Man, LJ is just really fucking hard to snap out of. Like smoking. 'Cept not poisonous.
Anyway. I survived London, if you'd believe it.
AND NOW, in my senior year in Mills-landia, I happen to be editing our annual LITERARY MAGAZINE, THE WALRUS! (Don't ask me why it is named that, I don't know, we have a stuffed walrus, oh, the cute)
And we're looking for submissions and I'm starting my own guerrilla marketing campaign, involving phrases like, MAKE ME A SANDWICH, and making veiled threats about WALRUS VIOLENCE!
But I know there are still some writers on my lonely and forlorn Flist, and I would love it if you submitted something.
As is, we have a "theme" but only not really a theme. No worries! If your writing reflects "intersections of gender and language", all the best, but if it doesn't, that's okay!
If you happen to be interested after all this bull, send us an email at email@example.com. Three pages of poetry (no more). Ten pages of prose (no more). A short bio would be nice, but we can get to that later. Fiction, memoir, poetry, anti-fiction, flash-fiction, novels in verse, essay, YOU NAME IT WE WANT IT!
Thanks kids. Back to your regularly scheduled slacking. Email me at firstname.lastname@example.org if you have any questions. Amor, amor, y paz.
Alright, now don't think this is gonna become a habit or some shit. Nuh-uh. I'm still living in the land of too complicated with RL, much LJ life. I still enjoy reading all y'all on my friends list so.... yeah. And, of course, locked posts on Mills community, etc.
this is just a general shout out with an update in my ridiculous life:
I'm currently studying abroad in London with Boston University (still at Mills, it's complicated, yo) and it was London or Spain, so.... London it is as the Spanish skillz' I want are not going to be learned with a lisp associated with it. However, I do plan on going to Madrid at some point, suck it! No, not really.
London = interesting. Expensive, but I'm making do because, as Becky knows, I'm resourceful and I know how to cook! And I know how to drink for mad cheap. Americans are so uncool and I am trying to get away from them as much as possible.
I read too much. This week it's been Billy Bragg's memoir (v. good), and The His Dark Materials trilogy, ha ha.
Anyway. If you're interested in abroad adventures of the sort, I invite you over to a different blog thats fer friends, family, etc. 'Twould be Carmenbytheriver.blogspot.com. I know I haven't really.... been on LJ or on fl's fer a long time but you know, if yr ever in the neighborhood (meaning London or Chi, esp. for LOLLA!) you're welcome to let me know.
Also: mad sewing skills = new arm warmers. And a cheap nurses dress I've been looking for my whole life and have finally lost enough weight to get. And also stretching ears avec teeny spirals. And things come in twos with Boy getting a spiral scarification yesterday and me talking with a body mod at some pretty shop in the Camden Market. Jess and Daniella were right!
Hope all is well. Overnout for a much longer time, hopefully.
i love my brother he's always taking shit, he's just not like those other kids / i love my sister for always making things, she even made a brother out of me, sweet kid / i love this feeling like i've got something to give you know i think i'm gonna live
first yell/guilt/disappointment fest of the year from la padres! car died-thought battery was dead-jumped car-car no go car is broken and in parking lot in schaumburg begging to not be towed then locked keys in car.
good things watched good movies ate at senor tacos finished notebook
MmmTillyandtheWall. Joe and Mar came down yesterday and we're going to DeKalb tomorrow (hooray cheap smokes!). The point of this entry is RAGE, though. FUCKING RAGE.
GODDAMN MCENTER REGISTERED ME FOR THE WRONG FUCKING CLASS. So now I'm in Creative Non-Fiction which, gotta be honest, I have no interest in taking. I WANT TO TAKE ADVANCED WITH MICHELINE *stomps around like four year old or possibly Graham* and seriously, fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK. The one class I had pretty good interest in and NOW I'M NOT EVEN REGISTERED.
I'm thinking of giving up on LJ. Or something.
Mario's little brother: Man, that's gay! Mario's mom: Ay! Shut up! Cuidate! *gives thumbs up to Mario*
Mare gave me an adbusters magazine and wrote me a note in it after I gave her the postsecret book. Then I wrote a note. One thing I wrote was that I'm worried that I'm getting scared of the dark. Which fucking panicks me.
Now my real secret is that I can't even fucking stand the thought of going back to Mills. No, seriously. That fucking bothers me. So what do I do? Smoke lots of cigarettes. I don't know what to say to my mother anymore and it depresses me. My life feels like this bad universal joke right now and I'm not into it.
Honestly, I want to move into high fidelity/mar's sister's place and smoke cigarettes with her and joe harris and carlos and mario and make food and never talk about anything again.
...and on that note, I'm going to ... go grocery shopping? oh fuck all this shit.
last update ... was honest of the state of things. But I'm not about to go jump off a bridge (yet). Fucking livejournal. I'm shuttered and clamped but so it has to be for a bit. Anyway. I'm leaving for Oklahoma so will be out of contact in many ways for a while. Okay. Thanks for calls, notes, etc. Stop worrying, okay?
Have a good holiday.
Drank whiskey with my water sugar with my tea my stains and rags with the staggers and the jacks I dream a highway back to you I dream a highway back to you A winding river with a band of gold the silver vision come molest my soul I dream a highway back to you.
fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck this hurts so fucking much so fuckcing much why did i do this to myself? why whyhwhy why i am in a house and i cannot stop crying and my mother comes in and yells at me and mark looks at me with such pity and i am all fucking alone i am goddamn alone i am alone it wasn't enough it wasn't enough it wasn't enough iwa sn't enough i'm never enough and it's true everybody bails everybody bails everybody bails i'm sorry i'm sorry i'm sorry (itsoveritsoveritsover)
Oh Jesus. (JAY-SUS! as Franny would say or Jay-sus, Murrry, and Jooosph, as I would say). I just did the Daniela P. and Jessica M. version of drunk typing (ra, ra, ra, pound pound pound). Not as thrilling as I thought. Fuck fuck fuck.
Christmas presents bought: NONE Christmas presents needed: six, at least Money had: not enough Freak Outs avoided: infinite
So what now? I'm going to make dinner so Mark can eat before he goes to dodgeball and then probably end up driving him there. I'm kirking. Woo Fiona Apple. Woo driving to really loud Arcade Fire. Woo expensive cigarettes. Woo fucking hoo. I haven't written a goddamn thing. I read glossy magazines, spent the day with the paper, glaze my eyes w/ movies. So it goes. okay. okay.
(the poem is over. stop reading stop reading.)
The light is flickering, freaking out in this room. This room is a museum with bed and desk. This desk is useless and full of books. These books aren't getting read fast enough and filling this brain. This brain is not numbing quickly enough with too much coffee and cigarettes. These cigarettes are too expensive and killing my clothes. These clothes are old and comfy and everyone hates them and the jeans are full of holes.