underwater reclining

Portland, Oregon

I forgot to bring a camera so here are some adventure images courtesy of google



the best place in the world





saturday morning

this guy was there, right next to the fountain





"we are dropping off the 3 musketeers"

i have a twin and johnny is 21 now--and we were left unattended in the alphabet district. We asked a girl in a vintage shop on 21st:
"do you know any good bars?"
"no, i don't drink around here."
10 minutes later she was hitting up happy hour ($4 martinis) at Virgo and Pisces.





classic mcrae






end of awake? possibly not. I've been drawing robots and writing about umbrellas for the last three hours, and now it sounds like a thunderstorm outside and inside. CocoRosie keeps my eyes open in a good way and Portland is a good place for girls who ride purple street bikes so I'll be moving next week.

this is what the moon looks like right now



Alcott in the 100s:
"josie, what do you want for your birthday?"
"a puppy"
"ok. what kind?"

you need to stop speed dialing

i want a face stamp

and an elephant.

new writings: a guy who blows himself up with fireworks on a balcony. based on a true story. no joke, a few more nights of insomnia and it will be ready for print.

new (best) news: I might not have to go back to pullman.I'm writing in small small text so I don't get too excited in case it doesn't come true.

also

rock candy
soap boxes
xylophones
vibraphones
francophones
any phones but real phones

last
you can officially call me flaky; i'm no good at returning phone calls or emails
but i like snail mail, and i have nice handwriting.

staring awkward red

I SAW U

all the time.

next time

who does smile then

plus second title: blake is a spanish cowboy

i'm moving.

moderate agnostic

Can I just make this a picture post? Yes.

grandma/larry


my new toys: boss rc-2 loop station and tuning pedals.


list of experiments and corrected grammatical issues:

i hate talking on the phone and learning pinochle should be mandatory in elementary school.
i like talking about mixers and microphones and synthesizers like this one:


i would make a stellar secret agent.

rebel in a campfire cookout

I want to go back to this please:

we dance when

Flies buzz louder than organ notes
drawn from a honeycomb of strings and pedals
at the place where your fingers begin to bleed
milk and seeds, dropping roots between ivory keys.

Buttercup buds fall in heavy hail piles until the field
we stand in can hardly keep from dropping down,
plummeting to the core, an even fall
with a bowling ball hanging from each corner.

When wicker chairs come down from the attic
and our bagpipe bones drop down with rhythmic squeals
we’ll remember a steep climb, heat searing our holding hands
as we left hell fires that held no warmth.

quarter note shaped holes in the wall

innocent syllable riddle (bye bye beautiful)

…is a pair of sunglasses perched on a steep nose

covering sixteen freckles that you can’t see anyway,

since it is already midnight.

…is a traffic cone triplet, born in a hand clap

on an abandoned road framed by snipers hiding in window frames.

…is a sea of unpacked gravel bodies waiting for weight

to push their edges into each other

the way your hipbone peaks bruise mine.

…is a pair of eyes shining flashlight beams into mine

shattering black pupils until the pieces are permanently missing.

…is a tumble dryer under the hood, spinning into sparks

with outstretched arms and ecstatic child cries.

…is a glass pane that didn’t shatter, but became a polka-dot landscape,

a Pollack painting in red splatters and air-shaped nighttime holes.

…is a silence painted on a dead end road.

some stuff I have been confused about or have thought about lately:

-where did the "create an event" button on Facebook go? I have an event! I want to create it! I can't find the button...
-How does Morrissey still look good?
-Phil Collins, in general.
-is knitting an instinct that lays dormant until after menopause? I feel like every woman over 50 I see is knitting.
-would I clone myself?

good vs. not so good:

-boondock saints vs. homework
-green vs. blue
-animal collective vs. the ants in my kitchen
-scooters vs. minivans
-the lady skipping around the track today vs. the idiots who walk in the runners lanes.

just not good at all:
-insects
-dancing a hoedown ashley simpson style
-creepers and creepy dancers and just freak dancing in general
-procrastination.

ten tiny secret bubbles popped, splat!

I was thinking today, writing children's lit might be fun, but then I realized stories about brothers and sisters who turn into polar bears and eat each other might give little kids nightmares. Instead I wrote a story about Edinburgh. It's sort of a memoir-y-ish thing, with some fictional elements. Actually, I don't even believe in memoirs. Everything is fiction. I'll post the completed version soon but for now here is a teaser:

This was before Hunter and I shared a room, two mattresses spread across a threadbare blue carpet; before we spent our Saturdays watching Bergman films until the world didn’t have any color left, followed by watery soup at the “Restaurant and Café” on the very last corner of Lothian road just before it became Home street. This was when we bought a two-man pup tent and convinced Kat it would be easy to rent a car, it would be easy to remember to drive on the other side of the road.
Every Edinburgh Saturday pretended to threaten a monsoon or hurricane with clouds gathering in sky piles at speeds that could make you dizzy if you stared up, but just before the sun went down the cloud quilt would decide that the joke was over and disappear suddenly, leaving behind a sunset of fluorescent yellow, a million smashed lightbulbs across the skyline.

...and another part:

A curved gravel bay off the edge of the pavement came up at the pristine second and with just enough time Hunter swerved the wheel hard, smashing the brake pedal until the engine relented and shivered to still and silent.
To the left of our car was dense brush, overgrown and condensed until it appeared as a solid shade of muted green, but up to our right, that was why we had pulled over: a climbable-sized hill, mint green and lavender quaking against a heavy growling sky.
“Go! Go!” I wanted out, now, out of the car, out and up, and if the window would have opened far enough I would have squeezed my body through that way, but instead I tied my muscles down to wait until Kat had gotten out of her passenger seat and flipped the backrest forward.
“I’m climbing it, are you coming…” Everything excited in my head and my bones wouldn’t wait any longer and I don’t remember looking down the highway for traffic before flying across and then farther, over the boulders lining the road.
Without waiting for anyone else, I scampered up a little ways, but once I had made it over those boulders and into what had been a carpet of skin-soft vibrant purple and pine-tree greens I was soaked in seconds, wet all the way to my waist and pieces of the Scottish Highlands clung to my jeans as I pushed through thick grasses as close together and finely wired as the fur on a golden retriever.

...mehhh i'm not particularly ecstatic about how its going so far, but we'll see what happens in the next few hours.

list! list!
-5 weeks until school is over
-4 days until the weekend
-3 little pigs
-2 bands to interview for wednesday
-1 day without a cellular telephone

random stuff for Monday:

-I've officially worn through my favorite pair of boots and they no longer keep my feet dry in the rain which is a bummer. I'm thinking I probably just won't go outside when it rains now.
-Phil Collins.
-a playground where I pretended to be an astronaut and how amazing tennis is when you play it at midnight in July.

something in the deli aisle makes me cry

newest hobbies: watching The Blow videos on youtube, and making a number scroll that counts down the days to summer.
writing stories about cannibalistic kid circus performers.

reading about polar bears.

finding creepy faces

fake cake bones

This evening's update isn't really much of an update; it's more of a quick "I am so excited!" list and a blip of a new piece of work.

so, here are the "I am so excited!" parts:

1. I got a box from moooom today!!! the outside was polka-dotted and the inside was a song in the middle of a desert. It was such a sweet piece of today.
2. I MADE GOOD PASTA!!!! FROM SCRATCH! I guess that item should be in a list by itself: "whoah. did I really do that? that's amazing!"
seriously, guys, I can't cook to save my life so the fact that a) I didn't burn anything (like the house) and b) it tasted GOOD! are both pretty incredible by themselves.

There is no sound when Marian wakes up with her forehead on the table. She doesn’t disturb the moon-curved shape of her spine that sprouts from the junction of her hipbones, resting against the longitude of the oak chair, up to the first chapter of her skull.

The uneven table legs wobbled when the weight of her dreams changed shape, and the vibrations from her nightmares shook the room until the glass of water danced to the edge of the table and dived all the way down to the floorboards. It shattered and every mouse scattered; now Marian owns a small lake-puddle.

She is awake, still her eyes stay closed and she stares at the table through transparent eyelids. Oxygen molecules continue to be recycled, leaving a faint imprint a few centimeters below her lower lip.

The table knows everything about Marian; in his skeleton there are eight hundred and sixty-seven bruises that she has inflicted; his red linoleum belly carries her name, branded in the corner where her right palm bleeds perspiration the width of a quarter. He has measured her hands several times. They are smaller than her mother’s and grandmother’s hands, with distinct knuckles and joints and a thin white scar running up the inside of her index finger. He admires her hands and so does she. When Marian punches the keys of her typewriter she watches closely while her skin reveals the muscles and bones that make each finger tighten and release. She likes the shape of bones, the ones in her own body, and the ones she notices inside everyone else.

Noise refuses to perforate the navy silence that is swimming around the apartment. Marian's ears begin to ache and she is fully awake now, still alone with a mouse in the kitchen. He shifts his ears in her direction: he is familiar with her still frame. He begins to gnaw on something sharp, and she worries that it might be her ankle bone, but her brain is unable to sever itself from the cool comfort of her favorite animation.

“Es la una y media.” Her voice isn’t loud enough to reach her own ears but the mouse hears each syllable as a bell and a chime and pauses for three seconds to find Marian’s bell tower. It is still buried, but by now his optimism has expired and he runs around the shores of the new Great Lake, a conductor on his own track headed East.
He disappears and Marian’s eyeballs surface above the floral pattern on the sleeves belonging to her dress. Where each pupil used to be there is a button with four holes and when the weather is nice each one lets in a silky strand of sunlight.

I almost left without posting a picture, but I couldn't do it. So, here is my favorite other Josie: the goddess of comedy, Josie Long.

blizzard

I feel guilty for not going to class today. Or yesterday. However, the guilt is kind of unnecessary since if I had gone no one would have even been there. School has been cancelled for the last two days due to the MASSIVE amounts of snow all over Pullman. Seriously, it snowed eight feet Thursday night. Actually I'm kidding, it was more like one foot, but it was enough to warrant a state of emergency for eastern Washington.

...So instead of going to class, I decided to be productive with my Friday afternoon. I made a list of: red.

algae!

a red fox

lothian bus on princes street in edinburgh

llamar por telefono

red velvet cAke

and with that said and done, my plan is to walk home and make an irish cream coffee, eat tomato soup and watch my roomates play beer pong:

(just in case anyone would like clarification on the exact details of beer pong, courtesy of wikipedia:

Beer pong (also called Beirut, Ruit, Lob pong and other names) is a drinking game in which players throw a ping pong ball across a table with the intent of landing the ball in one of several cups of beer on the other end. The game typically consists of two two-player teams, one on each side of a table, and a number of cups set up on each side. There are no official rules, so rules may vary widely, though usually there are six, ten or 15 plastic cups arranged in a triangle on each side.[1] The number of players on a team can vary as well, from one to three or more.
When a ball lands in a cup, the defending team must consume that cup's beer. The game is won by eliminating all the other team's cups before one's own cups are eliminated. The losing team must then consume all the beer remaining in the winning team's cups.[1] The order of play varies – both players on one team shoot followed by both players on the other team, or players on opposite teams can alternate back and forth.[2] If two balls land in the same cup during the same round of play, play continues normally.
Today, beer pong is played at a multitude of North American colleges and universities and elsewhere. )