most peculiar mama

yes.

9.28.10

i think about train hopping, traveling, cities passing by in a blur of filth and steel. destinations unknown materialize with no introduction; truck-bed naps make distance nonexistent, and miles pass regardless of my desires or dreams. i'll keep that thumb out by the roadside diner, crash at some waitress's spare room, and just make it by.

america!

fiction 09.16.10

"roy will call, i swear."

my mother boarded the bus, after tossing her overloaded bag in the compartment below. i watched her leave and felt nothing.

at this point, we had been living together for a few months. my father was back in town, so she re-appeared, latching on, attempting to keep the family together. he'd show for a few days then disappear for another week with no contact; she'd be in and out of touch with him, waiting for some reassurance. while she stayed with me, she'd leave for hours, or even days at a time, and i knew she was crashing with him in some heroin den, blocking out sunlight and reality with every hit.

after three months of this behavior, i attempted an intervention, but on my own it was close to impossible. i thought, after watching the tv show of the same name, that i had the right words to say, but she was past my help. after countless rejections, i told her she had to leave my house; her actions were far too destructive and painful for me to bear.

that's what brought us to this bus station today. i'm not even sure who roy is, honestly. i think it's her drug dealer in seattle. i can't care anymore.

delorean, yeah!

unexpected approach.

one of my favorite blogs, six sentences, had this great entry today:

No, Ma'am, it's not at all an odd request that I cut your obese eight year old son's $25 steak up into bite-sized pieces before serving it to him. Sure, Sir, I'll take a picture of you pretending to take a bite of your underage girlfriend's crotch with a fork and knife, and by the way, that's very creative and funny. Nope, I don't mind at all that you place your hands on my waist and push me to the side, ever so subtly grazing your hand over my ass as you pass by. Of course, folks, you can take a picture of me to show all your friends back in Texas "the tiniest waitress you've ever seen." Yes, I do this to pay my bills. No, this wasn't quite what I was planning on doing with my degree.

-Tia Napolitano

night train tonight.

on a small black kick.

or, a small black kid.

this song gets better with every listen. also:



bikes. mark. spankrock. what else do you need, really?

she'd been going to the same restaurant for years; every monday afternoon, she'd walk down from her third floor walkup, around the block, and get a table by herself. after ordering the requisite coffee, she would pull out her brown notebook and begin to write. usually, there were many observations to be made: the aging couple in the corner always had an interesting argument, often about the kids, the cat, the garbage. it was generally commonplace, because they'd been having the same conversation for years, but it made for good type.

the bickering could go on for days, because it never had a beginning or an end. they'd been together for so long that their interactions centered on a general dissatisfaction with life; it was nothing to do with each other, really, but every disappointment that they'd ever endured was now let out on their spouse, because they knew nothing else.

there were other regulars: the ancient bearded man that sat at the counter and ordered a slice of apple pie with black coffee, the plump woman that brought in various friends to taste her favorite pastries, the after school crowd looking for donuts and handouts; she knew them all.

the personal interaction was her fuel; the server seemed flustered but friendly, so her writing centered around that woman's background: why is she waiting tables? is she in school, paying her way until graduation? is she supporting a child, paying for preschool until that deadbeat father gets his life together? is she in the middle of a twenties crisis, post grad but pre adulthood?

too deep, she thought. just wanted to write about prepubescent wayward middle school youngsters, or nonsensical septennial altercations, but this had resulted in self reflection. so it went, as a regular, because you could never separate yourself from the others that shared your space.

eventually my hair will look like a combination of these

(img src google "lou doillon)

hide yr husband

i don't care how many times you've seen this, it's priceless.

(i think i'm up to 20)

my thighs, pouring sweat, stuck to the hot leather of his passenger seat, but i couldn't imagine sitting anywhere else. we sat at the end of his cul-de-sac, nowhere to go to escape the heat, slowly smoking cigarettes and drinking vodka iced tea. i forced myself to adopt a nonchalance that belied my excitement, attempting to match his level of cool. he wore dark glasses, of course, which made it even more difficult to ascertain his thoughts, already so impossible to read.

the neon lights reminded me of a past existence, which may have been in the future; we were standing on top of a neolithic skyscraper made of bare stone. civilizations were falling around us but somehow the party went on.

"What about little microphones? What if everyone swallowed them, and they played the sounds of our hearts through little speakers, which could be in the pouches of our overalls? When you skateboarded down the street at night you could hear everyone's heartbeat, and they could hear yours, sort of like sonar. One weird thing is, I wonder if everyone's hearts would start to beat at the same time, like how women who live together have their menstrual periods at the same time, which I know about, but don't really want to know about. That would be so weird, except that the place in the hospital where babies are born would sound like a crystal chandelier in a houseboat, because the babies wouldn't have had time to match up their heartbeats yet. And at the finish line at the end of the New York City Marathon it would sound like war."


"Humans are the only animal that blushes, laughs, has religion, wages war, and kisses with lips. So in a way, the more you kiss with lips, the more human you are. And the more you wage war."

"I felt suddenly shy. I was not used to shy. I was used to shame. Shyness is when you turn your head away from something you want. Shame is when you turn your head away from something you do not want."


-favorite quotes from extemely loud and incredibly close, by jonathan safran foer.

i think i want one of these as a pet.
(thanks signe)

boyfriend//birthday.

anti-nostalgia 8.25.10

i walked briskly through misting rain to the chapel's door. around me, couples huddled under black umbrellas, suits and heels signifying their wedding attendance. inside the foyer were countless familiar faces from years past, practically forgotten, memories gone extinct in an effort to erase certain lifestyle decisions. youth group leaders, worship team members, babysitters, "aunts and uncles", classmates, shared experiences. i said hello to a few, smiled at most, nodded at others. it was easier that way, uncomplicated. i didn't want to tell the same story fifty times. annie said, "i'm glad you're coming with me, because we're both outsiders". it's funny, because i'm one of the originals, but she's totally right. i'm not a part of that anymore.

emerging adulthood

so, it's true; we are not children, not yet adults.

"what is it about 20-somethings?"

i knew that already.

(photo- luke chrissenger, taken by yours truly.)