces up top) read INTERMISSION and the other (to cover my lady cave) read 10 MINUTES. I came out, looked really creepy at the audience for a good long while. Then at the peek of awkward, when even I could no longer handle it, I flung open the trench and revealed the sign. Some dude ran up with his camera phone, which was kind of even more awkward.

That was hands down the best time I have ever had on stage. It was also the first time I practiced with the band. S o I really owe them a lot. Everyone was wonderful to work with, and I'm really glad I was able to be apart of it. Thanks to anyone who reads this and came out last night.

Suck it with <3,
Yellow Kettle

Geography (first draft)

2009-01-30T09:57:00.001-05:00

Geography
Kimberly R. Nario

She’s asking where Ohio is
because the papers changing the name on
the title of the car from yours to hers,
that’s where they’re coming from.
She’s wondering how long they’ll take.
It’s somewhere around the middle, I say. It’s far.

She gives me a bag of clothes, some hers,
most my mother’s. But now, all mine. Each
piece, one of a kind, custom made, fabric imported
from Japan. I didn’t know you liked old clothes.
Vintage, I correct her. Old makes them seem
dowdy, and these are precious gems.

She’s going through the boxes in your closet.
I didn’t know you collected quarters. Hawaii is found
at the laundromat. I tell her I have some in my coin
purse, but after inspecting my offerings she insists on
the change machine. The map is filled. She wants it
framed, but not all the quarters lay flat.

I’m wearing the clothes my mother wore when my father was
falling in love with her. Your wife is hemming the skirts
she was once measured for, so they fall just above my knee. I haven’t
been to the land where these clothes were stitched, where you married
my grandmother, where my mother was born. I’m smoothing the silk
and wondering who is falling in love with me.

Car Pool Tunnel Syndrome

2009-01-28T12:04:00.003-05:00

On the one day when I actually need a car in this tiny city, it decides not to start. Great, so now I have to ride my bike in this fuck nasty weather, manage to look unaffected by the disgustingness that mother nature put out this morning and meet with some folks to discuss a few possibilities. I wanted to look cute for this meeting, but now I'm not so sure that's an option. Seriously, I have too much work to do for tomorrow, and I'm out of my favorite treats (that I still feel kind weird in the brains from) - this couldn't happen, oh say .. . .any other time except today? AND this morning I slipped down the stairs and skinned my elbow. Today is not a very good day. I hate driving in tunnels, too. Thank goodness I don't have to do that right now!

Suck it hard w/<3,
Kim

p.s. If I would have known today was going to suck I would have saved the treats for later! Hey universe, go fuck yourself.

"Survival Methods for a Body Without" Round 2

2009-01-27T19:01:00.002-05:00

Survival Methods for a Body Without
Kimberly R. Nario

Perspiration
It was a battle between the softness of the blanket I made
two winters ago and the heat of a Virginia August. The blanket
won, but the heat was too much to let our bodies touch. So we
left it to our hands and our eyes. The commingling of the
perspiration from our palms offered a comfort once found only
when I rested my head on your heartbeat. Looking at you, at
your body, was suddenly more fulfilling than touching you.

But we’re only human.

We stayed under the blanket and perspired until our
energy expired.

Sweating is a necessary and natural act for the body.

Rain
Your stairs could not slow me down. We were over before
we tried to save us, but that did not dissuade our efforts.
How unfortunate it is when hope is dissected – all that is left
is an empty rib cage falling to pieces. You and I couldn’t
distinguish which pieces were mine and which were yours.

When confusion sets in it is easy to justify anything.

I found comfort in an empty lot by a convenience store. You
followed, claiming you needed to buy cigarettes. I waited, but
only because you asked. A light mist turned into a drizzle while
you were inside and made it difficult to light your cancer when
you emerged. You asked if I was going to his house. I said yes.

The rain thickened and camouflaged my tears. It was pointless
to continue crying.

You wouldn’t see it.

Water
An obscene hour trapped us in my room and turned
us into another hour, and another, and another.
Then, half a thought of good sense found us, and I
turned away from you, unaware of the protocol in these
types of situations. You slid your left arm underneath
my neck and pulled me toward you, letting my head
rest in your nook.

You pressed your lips to my hair. I lifted my head and
kissed you on the mouth, thinking how sweet a stranger
could be.

Dehydration asked me to leave a cup of water by my bed.
The moisture was as reliable as your hand on the small of
my back after every sip, waiting to pull me back into the
mold of your body.

Sunday morning’s sun struck us with such hostility, perhaps
scolding us for our errors in judgment. The drip of the A.C.
unit made me think of Chinese water torture, as I laid in bed
wondering if that was the last time. I touched my fingertips
to where your teeth touched my skin and wondered how
I would look when the violet faded.

* * *

This revision has only a few differences from the first draft.
Some questions I received after workshopping:
1. Are the same people involved throughout the poem?
2. What's the deal with the title?
3. What's the deal with the subtitles?
4. Is this one cycle of a relationship, or three different relationships?
Answers:
1. Two boys one girl. No cups, not a threesome.
2. We need water to survive, duh. I wanted to play with the desperation of needing and wanting something not always so easily attained. Water, sex, love, all of it, everything. The body without is a body without sex.
3. Perspiration: doing something to create another thing. Being with this person to create this feeling. Having sex creates perspiration. This was meant to be more personal than the Water section.
Rain: outside forces causing changes. Such as in a relationship, sometimes there are things outside that make it difficult to have anything within. We can't control everything.
Water: this is the one night stand kind of deal. The raw deal of what a body wants and or needs.
4. Perspiration and Rain are the beginning and ending of a relationship. Water is a movement of sorts in distancing oneself from the other by another. Does that make sense? Whatever, it's a one time deal.
*I'm working on revisions for this as I blog.*

Suck it with <3,
Kim

21 WAS OH SO FUN

2009-01-26T23:18:00.006-05:00

I guess I should have done this a while ago. Whatever. Who's even reading this shit? Yeah, that's what I thought. These events took place from January 16th to January 17th.

SOoooo the house show was too legit to quit. Unfortunately the house got trashed, so my roomies decided to cancel the second show scheduled for Saturday. Of course I wanted it to go on because I was in rage fest mode so hard! But I respect the decision of my roomies, and I was clearly outnumbered, so putting up a fight really wasn't worth it. I accepted my defeat. I've never had so much fun getting crazy and moshing and fucking shit up hard. Perhaps it's because I was in the comfort of my own home. I don't know.

There was a moment when beer was spilling everywhere. Shortly thereafter, I got elbowed in the nose. I couldn't tell if the liquid on my face was beer or blood. Epic. It was beer. And it got in my eyes. Not so good for contacts. Ouch.

A very kind fellow put me in the air, and I embarked on my first crowd surfing trip ever! I safely landed on my feet thanks to the wonderful and beautiful people beneath me.

The music was rad. Except for one set, which I could have done without. And I'm pretty sure most everyone else agrees. They weren't bad necessarily, just mildly annoying. I feel like that's what they were going for though, so mission accomplished.

My best friend since forever baked me a cake. I devoured it, sharing only bits and pieces because deep down inside I ain't nothin' but a fattie!

I got to meet some wonderful people and hang out more with people I didn't know too well. I was very grateful for the hang seshes because everyone was absolutely darling! And I was uber glad that some of my best friends who live not so close to me anymore could take part in the momentous occasion that was my 21st birthday.

Hmm what am I forgetting?

OH! My first alcoholic purchase: Southern Comfort.

Ummm.... the next day I went to see Notorious with some pals. I was falling asleep until the scene where Biggie and Lil Kim are fucking. The tits flying around really woke me up.

Okay, back to The Country of the Pointed Firs by Sarah Orne Jewett. A prime example of regional and social realism, apparently.

Suck it with <3,
Kimberly

BEST WEEK EVER!!!

2009-01-12T22:40:00.005-05:00

I went to a burlesque audition tonight, and it was a lot of fun!!!! Yay!!

I turn 21 on Friday! There's going to be a house show at my house with some really fantastic bands playing! I'M SO STOKED! Ahhhh! I love my friends!!!! Going to be in Richmond and want to see some swell bands and get down? Well let me know!! If you don't seem like a stalker, I'll tell ya where the party's at!!

If you don't come, you should click these and enjoy:
broccoli destroyer
michael jordan
lessons

There's another band, grocery thief, but I don't think they have a site yet.

Okay, I must depart to continue a hang sesh with my pals. I've been staring at this screen for too long now. Pieces.

Suck it with <3,
Kim

yo-ga-wd

2009-01-08T23:48:00.003-05:00

A couple of days ago my grandmother informed me that people who do yoga are crazy. I told her I used to do yoga three times a week, and she looked at me with ill regard and disbelief. She thinks it's sinning.

Today, my best friend told me that her niece, a four-year-old who does yoga at her pre-school, said she was getting fat.

Perhaps people who do yoga are crazy. Or maybe it's just the babies who are crazy. I should consult my new baby book. When I have kids should I expect to have a bunch of crazies running around, worrying about their baby fat when they're still babies? I guess I'll consult the book before I get too worried about this. I wonder if there's a chapter about how to adjust to the expansion of the now gaping hole/vagina, if you could still call it that, between a new mother's legs. I think that scares me more than raising a child. Am I crazy?

things i shouldn't do when high

2008-12-30T12:33:00.002-05:00

Blog posts.

In other news, my dad got me an early birthday present.... .. ladies and gentlemen, I now own my very own drill! Naturally he also got me a set of bits and assorted attachments. I am so stoked that now I can build things! I reckon my first project is going to be a loft for my place in Richmond. Oh boy, the butch in me is so excited! jkjk You don't have to be a butch in order to be a girl who like to build things, although I have heard it helps.

The wisdom teeth are out, obviously, seeing as how my brother egged me on in my state of slight sedation to write that last post. Anyway, it feels funny, sometimes bad. The blood has mostly stopped, but I still taste it once in a while. I think I might buy some baby food, which is kind of funny because my good friend, Myron got me the book What to Expect When You're Expecting for Christmas. No, I'm not pregnant, but accidents happen, right? That's how I got here. Although I do want kids someday, hopefully none of this is foreshadowing anything to come too soon, but I guess if I do end up with an unwanted spawn I can use the other present he gave me: a little bottle of yellow pills called Happy Pills (because life sucks). Oh, some people know me so well.

Blah, blah, blog.
Suck it with <3,
- Kim

if i wanted to talk to you this is what i might say

2008-12-29T10:33:00.002-05:00

Here's another rant:

Don't talk to me. Don't tell me about your life plans, and don't ask me about mine. I thought that by now I'd be hearing something new from you, but no. You're still full of the same old shit from before. And that's fine - in a sense it's some form of stability. I can depend on you being so completely full of shit. You don't surprise me anymore. You tell me the same stories that I still don't care about. For someone who doesn't say anything worth hearing, you sure do talk a lot. But really, I'm glad that you finally "got your life together" for what the sixth time now? I've stopped counting.

Don't act like we have anything to say to one another. Time and time again I find out things you lied to me about. So don't be surprised when I want nothing to do with you. You're words are worthless. Don't ask me questions about this great life that I'm living, because I love it, and the last thing I want is for it to be tainted by the likes of you. You don't get to know who I am anymore.

P.S. Fuck you. And that's what I would say if I wanted to talk. My brothers won't talk you, either, you may not be able to talk after seeing them. They told me they didn't like you, and considering one of them has never met you, that says a lot.

That's right, folks, I just vented on my blog, and now I feel a lot better. But it might be because of drugs.

store ease

2008-12-29T00:30:00.004-05:00

I've been spending lots of time with my grandma since she got laid off and I came home for winter. She's 76, so honestly, I was surprised that she was hired at all. Over the summer she was looking for work, and I remember her telling me that she had to fill out a certain number of applications in order to collect unemployment. She told me that she asked for an application at Wet Seal, but they told her that they were waiting for the "kids" to apply. One day my cousin and I went to Target and saw her standing alone in the parking lot. We asked her what she was doing, and she said that she and a friend went to look for jobs. Her friend had dropped her off at the Farm Fresh next door, and she was waiting for my uncle to pick her up. My cousin and I stayed with her till he came. This kind of broke my heart.

Anyone who knows me knows that in October I lost my granddad, my grandma's husband. This is also part of the reason I've been spending so much time with her. No one wants her to be alone, not even her. She told me she hates being alone and just cries all the time because all she does is think of my granddad. They were married for fifty-five years, and knew each other for maybe more than sixty; I'm not sure. When she is alone, though, she said she keeps it quiet and calls for him, begging him to talk to her. Since he passed away, some things have happened at their house that make us all think he's still there. I'm okay with it. I wish I was around when they happened. I wish I was around when everything happened.

She remembers the dates to every important event in her life. She's been telling me stories about everything. About how my granddad was a good man and did anything to help anyone. About how my great-grandmother didn't like him at first, but eventually took to him as her own son. About his heart attack twenty-some years ago and how it should have killed him. She showed me his coin collection, his states' information collection, and told me that he loved history - something I never knew.

The last time I was at her house, she could tell I was getting tired. She asked if I wanted to sleep in my granddad's chair. It was his chair, the one where he would always be sitting anytime I came over. He did everything in that chair, sat, watched tv, ate, slept, everything until Hospice gave him a hospital bed. I never got to see this, and part of me is glad. I had been wanting to sit in that chair for some time. I hadn't sat in it since we held prayers for him days after his funeral, two months ago.

Three weeks after he died, my brother called me from California telling me that our other granddad passed away. I felt like everything I was feeling had to be put on hold, because now here was this thing, this thing that had just happened to us. There were things to be done; it was all very methodical. I didn't get to go to the funeral. Tickets were to expensive for me to say good bye in person.

During a recent visit to my psychologist, he asked me about how I was dealing with everything. I explained that when I'm in school in Richmond, surrounded by things that have no connection to him it is easy to deal, repress, I didn't know which one. As soon as I felt like I was feeling something, I tried to think about something else. I tried to keep it all on pause. I told him that I knew that one day I would just cry and cry, and it was just something I had to do, but I didn't know when that would occur. An hour, a year.

When I sat in his chair, my grandma put a blanket over me and went upstairs to put away her laundry that we had just finished. I set it to recline, just as my granddad did many times before. I closed my eyes, began to cry, and fell asleep.

Un-pause.

dream weaver (a reprise)

2008-12-29T00:07:00.003-05:00

Lately I've been having dreams where people (not even people I know personally) surprise me in wonderful ways. One was with someone who I have seen less than a handful of times and have only spoken to twice...but if he asked me to marry him I'd probably say yes.

I was living in a darling city, sitting in a charming park. He walked out of a cafe to the left of the bench I was sitting on. I thought he saw me, but he didn't stop to say anything. Maybe he didn't see me. The last time we saw each other he told me I looked familiar (true story). So dream-me, which is essentially awake-me with probably less inhibition, assumed that if he ever saw me again he would say something. He continued walking about, and I continued hoping he would see me. Eventually he was out of sight.

Later, I was with friends laughing at something she said or something he did. I can't recall, but I specifically remember deciding not to tell anyone that I saw him. My phone rang, and a number I didn't recognize appeared. Wrong number, most likely. But I started to get nervous. I didn't want to answer it. I just wanted to know who was calling this, my number. I hit the green button, scrunched my brows and said, "Hello?"

"Kimberly."

"Yes?"

"It's [his name]. You never called."

"I didn't have your number."

"Yeah, I know, that's why I got yours." ...

And so on and so forth, we had a lovely conversation about nothing serious and made plans to hang out. It was all so very cute. Another dream I had was rather short and simple. Nothing with too much detail really sticks out in my mind. I was upset about something, and this person who I have met once or twice, and have only heard good things about, made me feel immensely better about the situation that I cannot seem to remember. They were very kind and caring for being mere acquaintances.

Maybe my dreams are telling me that I am hopeful. That's pretty broad, but maybe that's how it is. Maybe I'm hopeful about love, about human nature, about everything. Maybe I'm not as cynical as I, or anyone else thought... Then again, maybe these are just dreams because they'll never happen in real life so I have to fulfill this unsatisfied part of my thought process somewhere, so why not while I'm alone and unconscious?

poetry in motion drink quickly this love potion

2008-12-27T20:44:00.002-05:00

Okay, here are the poems that I put in my poetry portfolio. I'm pretty sure I already posted Dark Greens, but I'll do it again, just for the full effect. Unfortunately I don't think I can get the spacing right for all the poems, so you won't really get the full effect. But hopefully you'll get something. I reckon this is the order they went in terms of how I put it all together, not in terms of when I wrote them. Enjoy. Or hate them. I don't care; I already got an A. Suck it with <3. - Me

* * *

Your Anthology

One day, someone will write a story about you.

They’ll write about all the things that make you smile

and all the things that make you sad.

They’ll include scenes about half the people
who broke your heart.

Then one day you will read said story and ask,
“Who was this written about?”

The author will claim you as his muse.

At first you will tell him that he must be mistaken;
you assure him that you would know.

You’ll laugh a little, thinking how silly and strange
it is that these stories could be yours.

When your laughter subsides, you’ll remember Brooklyn,
the funeral, and knowing you didn’t love him.

* * *

Dark Greens

We walked on the greens long after the streetlights came on
and the golf carts returned to their shed.

Our spongy path was covered in dollops of white. Struck
with the hope we had when we were
Children – sneaking onto the greens when the sprinklers came on –
we tried to juggle them and remembered we weren’t children anymore.

I told you about how once I went wandering looking for a hole,
found what I thought was a golf ball and picked it up.
Only it wasn’t a golf ball, but an egg, broken, baby bird
half-formed.

I couldn’t eat meat for nine months.

We passed the backyard of the house I first kissed you in,
the same house where I first saw you naked.

On your birthday you begged me to make you a man and
give you your first kiss. You laid down on a couch, and
I sat by your side, my head close to yours, as though you were
a soldier, wounded, whispering what to say to your mother.

You thought I knew more than I did, but I didn’t know how to kiss.
I didn’t know how to kiss you.
I could see our friends peeking in the darkness, the whites of
their eyes catching what little light was offered.

The enemies retreated. You licked your wounds; we touched with our lips.

Finding ourselves standing at the man-made lake, we threw the white
masses that were weighing down our hands and pockets.

You asked me if I ever threw coins into fountains and made wishes
on them. I said no, only dandelions and eyelashes.
We listened to them hit the water’s surface and watched them disappear,
like little icebergs being called to the depths of the sea.

We stopped next to the ninth hole and made the greens our bed – laying
in truth of the time we wasted, rooted somewhere we knew we belonged.

* * *

The Eggplant Garden

She looks like a little boy,
effects of having two older brothers
and hand-me-downs.
The eggplants in her hands
are almost as long as her
four-year-old limbs.

He never taught her
how to play games.
He taught her how to
cultivate the earth,
how to replant the roots,
how to know which ones
were ripe and ready.

His sun-dried skin was stained
with a darkness she would
only find in a bottle.
The creases on his face were
deepened with each squint and laugh
from their garden days.

Kneeling with his little girl-boy
in their violet and green escape,
they pose for a picture.
Just before the flash
of the wind-up Kodak,
he reminds her that toys
are not as important as vegetables.

* * *

Survival Methods for a Body Without

Perspiration
It was a battle between the softness of the blanket I made
two winters ago and the heat of a Virginia August. The blanket
won, but the heat was too much to let our bodies touch. So we
left it to our hands and our eyes. The commingling of the
perspiration from our palms offered a comfort once found only
when I rested my head on your heartbeat. Looking at you, at
your body, was suddenly more fulfilling than touching you.

But we’re only human.

We stayed under the blanket and perspired together until our
energy expired.

Sweating is a necessary act for the body.

Tears
Your stairs couldn’t slow me down. We were over before
we tried to save us, but that didn’t dissuade our efforts.
How unfortunate it is when hope is dissected. All that is left
is an empty rib cage falling to pieces. You and I couldn’t
distinguish which pieces were mine and which were yours.

I knew I would end up at his house that night. I didn’t know
I’d end up back in your bed the next. When confusion sets in
it is easy to justify anything.

I forgot why I was crying. So I stopped.

Water
An obscene hour trapped us in my room and turned
us into another hour, and another, and another.
Then, half a thought of good sense found us, and I
turned away from you, unaware of the protocol in these
types of situations. You slid your left arm underneath
my neck and pulled me toward you, letting my head
rest in your nook.

You pressed your lips to my hair. I lifted my head and
kissed you on the mouth, thinking how sweet a stranger
could be.

Dehydration asked me to leave a cup by my bed for my
early morning thirst. The moisture was as reliable as your
hand on the small of my back each time I took a sip, waiting
to pull me back into the mold of your body.

Sunday morning’s sun struck us with such hostility, perhaps
scolding us for our errors in judgment. The drip of the A.C.
unit made me think of Chinese water torture, as I laid in bed
wondering if that was the last time. I touched my fingertips
to where your teeth touched my skin and wondered how
I would look when the violet faded.

* * *

1614

The knobs and handles were missing from every door;
Even our old friend Tina, the crabtree had been cut down.
Signs were posted on the doors, none of which
We could read because the streetlight never reached us,
And the moonlight was lost through the dead branches
Of the giant trees in the courtyard.

Ignoring any warning, we walked down the paved path,
Around to the back, looking for a way inside. A car passed
Through the alley, and we were frozen by its light.
We stood on the back porch of past neighbors we never knew.
They called the cops once when the music was too loud.
Perhaps they could be of use to us now that they are gone.

Looking into the glass panels of their back door, we laughed.
How silly it was that we were even there, we thought.
We never took the time to decorate the little box we lived in.
There were days when we were barely there, but it was ours.
It would always be ours, because we were the last to live in 1614.
What a discovery it was to find the bottom left panel missing in the door.

Preparing myself, I removed my coat, and handed her my purse.
Sticking my legs in first and going in sideways, I stood up
In the apartment below ours. She followed. We were in.
We made our way out their front door and up the stairs to go home.
The dust from the plaster made it look like nuclear fallout
Had hit our humble box. Our door was wide open.

Inside, we saw what they meant when they said luxury.
A wall was knocked down to expand the kitchen.
The pantry she built a fort in was gone, and the bathroom
Door was significantly smaller than it used to be.
It was nice, but it was wrong. No longer could we joke
About finding a pantry boy to do the dishes and cuddle with us.

Someone else will call it home. Other people will lay drunk
On the balcony in their underwear. Another girl will draw
A bath after one too many fights with her boyfriend.
They will have their stories and adventures, just as we did.
And when they find that the little box can no longer contain them,
They will part ways, just as we did. But,

It will always be ours, because we were the last to love 1614.

* * *

Patterns

You come through my life
like
a needle and thread,
no knot
on the end
of your polyester tether.

You’re sharp.

You know
you don’t have to force apart
my fibers.
I would let you run through me freely,

breathing heavily,

as your temporary embroidery
made its mark on me.

* * *

Climbing

One day I will touch the top of that pyramid.
You will stand at the bottom wondering how
many pills I had to take in order to feel brave.
You might ask me; I’ll tell you two and a beer.
Won’t you join me? The pills are in my bag.

Be brave with me. Victory is lonely.

* * *

You can't keep us out.

2008-12-13T16:28:00.002-05:00

Cemetery.
Pyramid climbing. Fuck the Confederacy. Don't log roll.

Old Gym.
Exploring. Saw horses fucking. Sup. Hi!

Oh, adventures.

no means no

2008-12-12T12:42:00.003-05:00

I said no to going to New York.

I'm going to the beach to hang ten with my family.

My teeth still hurt, but I got some Vicodin for that. I'm a lucky girl.

Last night was fun. Yes. Yes, it was. So was the night before last. I love staying up till morning and talking. It's so very fun.

I like playing music even though about 89% of the time I don't know what the fuck I'm doing.

I miss my family lots, but I'll see them soon.

I have to finish my poetry portfolio, so as soon as that's done I'll post some of that shit on here.

I'm hungry. Bye.

clash

2008-12-10T22:07:00.002-05:00

Should I stay in Richmond for the weekend or go to New York?
Is that even a question?

In other news (this is where I write things that I wish I had the balls to say to people):
Ummm seriously, WHAT THE FUCK? You always talk about how you're so mature and shit, yet you do some pretty irresponsible things. I would care less if those things you did didn't affect me. Unfortunately, when you fuck up, I get fucked. I kind of hope you fall on your face and see how full of shit you are sometimes. Scratch that. I really hope you do. You're not always such a suckfest, but right now, I want to punch you in the throat a little.

This more than annoys me. Fuck you, dipshit.

why i only got two hours of sleep

2008-12-10T09:24:00.002-05:00

My fucking teeth hurt. Yeah, I couldn't pass the fuck out because my wisdom teeth are crashing the party when the guest list in my mouth is limited to the teeth I already have. Mother fucking shit. It hurts. I'm supposed to get them taken out on the 29th, but that is only if I get clearance from my cardiologist. Apparently my heart isn't exactly normal or something, and there could be complications with putting me under, meaning I could accidentally get put down. Surgereeks!

I still feel sick from a couple weeks ago, not as bad though. My throat still hurts a little. Hope it's nothing serious. Hmm. Yeah.

I'm working on a final paper for theatre history. It's kind of a joke.

What else? What else?

Oh! Missed chances! Woe!

Although I do love winter, I can't wait for warmer weather so I can ride my bike downtown late at night without a million layers on. Ah, I miss that. I also miss dancing on tables. That will be remedied.

I turn 21 next month. I don't really know if it's going to change anything. We'll see. I'm having a big party. That should be fun. Don't really have any details planned out about it.

I'm growing a certain distaste for the behavior of some people. I don't know why some people try so hard. CHILL.

I had a dream that I was babysitting myself at the age of three. It was weird. I'll go into that some other time.

I am so addicted to streetbonersandtvcarnage.com. Their radio stuff is so insanely legit. I want to pump it in my veins. I want to eat it, poop it out, and fertilize a garden with it. That is how good it is. Trust me.

Okay, so I'm ready peace out of here. I say that a lot. I mean it. I want to move so bad! Ah, in due time. Hopefully everything goes as planned, and I can graduate next winter. I must get out of here. College is swell and all, but I think I'm over it.

Good morning and goodbye.

Check out The Small is Beautiful

2008-12-03T09:03:00.004-05:00

Seriously, insanely legit. Go to www.thesmallisbeautiful.com right now. Go this very instant. Just click the title of this post. Why are you still on my page? GO! Then come back and read this, but only if you want.

Here is my response to the blog about dancing by The Small is Beautiful, found at:
http://www.thesmallisbeautiful.com/2008_12_01_archive.html

Just read the blog.. . I can say that I do share in the frustration of the lack of dancing at shows. Generally my friends and I are those "weirdos" going nuts. Over the summer I was at the Islands show in Norfolk, and there were maybe seven (slight exaggeration) of us going ape-shit. Some strangers came over and said it looked like I was having a good time, and they felt weird wherever they were standing before because no one was dancing. So we joined forces trying to get as many others to start dancing, to very little avail. It's not right. Though it's not necessarily wrong; I mean hey, you buy the ticket - do whatever you want. But I just don't get it. How can you just stand in the midst of amazing live music and not literally be moved?

Furthermore, I think dancing at shows is a major thing that people can do to show respect and gratitude to the people playing them. They're putting their stuff out there, and I doubt they want the response to be a bunch of crossed arms and poker faces dressed in whatever the front window mannequin at American Apparel or H&M is wearing (I'm not trying to hate on either of these places - both of which I have shopped at - but I am hating on the people who steal their style from a faceless plastic body). Having a good time isn't "too cool," or rather it shouldn't be considered such. It's okay to show emotion in a crowd of strangers. It's okay to dance in front of them too, because honestly, you probably won't see them ever again.. .and in most cases it's too dark to see anyone's face, so go ahead, dance the night away.

The thing I think is kind of crazy is that the places I see the most dancing are the smaller scale shows, the ones in galleries and houses, the ones where a donation of a buck gets you in and graciously thanked. It's probably due to the atmosphere. I don't know. The reason I think it's crazy is that the "bigger" shows, the ones where oftentimes a pretty penny is dropped just to get in the door, and let's not forget the lovely not-too-little fees they tag on -- well, those are the ones with the least dancing. So what, are people just paying to look bored in front of their favorite bands? That's silly. When a band plays, wherever, whenever, just dance.

By the end of the Islands show, I was up front dancing up a storm, slamming my fists on the stage, and being gawked at by the guy next to me, who had both arms wrapped around his lady friend. He looked at me like I was crazy. But I thought the girl he was holding was the crazy one, allowing herself to be so contained while standing in the presence of live music that incredible. All I can say is don't ever try to hold me during a show. You might get hurt.

* * * * *

As for the accessibility of music, it's definitely an interesting thing. I don't know anyone who looks to the radio or a specific television music channel to get the goods on what's out there. I feel like people either find what they like on their own, or through other people, and I like that. I like that the whole act of finding good music seems less monopolized. Maybe that's too strong of a word, I don't know. I don't doubt that MTV had its glory days, and that there still are those few radio stations that are worth keeping on one of the memory keys. But I think that now, with more people talking about music, making music, and listening to music, well I don't think there's really a comparison. It says a lot when music is shared from person to person, even if it's one person telling another to go to this website or that. Some people talk about how the use of technology limits human interaction and such, and how it's a way for people to not deal with other people. But I mean come on, it also acts as a bridge. Hey, it brought us all to this forum, right?

Remember that idea I had way back when...Dark Greens

2008-12-02T22:44:00.006-05:00

Here are some things I've been working on for my poetry portfolio. These are the same poem, but the first one is the first draft, and the second one is, well, it isn't the third. Check out the evolution.

Dark Greens
Kimberly R. Nario

We walked on the greens
Long after the streetlights came on
And the golf carts returned to their shed

Along our spongy path we found golf balls
Tried to juggle them
And were reaffirmed that we could not

I told you about how once I went
Wandering looking for a hole
Instead I found a dark pile of mush
Mistook it for a hole
And dipped the toe of my shoe into a mess

We found ourselves standing at the lake
And threw the white masses that were
Weighing down our hands and pockets

We listened to them hit the water’s surface
And watched them disappear
Then realized we could have sold them

Making sure no messes were near
We laid down next to a hole
And there we were
Laying in truth of the time we wasted
Rooted somewhere we knew we belonged

* * *

Dark Greens
Kimberly R. Nario

We walked on the greens long after the streetlights came on
and the golf carts returned to their shed.

Our spongy path was covered in dollops of white. Struck
with the hope we had when we were
Children – sneaking onto the greens when the sprinklers came on –
we tried to juggle them and remembered we weren’t children anymore.

I told you about how once I went wandering looking for a hole,
found what I thought was a golf ball and picked it up.
Only it wasn’t a golf ball, but an egg, broken, baby bird
half-formed.

I couldn’t eat meat for nine months.

We passed the backyard of the house I first kissed you in,
the same house where I first saw you naked.

On your birthday you begged me to make you a man and
give you your first kiss. You laid down on a couch, and
I sat by your side, my head close to yours, as though you were
a soldier, wounded, telling me what to say to your mother.

You thought I knew more than I did. I didn’t know how to kiss.
I didn’t know how to kiss you.
I could see our friends peeking in the darkness, the whites of
their eyes catching what little light was offered.

The enemies retreated. You licked your wounds; we touched with our lips.

Finding ourselves standing at the man-made lake, we threw the white
masses that were weighing down our hands and pockets.

You asked me if I ever threw coins into fountains and made wishes
on them. I said no, only dandelions.
We listened to them hit the water’s surface and watched them disappear,
like little icebergs being called to the depths of the sea.

We stopped next to the ninth hole, and there we were – laying
in truth of the time we wasted, rooted somewhere we knew we belonged.

* * *

I'll post more as I continue with revisions. Okay, and the indents are not coming up on the draft that isn't the first or third, so all the following lines that have no capitalization should be indented.

These waves won't carry me anywhere, and these roads give no direction

2008-12-02T09:24:00.002-05:00

I'm still at the beach (VB), not exactly the beach, but my house in VB, fifteen minutes from the beach. Ah. I got really sick last week on Tuesday, actually. But I took some meds and felt better. Feeling better, I decided to go to Jarhead and Marzipan's house to play the drums. IT'S SO AWESOME!!!! Then I woke up Wednesday morning feeling a little bit dead. Since then, I have been puking my brains out. I've come to the conclusion that it must be my brains I'm puking out because I haven't been eating anything, really. A cracker here and there. Maybe it's all the pill capsules. In any case, with the help of modern medicine and insurance, I am on some drugs that have made my throat stop feeling as though it's closing. I can talk almost normally again, but I have these crazy nose bleeds. Consequently, I've stopped spitting up blood for the most part. And I think that's where I'm going to stop talking about the sickly week I've been having.

I knew that the holidays would suck because Granddad is gone. Well, I missed Thanksgiving. I was alone in the house while everyone went to my tita's. I missed seeing my cousin who came up from Atlanta, and I haven't seen her in quite sometime. So, I guess I was right. Holidays blow.

I find myself thinking about my granddad more and more. And it makes me sad, very very sad. But I know there's nothing to help it; it's just something I have to feel.

I always thought he would just be there forever. I pictured bringing my kids to his house, him showing them his vegetable gardens. Now, whenever I do have kids, I'll have to tell them about him. And I'm afraid that I won't say all that should be said. What if I forget things?

no more with feeling

2008-11-25T00:25:00.002-05:00

Things so fleeting
Without feeling
Can be so freeing

Joelle knows what's up.
Here's my toast to us.

Guessing is Better Than Tommy Hilfucker

2008-11-24T22:47:00.002-05:00

There is a long list of things that I've done that at one point or another I said I would never do. I guess I'm human. I guess I lie. I guess I'm a hypocrite. And I guess I'm okay with that.

I had an idea of how I would feel after certain situations, and none of them were right. The surprises were nice. I don't think I'm losing myself, which of course is a good thing. I do, however, feel that perhaps I don't know myself as well as I had thought. And something about that is really lovely. Something about that excites me.

So next time we cross paths, let's drink to our failing livers and off-beat hearts.

sometimes i suck

2008-11-21T10:44:00.003-05:00

Left the beach this morning to make it in time for class. I guess I could have showed up late, but I didn't. And I also didn't finish my five-page paper that was due this morning. I make bad decisions sometimes, and I really suck today. I went to visit my granddad before I got on the road. Is that even correct to say? --That I went to visit him? Or is it his grave, or both, I don't know what to call it. I feel weird saying I went to visit him. But I did. So I started the day in tears.

Since my granddad and my lolo died, there have been at least three more deaths either from our family, or close friends' families. It hasn't even been two months. My brain hurts.

Found out my family is pretty broke after the funeral expenses and a number of monetary issues. I'm trying to pay for as much as I can and not burden my parents with anything. I'm trying to graduate early. I think that's the biggest way I can help -- not fuck up, and get out of school as fast as I can. Hopefully I don't fail the class I'm missing today. I really need the credit. I'm trying to sell the accessories and clothes I make. It's kind of my dream to never have a "regular job" ever again, but still be able to support myself and those I care about, or at least help them out from time to time. My brain is throbbing. I think I'm stressed.

Don't get me wrong; I'm still really excited about everything and the future and all that. I've just hit a rough patch. That's all. Once this semester is over I'll have time to breathe. Maybe the break will help me accept everything. I mean I know it probably won't, but maybe. I don't think I'll be okay with things about my granddad for a while, but that's just the way things go.

So in other words: I'm sick of crying. I'm over this semester. I need a job. Today I suck, but tomorrow I'll try to be better.

i am missed

2008-11-19T04:43:00.002-05:00

heh

It's going to be a rough day. I miss you terribly.

2008-11-17T08:11:00.004-05:00

I had a dream last night that I went to a water park, which turned into a giant dance party. I remember going there with two girls and a guy. The guy had a towel on the lower half of his face when I beckoned him to come over. I pulled the towel off his face and kissed him. I'm assuming this guy was my boyfriend in the dream, but I don't know who he is in real life. He kind of looked like this one guy I sort of know, but it could be someone completely different. In fact, it would be weird if it were that guy, because I don't really get those likey vibes with him. Whatever it's a dream. I'll continue.

So, I kiss him, and he smiles and says that I took off his towel so now the medicine won't stay on. I forgot, I say. Then I get a bitter taste in my mouth and spit into a trashcan. The medicine, I presume. I tell him to come whisper with with me, and we walk over to one of those things on the playground where you whisper on one end and the person hears you on the other. He said hi. I said hey. Yes, it was all so very cute. After that we went upstairs.

I think that's when it turned into the dance party. There was an abundance of people, and it kind of freaked me out. At the top of the stairs, were my grandma, my granddad (mom's side), my cousin, my uncle, my granddad's brother and his wife. The party started getting crazy; the cops came, and everyone was rushing to get out. I could see that the mass amount of bodies moving towards and around us was making my granddad feel uncomfortable. There were some chairs near us, so I pushed them against a wall and sat him and everyone else down. I figured it would calm him. Someone in our group said we should move towards the door, but I knew that he didn't want that.

I told my cousin to get the car and bring it around. Everyone went with her, and another huge group of party people decided it was also their time to go. So it was just me and Granddad left. We moved over to a long bench that was a cushion seat instead of a hard one. We talked for a bit, and I turned around. When I turned back around he was laying on his side, facing away from me. I called his name, nothing. I put my arms around him and started crying. He asked me why I was crying. I said because, and asked him why he had to go.

He either said, because I had to, or you know why. I think it was the latter. I can't remember, but whatever he said, it sounded like his voice was put through one of those voice distortion mechanisms. It creeped me out. I sat up and so did he. I put my arm in his and my head on his shoulder.

There are a million moments that I can't write about right now.

* * *

Wednesday marks the fortieth day of his passing. I'll be going home to attend a mass for him. I still don't want to believe that he's gone. Today is the funeral for my other granddad, Lolo Fidel. I wish I could have been there more before he got sick.

I'm still really excited about a lot of things going on, but it just hurts to know that Granddad won't be here to share some of those things. I can still tell him as many stories as I want, but I won't see that smile, or he makes when he's shocked at something I did or said. I won't hear him laugh.

The last time I saw him, he was still in the hospital, a couple of weeks before he passed away. I was getting ready to drive back to Richmond. I think I gave him a hug. I hope I did. I usually did when I left. I told him I would see him in a few weeks. He said, okay, see you. And he smiled a smile that made me think he was going to be just fine.

* * *

I think about him constantly, and my heart is broken far beyond any stupid boy could break it. But I'm trying to be okay with this. It's hard. I have days when I'm at peace with things and can look back fondly. I have days when I think it's really fucked up for the universe to will such an awful occurrence. Today, I guess I'm just kind of sad.

Good morning.

travels

2008-11-13T09:51:00.002-05:00

I went to New York over the weekend, and it was simply delightful -- as per usual.

everything in the world

2008-11-13T09:43:00.002-05:00

I've decided that I am going to change lots of things in my life. I want it to be better, so I'm going to make it better right now. It would be silly to wait. I've wasted a lot of time and money thus far -- most of which wasn't mine. That should stop, and I should go make those changes.

round 2. go.

2008-11-05T16:05:00.002-05:00

on october 11, 2008, my granddad on my mom's side passed away.
on november 3, 2008, my granddad on my dad's side passed away.

2008 is an earth year, and maybe this is proof.

i don't know how to process this one. i don't know who or what i'm crying for anymore. i guess i'm crying for all of it - for everything that happened and for everything that won't happen.

i feel so removed and disconnected.

yesterday was the first time i went to my granddad's grave by myself. i haven't spoken to him much since he passed. but yesterday i felt like i had to, and so i did. it was strange being there, knowing that the last time i saw him was at that spot, him laying in his coffin, rosary wrapped around his fingers, cold. i don't like to think that his body is right there, in some box when i visit him.

tickets to california are too expensive right now, and with paying for one funeral, i don't think my parents can pay for all of us to go to the other one. it sucks. even though i wasn't as close with my dad's dad as i was with my mom's, he was still a part of my family, and i would like to be there.

this is all so very draining. sometimes, i think i could fall asleep walking. and then i wake up.

trashcans

2008-10-21T10:01:00.003-04:00

a week ago today, i saw my grandfather for the first time after he passed away. for a week i forgot that places outside of the funeral home, my home, my grandmother's home, the church, and the memorial grounds existed. now i'm back at school, feeling something. i don't know what. hurt, maybe. i can't get it through my head that i'm not going to see this person again. i feel like everything is wrong right now. i'm glad he isn't suffering anymore, but still. i wish there was a way that things would have turned out differently, better.

when i think about the funeral, i can't help but hear my grandma's crying. her screaming or wailing. it kills me. the night before the funeral she came into my room, and told me not to cry because he's in a better place. she told me how he died and said that if i had seen him i would have understood. she told me she was scared of being alone in the house because she knew all she would do was think about him.

he raised me, and he was one of my best friends. we had an eggplant garden that i loved dearly - maybe more in memory. in it's place now, are bricks laid down for a path and two trashcans, one for recycling.

things fall apart, and it really fucking sucks.

2008-09-12T02:28:00.003-04:00

so after a not so great day, my mom called me with some bad news. my granddad is in the hospital again. he's coughing up blood. he's not doing well. i don't know if they know if it's his cancer that has gotten worse or something else. i'm going home this weekend. i don't know what else to do.

i didn't wanna go to sleep, which is probably why i'm getting in and writing this past 2 in the morning. i went on a really long bike ride with a friend. we rode downtown then towards carytown before his bike chain went to pieces.

seems as though everything is falling apart. i don't really know what else to say other than i'm pissed, and i hate that this is happening. i hate it so fucking much. i hate that i'm not back home right now, and i hate that even when i was it wasn't enough.

i don't want to go to sleep.

projects for the near and dear future

2008-09-11T09:03:00.002-04:00

i plan on taking matilda - the dog - out to poop and tinkle.
i'm working on some presents for people, mostly friendship bracelets and special letters and what not.
i'm tinkering with putting beads into my friendship bracelets. i think i've come up with a method that i really like. we'll see.
auditions.
writing more.
reading more.
selling out.
sewing curtains.
making pillows.
decorating my room that i'm finally done rearranging.
and i think i'm done buying baskets. i have around 14. i think that's plenty, maybe even borderline obsessive.
oh! i'm riding my new bike... well it's not a new bike, but it's new to me. i like it lots. very lightweight boy's frame so i can lug it up and down the stairs to our house. it has three water bottle holders for some reason; i use one for my crayon shaped thermos, but the other two are coming off as soon as i get the right tool for them. also, it has one of those generator lights that only works in the dark. so when i peddle in the wee small hours of the morning i can find my drunken path just fine!
i want to make a movie. so i'm going to do that.
i think matilda has fallen asleep on my lap just now. she does that a lot. wait, she's not asleep. she just licked my armpit. weird.
brooklyn next month. oh fuck yes. i miss my babies.
i want to get so busy that i don't even have time for this blog. well maybe not that busy, but pretty close.

team spirit

2008-09-11T08:48:00.003-04:00

we got shot down
trying to shoot up
so they made us piss
in a paper cup
so that we could take one for the team

we shook hands
with the president
went to church
so as to repent
and lit a candle for the rest of the team

they took pictures
they framed us
they made an example out of us
because we were the only ones left

poetry in potion called double shot esspresso + energy / this punch has got some kick

2008-08-27T08:18:00.003-04:00

caffeine made me stay up for longer than i would have wanted to, and i came up with this:

liar lyre pants on fire

sing me a sweet song of some truth oh universe
but don't bring me flowers in last month's papers
just give me the seeds
let me plant them
i'll figure it out

your water will let them grow
some hands will grab stems
but we'll keep the roots hidden
shadows in shade will hide them
we'll be able to grow again

**the line about flowers in last month's papers is a reference to the poem The Emperor of Ice-Cream by Wallace Stevens**

sever

2008-08-11T17:50:00.002-04:00

some things make me feel sick.

it's strange that people are capable of the things they do and that those things are capable of evoking certain emotions.

it's weird when people have power over other people.

i'm moving soon, and it couldn't be a better time to do so.

let's make this home a house and sell it for gas money

2008-08-10T00:05:00.004-04:00

I just got really excited about the future. And about right now, because isn't that what it is? ...in essence...

Learning new things. Creating new things. Picking up things I never should have put down. And such and such.

I can't wait to go back to Richmond (never thought I'd say that), and be back in school. I guess this higher education thing really agrees with me.

Also, I'm rather elated about living with a darling bunch of gals.

***

Many moons ago whilst still in Richmond, I did a painting on a small panel. I really liked the idea, but not so much my execution. The painting involved nachos, bowls, and a question that at the time I was dying to ask someone. So I redid it on a bigger panel, and I am pretty happy with it; although there is still definitely room for improvement. I think I might do it again and post a picture of it. Oh, archetypal three, maybe it really will be magic.

***

Some Stuff in My Brain:

words-

Ugh, I Need A Hug

Let's Make This Home a House and Sell it for Gas Money

Written response to fortune cookie fortunes

threads-

cloth napkins

underwear

bedding

yoga mat carriers

backpacks and messenger bags

anything that can be put on a body

other-

i need a job.

i'd like a 40.

i wanna go to super duper roundhouse kick ass show.

spells

the UNIVERSE

i like lists.

and i'd like to redo that robot, too. gosh. yeah.

not so classy after all

2008-07-31T23:50:00.002-04:00

so i'm reconsidering posting some things from my creative non-fiction class. here's the thing. i've used names. i don't know who is going to end up reading any of this or if anyone will at all, but the last thing i want is for someone to think that i shared a part of them that they didn't want me to. i'm thinking that unless i talk with the people i wrote about, i'm going to feel like a total shady mcshaderson if i just post it all.

furthermore, since writing those pieces almost one year ago, a lot has changed. so putting those up now makes me feel kind of uncomfortable and nauseous. i've been thinking about taking the assignments and reworking them or writing new pieces, but i haven't made up my mind completely.

regardless, since i've picked up english for my double major i'm going to be taking a fuck load of writing courses and literature courses (go figure, right?) so i shall be posting much about all those things.

i really wanted to write about that dream that had me waking up crying, but i feel like the circumstances within the dream are entirely too close to me right now, so sorry no juicy details about such an emotional slumber.

6:19 AM

2008-07-31T10:23:00.002-04:00

i woke up crying.

bad dream. sad dream. sometimes people are just really uncaring and cold. sometimes people say things they don't mean. sometimes people say things they do mean, but then change their minds. and sometimes people genuinely want to hurt you. that's the way the cookie crumbles. that's the way worlds fall apart.

c'est la vie.

Class Baby

2008-07-30T15:50:00.002-04:00

i reckon i'm going to post some things i wrote for a creative non-fiction class i took last fall.

in other news, i'm thinking about going into drama therapy. it could be cool. unfortunately there aren't many schools which offer it specifically at the graduate level. there's one in canada. nyu also has a program. we shall see. we shall see indeed.

dream lover come rescue me

2008-07-29T22:26:00.001-04:00

a few nights ago i had a dream starring the lead singer of one of my favorite bands. i was attending an experimental play at a shoddy looking theatre - which i of course found incredibly charming. we had to go up a ladder escape to get in. i don't remember what the play was about, but i remember that it made my bones feel good. at the end of the play, the director and producers came out on stage and did a bunch of thank yous and what not. although i don't think there were any flowers, how refreshing. the last person they thanked was said singer of one of my favorite bands. i was absolutely shocked, but knew it just had to make sense since i felt that the music spoke to me more than any of the words of the production.

jump to the parking lot: my mother, one of my brothers, some friends, and myself were walking out to the tour bus that we apparently took to see the play. the whole time i was trying to figure out if all that music was pre-recorded or if said singer of one of my favorite bands was actually there in the flesh. i turned around and saw him coming out of the theatre, locking the door behind him.

without a thought i started walking back toward the theatre. i introduced myself, telling him that we had actually met at a show earlier in the month, which is true - he said he remembered, which i had hoped. the next few exchanges were me asking him questions about side projects and him answering me in borderline rude responses. i told him that if i was keeping him from something he was more than welcome to leave. he told me i was fine. not in the way in which one is trying to holla, but in the you're-okay-don't-worry kind of way, but maybe with less assurance.

i looked at him. he looked down. i said: so, when did you break up?

his eyes started to water. he looked up: how did you know?

i can see your heart is broken.

i felt an urge to comfort him, almost as if it was my duty, and i think i did. because well, he looked comforted. for a few moments two people who had next to nothing to do with each other needed nothing more than each other.

and so a seed is planted. i'm sewing seeds. yeah.

2008-07-29T21:04:00.000-04:00

anytime i put something out there that came from in here i get really nervous. luckily i've been prescribed some great muscle relaxers and can now handle really putting stuff out there. okay, that's a lie. they suck and are too weak. kicking that wall, not being able to walk, and getting the vicodin really upped my standards. anyway, like my darling friend macky, i am tired of that folder called "awesome shit" or "shit in progress" or anything that more or less meant "stuff i wanna keep to work on in the future or think about in the future but don't really know what to do with right now." and so, here it is, a garden of my shit, but in internet land, we'll call it the eggplant garden. may it grow forever.

p.s. this whole thing may end up to be nothing at all like the aforementioned. i lie. don't hate me.