sullenexposure

Blood Brothers.

Wed, 10 Dec 2008 20:02:09 GMT

"When I was young, my father told me never to be anybody's blood brother. He always had this crazy fear of AIDS. But I was a kid, I didn't know what a blood brother was, so I asked him. And when he told me, all I could think was, 'Why would anyone ever want that?!?!'"

Nothing, true

Tue, 11 Nov 2008 04:54:13 GMT

I wake up
4:30 in the morning
only having gone to bed three point five slow hours before
I am worried about my roters
I don't know what roters (rotors rotars row-turs) are, but I worry about them
the man said they need a'fixin'
and shit
I forgot to arrange a ride from the car place to work
and my appointment is in six hours.

I text my mom, wake her up, read as she assures me
not a problem
i will be there
but the tension does not subside
toss
turn
smooch a dog
smooch another
toss again
turn forty-eight times more
two hours later, and still awake
It's just not going to happen...
...this whole sleep thing
but it's too early to straighten my hair
and I never straighten my hair
unless there's a boy
an event
a new beginning
or some other reason that motivates an extra thirty morning minutes spent
Too Much Time.

Sleep won't happen.
Fuck it, bring on the hair.
So I straighten, straighten, and straighten some more
All the while Golden Girls chime elderly in the background
Fucking Blanche.
Straighten
straighteN
sTrAiGhTeN
Finally straight.

I arrive,
to a place that pays me mostly in experience
less than human
i am here

twenty minutes later
I reach up, high, on the shelf
grabbing a burger basket from above
somebody wants chips
as Tasha speaks to me excitedly
tattoo, tattoo, tattoo
and bam
water, everywhere
all over me
burger-basket-induced
the idiot who put them there, naive
you have to dump them before you move them
Not everything is dry when it's done washing
or anything.

My left side
soaking wet
soaked through
Alaskan-style
Wet, wet, soaking.
my hair, straight and dry on one side, curly and damp on the other
and restaurant dishwater is not a good scent

A fight ensues
you put the water there
you always put the water there
you think it's fucking funny

it wasn't me this time
then who was it
your mom
YOUR MOM
fuck you
fuck you
bitch
dick
I'm sorry.

But none of it matters because I'm still soaking wet
angry
nearly tearful
and frustrated
For it takes things like this to invoke the emotions I tuck away
so deeply
at night
before I sink into a fitful sleep of villainous behavior and true love.

Misery loves company.

Tue, 21 Oct 2008 03:50:48 GMT

It breaks my heart how we, as humans, can make ourselves so willingly miserable, and then suffer over how miserable we are, wishing things were different, even though we are the reason we’re so goddamn tainted in the first place.

It’s like when we want true love, and it’s right in front of our faces, but it isn’t good enough for us, so we have to keep going in the direction of whatever it is that’s readily available and unattainable, whatever has led to our string of suffering in the first place.

Because if we don’t have that suffering, then we’re left with nothing but simple pleasantries and peace, and for people like myself, that’s never, ever enough.

The Pick Up Artist.

Tue, 21 Oct 2008 03:38:00 GMT

Am I the only one on this ever-tainted planet that is absolutely blown away by the VH1 show, 'The Pick Up Artist'?

And when I say blown away, I mean, if I were from a third world country, I'd be mocking America mercilessly right now. Hell, I AM mocking America mercilessly right now. A show that's based on a bunch of chode dudes trying to become super suave so they can pick up hot women is outrageous, and even worse, its ratings are sky-high.

Tell me, how is it a good idea for a bunch of really creepy men to be taught how to charm women that want absolutely nothing to do with them? And who the hell is that host guy!? And why does he wear those hats?!?! Dude comes in with his crazy clothes and his...chin ring thing...and thinks he knows something about how the ladies like it?

No! NO!!

I almost lost it entirely when I saw the curly-haired dude with goggles on his head go around asking everyone what they thought of Mick Jagger! I was completely sure that I had suddenly died and moved on to some sort of fake and dilapidated, plastic-constructed hell of ICK.

And it was terribly upsetting.

Alaskan Cruise 2006.

Tue, 21 Oct 2008 02:35:34 GMT

http://s107.photobucket.com/albums/m295/sjaenec/?action=view¤t=3825e546.pbw http://s107.photobucket.com/albums/m295/sjaenec/?action=view¤t=053f7799.pbw

Waves.

Fri, 26 Sep 2008 19:47:50 GMT

Lately, I've been dreaming of waves. Ocean waves. Huge waves. Waves, waves, and more waves. I'm never in the ocean with these waves, but instead, am standing before it, watching as the waves come pushing towards me, much like a tidal wave, but not nearly as dramatic, and not at all destructive.

For it's always high-tide in my dreams, as these waves start off small, and continue to grow larger, coming closer and closer to myself each time, until finally, they drench me with their water, leaving me to feel the urge to hold on tightly to something as they pull themselves back into the ocean, in hopes that I won't be pulled back with them.

As I am just an observer, watching these waves from afar, enjoying them, wishing them to get larger, and smiling brightly as they do. These waves do not scare me, but instead, enthrall me, leaving me to hope that the next wave is bigger than the one before it.

What could it all mean?

I know that water symbolizes emotion, but what else? There has to be something more, as these dreams have become a pattern, something I can fully expect to seep into my sleeping brain again in the near future. And how to decode such a recurring dream that offers so many different ways of understanding my unconscious self is far, far beyond me.

"We aren't just sure, we're HIV positive!"

Tue, 09 Sep 2008 19:12:35 GMT

I can't imagine anything ever being funnier than this. Ever.

Virgo.

Tue, 17 Jun 2008 06:43:34 GMT

I took a look back and noticed, "Shit. Everything's in a perfectly straight line." But that isn't how life is. So I knew it was wrong.

Cold, dark, wet.

Mon, 16 Jun 2008 17:42:38 GMT

Sometimes I wonder if it ever gets easier. Will I ever stop hurting? Will I ever stop caring? Will I ever realize what's best for myself and actually go for it? Will I ever fall in love with Sarah as much as I do everyone else?

Or will I spend the rest of my life clinging on so very tightly to something that hurts me every single day? I tell myself I do this because I don't want to experience the loss and sadness of letting it go, but the loss and sadness of clinging to it as though it were my lifeline is a much worse and longer lasting pain than is the sadness of goodbye.

Have I ever loved myself completely? Have I ever put myself first? Or have I always just been this sad, tainted girl who wishes things were different?

shake shake shake

Sat, 26 Apr 2008 07:56:59 GMT

There are so many earthquakes. There are so many fucking earthquakes.

Today.

http://quake.wr.usgs.gov/recenteqs/FaultMaps/120-40_eqs.htm

The Ruins.

Mon, 07 Apr 2008 00:07:59 GMT

What a joke of a film!

The entire movie was about these four friends getting quarantined by some village people in Mexico, on top of a pyramid...for however long they were on top of a pyramid for.

It's a horror movie, so, there's got to be a killer right? Yeah, totally. And there is.

The killer is weeds. WEEDS!

Weeds that sing, dance, and mock people.

I laughed my ass off the entire time, however, was unable to pick up the weeds from my side yard when I got home as planned, since my landlord requested that I do so in a message earlier this morning.

Something about this joke of a film made me think, "No thank you. I'd rather not have evil singing weeds find their way inside my body. Maybe tomorrow."

So here's what I figured out...

This movie is nothing but a subliminal, longer-than-long commercial, paid for by Round-Up, to convince people that you really shouldn't pick your weeds, but instead, spray them with some creepy poison and call it a day. Because if you don't touch them, they won't grow inside you, squeeze you to death, choke you, kill your friends, or make you cut your legs open with a hunting knife.

So, buy Round-Up folks...that way there won't be a sequel to this horrible, horrible flick that I'm PISSED at Ben Stiller for producing.

End scene.

Light?

Tue, 26 Feb 2008 00:28:18 GMT

"I want a cigarette."

"But you don't smoke cigarettes."

"I do when I'm with you."

To wash the sheets.

Wed, 02 Jan 2008 20:13:12 GMT

Soaked with sweat from nightmares of loss
Your face in every one of them
Damp with pain from inside her soul
she waits
and waits
for nothing

So close, so far, so detached, alone
she waits
and waits
for nothing

She feels his hands in her memory
Nothing has changed
They are still so warm
So rough
So perfect
so she waits
and waits
for nothing

Sick to her stomach, spinning around inside her head
Everything was fine until then
Another nightmare
Another dream
Another tragedy from inside wanting out
But to let it out
would be to let go
of you
forever.

So she waits
and waits
(for nothing.)

Her sheets are almost clean.

HAHAHA.

Fri, 28 Dec 2007 18:35:17 GMT

"You deserve a guy who doesn't bring you new best friends by sleeping with them."

Ohhhh, David. How I love thee and thy hilarious ways.

Dexter.

Wed, 26 Dec 2007 21:18:01 GMT

Like when love is mere illusion and nothing's left but aching muscles, a tormented head, an unsteady heartbeat, disarray. When you don't know who's inside, who was there first, who will be there next, and why it's this way now. As though a volcano erupted, and forgot to take you with it. Like you're the only one who can see inside this hole. Where was everyone else raised?

Flowers are growing, circling around you, and you are frowning. They are not pink, they are not purple, they simply are not real. For life is so particular, that only what appeals to thine eye is truth, is pure, is politically correct and reasonable. Easier to be wrong then pretend you're right, when right is nothing more than a direction in your sky-blue minivan.

The world's most pointless conversation.

Fri, 21 Dec 2007 18:32:46 GMT

Julian: neat
Sarah: Right.
Julian: haha.
Sarah: Eh.
Julian: what?
Sarah: Nothing?
Julian: bleh
Sarah: Fabulous.
Julian: what?
Sarah: NOTHING.

Sex and the Saree.

Wed, 19 Dec 2007 19:10:45 GMT

Myra: dude, i seriously would probably just get up and leave, cause if you find that out mid makeout session its suuuuch a turn off

Me: Ah, but that's when the "I'm not ready for this" excuse comes into play.

Myra: lollllllllllllll

Me: You see, it's called game.

Myra: you really need a sex column

Me: I know, right? I'm Carrie fucken Bradshaw.

Sun, 16 Dec 2007 06:04:28 GMT

I don't know what's worse; the fact that I miss him, or the fact that you made me miss him.

Your fucking sweatshirt?! (Part Deux)

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 17:51:16 GMT

Awhile back, I was bitching about how my Sidekick has all these ridiculous automatic text messages that make entirely too little sense.

Well, I'm starting to understand them now. I've literally used that "I have your sweatshirt" quick-text like, fifteen times already. People and their sweatshirts never stay together; always apart.

Inevitable.

Tue, 04 Dec 2007 17:47:14 GMT

I'm happy, you're gone. I'm happy you're gone.

Yellow.

Wed, 07 Nov 2007 03:16:50 GMT

It's like when you have to pee, but you don't, and instead you just keep sitting there thinking, "I have to pee, I have to pee, I have to pee."

Your fucking sweatshirt?!

Fri, 26 Oct 2007 01:00:35 GMT

My Sidekick thinks it's the smartest thing since the smartest thing before it, but let me just tell you, it's a freakin' lunatic. It comes equipped with all of these "pre-written" text messages...you know, for when you're driving or in a rush and can't type something out quickly enough... Well, you can just go to the pre-written text messsage...section....and it'll type it all for you. Fancy-style. Thing is, you don't get any say in what those pre-written sons of bitches have on their minds.

And, none of them make any sense. Well, maybe two of them do, but that's not enough. Not nearly enough.

Here's what they say:

-I'm busy and will answer later. (Later?! Okay...Be vaguer.)

-Where are you? (Fair enough.)

-Call me when you realize what's best. (WHAT?!?!? Could you be any more dramatic? And how!)

-Please don't not respond. (Uhhhh....double negative, anyone?)

-Where is the meeting? (You tell me, bitch.)

-Please don't. (Excuse me?! Please don't what? Oh yeah, that's right - please don't not respond. You already said that, dick.)

-I'm late and will not be there this time. (Ever? Cuz when you're running late, don't you usually just...you know...show up late? You don't just not come altogether. Fool.)

-Is this the way? (As if they can fucking see where you're going?)

-Sorry I missed your call. (Fine.)

-I have your sweatshirt. (Good for you??!?!?!)

-What's the word on this? (What's da word, yo? And what is "this"?????)

-How's it going? (It's going horribly, because T-Mobile is the biggest and most retarded dipshit in America.)

LEARN TO SPEAK. Please? Can't you just...please?!

Worm/Washcloth.

Fri, 19 Oct 2007 22:43:40 GMT

A worm

on the floor

AND WHY?!

There's no reasonable explanation

So creepy things are thought

The mind goes South

And all of a sudden

A paper towel

or wad of toilet paper

Just simply isn't enough.

HE COULD GET THROUGH THOSE!

A washcloth, instead, will suffice.

Wad him up, raise your blood pressure,

and chuck him over the neighbor's fence.

Shit.

I'm out a wash cloth.

Grey.

Thu, 18 Oct 2007 05:53:58 GMT

"Because no matter how bad a thing is hurting us, sometimes, letting it go hurts even worse."

Hermit.

Tue, 16 Oct 2007 15:48:57 GMT

I know I've been hiding

it disappoints you

It's Just Me.

Sometimes, one needs...

an escape

a mask

a different reason for waking up

And this time,

What you think of me

(doesn't matter).