Wednesday, October 28, 2009

tissues, tears, long walks, and marijuana

Yesterday was one of the most interesting days of my life. I spent the entire day volunteering for the Deeds campaign on campus. I went around approaching people, asking them if they'd be interested in helping out the campaign. I got to know so many new personailities through that. I met old people, young people, kids, and spouses. People can be so fascinating when you give them a minute to talk about just anything they want.

After I did that, I saw OBAMA, zo cool. It was so weird. I had to keep pinching myself reminding myself that he was actually in front of us. I'm just so used to hearing him on tv. Yeah know?

Afteward, I ran into a ghost from my past. The husband of my old mentor. I broke down in front of him and started to cry. His wife had abandoned me when I went crazy, because she thought I needed some alone time with myself, or something. I don't know. People get freaked out and run when you talk suicide. Anyway, I began telling him that I was in a much better place now when all of a sudden I started to cry a little bit. But it was a good cry. He looked at me like I was a freak, but I didn't care. I just kept thinking about how much I've grown and how beautiful that is. I wasn't crying because I was sad. I don't think he quite got that. But that tends to happen when people don't keep their minds open to new thoughts. Sometimes people get so caught up with what happened in the past that they can't see the beauty in the present moment. They're like that, this couple. Still, I cried shamelessly, because for the first time sitting in front of him, the embodiement of rejection, I felt completely secure in myself and my sanity. And that is such an important stepping stone for me. For the first time I didn't care what he thought. I almost started laughing, because he seemed so thoroughly convinvced that I was crying over his wife's rejection. But in actuality I was crying over the beauty in my gain. He didn't get that. And for the first time, I was okay with them not getting it. It was such a beautiful feeling. I felt like a layer was peeling back and I became more myself. The person I'm supposed to be.

She was such a big part of my life that losing her as a friend and mentor during that crazy time was excruciatingly painful. But I've learned so much as a result. Lying there all brusied and hurt on the ground, my msucles grew stronger as I lifted myself up without her aid. And now I run around enjoying life all on my own. If they don't understand that or acknowledge it, well that's their loss. I'm independent enough that I can do this shit on my own. With that being said, I feel like I just opened the door to a new part of life. A more free one.

After THAT, I got high with my friends. We smoked so much. And we just walked around this old neighborhood looking at the architecture of each uniquely built home. We laughed so hard and talked about all the important things. Then they all want to some meeting that I didn't want to attend. So, I walked around campus formulating this really cool story that you'll eventually see. It's about old people seeing worth in newer and more different ways. Then I bumped into this guy named Tyler who was smoking a cigar on the bench with this guy named Thomas who happened to be reading a book on the supreme court. Thomas turned out to be the coolest guy. We talked about everything. Tyler even ditched us, because it was obvious what was going on. Thomas and I just hit it off so well. He helped me conjure up ideas for short stories and poems and he told me what his lif eis like. In a few short hours walking around our city we made ourselves so vulnerable to each other. I just looked into his eyes after all that was said and saw so much potential, warmth, and knowledge that it made tomorrow seem like a better idea. We're going on a date next week:)

Monday, October 26, 2009


I got tickets to see barack obamaaaaaaa mother fucker!

Sunday, October 25, 2009

OMG. Fucking Barack Obama.

Omg.Omg.Omg.Omg. Barack Obama is coming to my campus to campaign for one of our upcoming Governors. omg. I'm not even a democrat, but I'm freaking out. It's the fucking president dude. whether you agree with his politics or not, to say you sat and listened to him speak is a big deal. I'll wait in line for days if it means getting tickets. I hope he does Q & A.

cheap nights, loud music, couches, and double standards.

I've been doing really well in the drinking department. I have been very hospitable to my liver these days. I've only been getting a little sloppy drunk on the weekends as opposed to pass out drunk every night. I went to a couple parties every night of the weekend and only drank a few beers. I was tempted to drink more, but I knew that by drinking more I'll fall back into the rut of early alcoholism. Yeah, I kinda had a serious drinking problem for awhile. Did you know that? idk if i already mentioned it. The only problem is that I've replaced drinking with smoking green. Omg. I love marijuana. Even the smell gets me off these days.I love the bubbling sound of a bong. I smoke a gram about every couple a days. And I firmly believe bongs are one of the greatest inventions of all time. idk. i guess smoking weed is bad for you, but in my defense it's a hell of a lot better for your body than cigs and booze. Plus, I just love the way everyone opens up when they're high. It's like marijuana washes away everyone's fears and insecurities. We have the best talks high.

I hate double standards. I smoke a lot of cigs and I get judged all the time for it by male smokers. Last night while smoking outside with a bunch of guys, they told me between taking drags that  I was too pretty to smoke cigs. wtf. Why can guys do everything they want and get away with it. This includes casual sex. My ex friend J-rod called me a whore the other day for sleeping around. Even though he does it all the time. He said, "it's just different with girls." UGH. I just wanted to scream at him. But instead I just ignored him and will continue ignoring his calls and texts for the rest of my life. don't call me a whore for sleeping around. I am a 19 year old, healthy independent, young, sexual being. I sleep around responsibly for the fun of it. I don't do it out of emotional angst or anything. These are my choices about my own body. I am not destructive. I praise my body and satisfy it in many ways. I love my life. Besides, I shouldn't have to explain myself to anyone whose buisness it doesn't belong to. Yeah?
I finally found a decent house to live in over the summer. I'm so excited. It's two levels and very pretty. It's an old one with wooden floors, glass window panes, and a huge front porch. The bed rooms are a decent size and the girls who need the roommate are really nice. The distance from campus isn't that bad either. Just a comfortable bike ride.

Tuesday, October 20, 2009

I'm getting better at Latin:)

Meus nomen est Kim. Quod ego amo Latin ordo.
My name is Kim. And I like Latin Class.

Quis universitas est is? Quis universitas of quis brevis? Quis kindgdom of quis seas?
What world is this? What shores of what world? What kingdom of what seas?

Monday, October 19, 2009


I feel good right now. I feel proud of myself and intelligent. We had to read an especially long piece of lit. in my american lit. class and I got a 100% on the quiz. Then when our class was discussing it in length, I made several good points. The teacher said I was really on the ball today. This makes me feel so good. I'll write more later, just had to get that out.

Sunday, October 18, 2009

zoo. booze.cold nights. warm coats. soft hands.

So, remember when I said I was going to try to take it slow in the drinking department? Well, that was an epic fail on Friday night. I got smashed. I don't know what happened. I guess the drinks I drank were stronger than I thought. And then after awhile I just thought, what the hell, I'm already drunk. I came home slurring and talking like a baby. Thanks to my friend Michelle, no boys were involved. She walked me home. I was barefoot, because I couldn't walk drunk in heels, and she held my hand all the while.

Saturday night, however, was a big success. I went to three different parties and consumed a total of one bottled beer.

It's been so cold here. At first, I loved it. But now I'm starting to get annoyed. It's getting to be too cold and too rainey.

And now, I have to go to the zoo today for a biology project. I have to observe the animals in their "natural" habitats and make recordings and answer questions. It would be fun, if it wasn't 0 degrees outside.

Friday, October 16, 2009

A cold day witha green tea latte

Oh boy, Oh boy, today is so cold. It's filled with rain and drizzle and muddy puddles. But I love it. I love wearing my big red peacoat with my black rainboots. And i love snuggling up at night with my most comfortable sweat pants. I love seeing the clouds my breath makes outside. I love it all.

Tonight I'm going to a party, and I've decided I'm only going to get somewhat drunk. I want to be a little more than buzzed, but not sloppy. I'm trying to take it slow. It's my friend's brithday party with a dress to impress theme. A lot of girls are going to wear skanky dresses. I might be one of them. I'm not sure yet. I can bet there's going to be a lot of picture taking. Girls love that shit. So, maybe you'll actually see.

Wednesday, October 14, 2009


I'm supposed to turn in a ten page paper tomorrow for my women writers class. And right now, all I have is five pages. I can't think of anything else to write. I feel like any more ideas will stray form my thesis and make the paper lack focus. And if I just continue to expand on the ideas that are already included, each point will become diluted by superfluous information, making it weak. ugh. what to do? What to do?

Idk. I don't even feel like working on it anymore. I think I'm going to take a break from it today and then stay up all night to finish it.

I had to write some poetry for my creative writing course. I'm not very sure what I think of them.

Poem #1

The Bacardi is doing well tonight.

It warms her veins.

The gushing sound it makes when being poured sparks her meager interest.

Tonight will be another night like the rest of her previously lived life.

It will consist of her favorite men and women.

Plath. Bukowski. Vonnegut. And Millay.

And all to the sweet sounds of Mozart.

The stars will twinkle and know

Just how fond her heart grows for the letters they write.

And the ones she has yet to inscribe.

But then comes life, raping her from behind and up her most private of parts.

And there she is

Left again in the dark.

Poem #2
Here I am cussing filth, like Bukowski drinks beer.

Here I am smoking cigarettes that make me smell bad.

Here I am not caring about how I smell.

Here I am, not liking boys.

Here I am, not liking girls much either.

Here I am, but there I go.

There I go, wearing my best friends dress, trying desperately to be what I’m not.

Off to a place, that’s socially acceptable.

Off to a place, where girls brush their hair and where make up.

Still, my soul stays back in the midst of cigarette smoke and filthy language.

It stays in a place where being a girl means nothing except having a vagina.

It stays in a place where cool means indulging myself in cheap liquor, smoke breaks, and notebooks.

It stays in me, despite what I put on me.

I saw a beggar lady in the street today.

She was reading a map upside down and scratching her head with dirty hands.

I looked at her and said, you remind me of me.

As she looked back, she shouted, “What the fuck do you know?”

Poem #3

Sometimes the hurt is so deep it hits the marrow of my bones.

Sometimes all I can do is cry.

I’ll lie down on my naked back,

Stretch my body out,

And attempt in the freezing air,

With my weak arms,

To reach out for some ghostly state of being that only exists in a small valley of my hopes.

Strange how hard it rains now.

It hits with the sting of a needle prick,

In the mean color of red.

Sometimes I feel like the hurt creates these big walls that I can’t climb.

It makes me feel like I’m going to drown.

They wonder if the rain is contagious.

And it is contagious, that’s all I can say.

All it takes is a second lingering on why bad things are,

And it will come.

It won’t patter with friendliness on your rooftop

It will pour.

And you will grab on with all your strength to anything that will hold you up.

Your wet hands will grow tired and they’ll hurt.

You will grow cold as the wind swirls around you and the rains pushes hard against your naked shoulders.

But you know if you let go,

So will your last breath.

Oh, how it rains.

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

I <3 Tracy Chapman

"Here I am waiting for a better day/ A second chance/ A little luck to come my way/ A hope to dream, a hope that I can sleep again/ And wake in the world with a clear conscience and clean hands/ Because all that you have is your soul."

A new day.

I had a really good phone chat with my best friend Kait today. We talked about a lot of really important topics in our lives. For me it was my drinking and smoking and casual sexing. And I realized that I need to cut back on the self-medicating, because it's getting me no where fast. It just provides a temporary escape that bares no fruit. And it's dangerous, because I'm becoming addicted to such things. It's not just light fun anymore, it's becoming my lifestyle. And that's bad, because I don't want to be that person.

I need to stop and look at myself in the mirror and change my ways. I need to breathe into myself as am, and find the beauty in that. I need to go back to the simple pleasures that I once indulged in, like staring at the flickering flame of a candle while meditating, watching chick flicks, reading everything in sight, praying, going into nature. These are good things to self-medicate with.

I used to spend hours alone in my room doing arts and crafts, like decorating my walls with pictures from magazines or collaging hard surfaces. I used to spend time looking up quotes on the internet and having deep insightful conversations with my best friends. Now, I just engage in risky behavior.

At first it was fun and all, but now it's just old. And it wears my body down. I'm tired of being that jack ass who's drunk at a  party. I want to go back to being that moderately boyish girl who reads the classics for fun and reads random wikipedia articles for kicks and giggles and who blushes everytime she gets a cat call from a random construction worker.

Monday, October 12, 2009

Book Banger: a new blog

So, in the midst of boredom, I decided to create a second blog. This one will be different it's devoted to literature of all sorts. I basically just promote books and poems, song lyrics, and quotes that I like. If you too are a book worm who loves art and letters, you should check it out:)

Friday, October 9, 2009

Thoughts from a loner on a friday night. Cheers!

"I got my knuckles bruised by a lady in black, and  she told me son fear is the heart of love, so, I never went back."- dcfc

So, once upon a time I met this really cool lady who gave me all this great advice. And I followed it blindly, because she seemed right... until, however, it got me no where. And I realized she wasn't always right. And that was when I came of age. Since then, I've taken every bit of advice anyones given me with a grain of salt. I think it's important to remember that the advice a person gives is what worked for that person. It might not work for you, simply because people are different. And sometimes, advice is useless. Sometimes we need to break free of expectations and what is considered right and do what FEELS right and learn our own lessons. Now of course, it's not always like that. Sometimes, you do need to shut up and do what someone tells you. Your gut will tell you when to do which.

In these short nineteen years of my life I've learned to listen to my gut. Listen to music. Listen to poetry and books. And feel things for myself. This is a very important lesson.

 If you constantly live your life constrained by the expectations of someone who is not you, you will most definitely miss out. And that is awful. Does that make sense? idk.. i am just rambling, because it's late at night and I'm tired and feeling crowded by my thoughts.

But on a lighter note, I am at home. my real home. with my wonderful parents, eating homecooked chili in my very comfortable bed, playing with my lovely bag of bones old dog who smells like mother nature's poop. Today is a good day. And tomorrow will be better, because I'll see some of my best friends like kait and kelsey.

How sweet it is to be alive when a weight is lifted.

P.S. If you get a chance listen to Amy Millan's cover of Deatch Cab's "I'll follow you"

Wednesday, October 7, 2009


At this point in my life, I’d like to live as if only love mattered, as if redemption was in sight, as if the search to live honestly is all that anyone needs, no matter if you find it.
~Tracy Chapman~

Here's a little bit of a new short story, i'm working on. I must warn you it's not for the faint hearted. I think I got a little carried away.


Her sanity was slowly slipping from her grasp and yet, she felt calm and collected as she picked daisies from the field filled with wild flowers. She felt calmer than she’d ever been in her life, actually. She watched her warm white hand graze the tips of the flower petals, as she contemplated which ones to use on her father’s dead eyes. She had just finished plucking them out. Her fingers were still pruned from the wetness of his blood. She planned to insert the stems into the sockets like a lover would insert a rose in a vase. She was excited about this. Feelings of joy and accomplishment bubbled in her slowly, brewing up and down her child sized body- the one she hated all because of him.

He moved her out into an isolated area on the mountains so that no one would hear her screams as he raped her every day and every night for 15 years. He kept her locked in a basement when he wasn’t forcing himself on her. But little did he know, she had a plan to stop it all. And now, as she walked through the miraculous field, speckled with the colors of flowers, she had accomplished everything she ever wanted from that plan. She killed him. She stopped the devil that he was.

Her small hands and arms still covered in dried blood dangled down her sides. In one hand were a bundle of flowers. In the other a knife. It was with that knife that she stabbed him in the heart. He was eating cereal with his back to her at 5am. She stared at the back from behind him. Contemplating the consequences. Weighing the pros and cons. And ultimately deciding that feeling satisfied was more important to her than going to jail. What the hell, she thought. I already managed to escape the basement. And with that she did it. She just opened the drawer with the knives, grabbed one, walked right behind him, lifted it with two hands over her head, and pushed it deep into his chest. It was as if she was doing the hymlick maneuver, except with a knife in her hands.

He didn’t die instantaneously. Not like she expected. He put up a fight. But it didn’t matter. He was finally weak. And she had the strength to beat him to death with a knife.

And so it was. He was finally dead. And she finally lived in a world where he no longer existed. Her dreams had come true. Yippee, she thought as she walked back toward the wooden house with the big front porch. Inside, he lied naked. He was a total mess. Blood and guts were everywhere. She intended to cut the snake off that would wiggle between her legs at night, but instead took a sledge hammer and bashed it in. It was too hard to cut off and she was tired of touching it. After that she had carved her initials into his chest. Only to come to the conclusion that ripping his stomach open and pulling his guts out would be more fun. After that she boiled the guts and shoved them down his empty throat. And then finally, she decided to give him some sense of grace. She decided to put daisies on his eyes. It was those eyes of his that evoked the grace, in the last moments before his death. He looked so sad and apologetic as he wailed from pain. She almost felt remorse.

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

What was golden went gray and I'm suddenly shy

SO, I've been attending the different events of the literary festival at my school. The speakers are so wonderful, but oh so intimidating. Their words are so thoughtful and beautifully crafted. I'm jealous. They have what I lack and that is insight. I guess it just takes time to gain that shit. Time and experience.

I'm still so young.

It's 6:00 am and I'm still awake

I can't sleep. I can't sleep. I can't sleep. And yet, I am oh so tireddd. What is going on with me? I haven't slept in days. I'm having a hard time getting my thoughts on to paper. I'm having a hard time even reading my handwriting. No stories are coming to my brain. All I can do is listen. And even that's hard, because I'm so jumpy all the time. I can't sit still. I can't be calm. I'm just an impatient little bia. Everyone says I seem out of it. They all say I seem like I'm somewhere else. I am somewhere else, I'm day dreaming about feeling normal again. I feel so cold. And ultimately scared for the well being of my slipping sanity.