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derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight

Demonlock Scribbles

Demonlock ficlets

On Allister Drive
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight

The Drive

We count palm trees, one by one, and semi-trucks zoom past

with a rushing imminence of the salty wind of the coast

we’re driving too slowly towards. Impatience fills the back seats

where my sister and I toss half finished pages of coloring books

aside like the leaves we kick from sidewalks in the dreary fall.

Everything is not there yet, not where we want to be,

our eyes watering with a sleep we fervently resist in hopes

we’ll be awake when we arrive. We want so much to remember

and collect everything around us in the deep recesses of our minds.

We gather the soft malleable sands, fresh sensations of eating shrimp,

warm handprints of too much sun on our faces, and the vibrance of it all

with a ferocious tenacity of harvesting a crop before the frost.

We must be able to draw up from our wells when we are constantly not there,

when our bodies must remain in place while our minds struggle to fly highways south.


The House

Red paint peels away with the humid winds from the gray planks on the porch.

Bare feet feel cool against it, and cooler still inside against carpet flattened by years

of pitter pattering families. The building heaves subtly like a glorious lung inhaling us

from long drives and sticky days at the beach. Decorations swing softly with the winds,

singing us to sleep on sleek and sagging leather couches and stiff beds. To think the same

soft blanket was his once, was theirs once, and exists in this plane of heritage, a physical manifestation,

a detail of the whole idea that he’s here somewhere else in time, touching this blanket.

She’s buying the set with the younger ones, who hold onto the cold wire cart,

while he’s working to build and finish with the older ones, all periodically wiping worn brows

with silent exhaustion. He and She are here and there while I am lying here or standing there

or rocking in the canvas hammock in the growing evening letting the rush rush of the cars and

ocean air take me over. The hammock swings and everyone sleeps and they’re still here.

In the house, in the lung, in the air, in the salt gathering on brows and lips. On the blanket.

The red house has a roof that’s sturdy, and the paint won’t peel where we can’t reach.

Working for a paycheck.
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
Titanic is possibly one of the worst movies I have ever seen, and for many reasons. My main beef is how the movie cheapens a horrible disaster where innocent lives were lost into some melodramatic romance. Most of the characters would never have existed in any pheasable realm. Ever. Sure the names might be from actual passengers, but that's where the similarities stop. Specifically, of course, I am talking about Jack and Rose. Not until Edward and Bella were there two more hated characters in my cinematic history. These characters are merely idealistic fantasies playing out an equally idealistic fantasy of romance. They never existed, never will exist, and neither will their love.

True love exists, sure. Everlasting, neverending, passionate love exists. My parents are in love, quite obviously, as are most of my friends and family. But here's the thing: their love wasn't instant, and sure didn't happen in a week.

It goes a little like this: 2 people meet and are attracted to each other, they get infatuated and fall in lust-yes LUST. That tingly feeling you get when you see their number blinking on your phone as they call you? You're horny. You want to kiss and do them. Accept this fact please. There is nothing wrong with feeling this way, and you certainly don't have to act on them, but don't lie and think it's love. There is nothing wrong with admitting that you have a strong physical attraction to someone, and there's nothing wrong with recognizing that the physical attraction is the predominant emotion in the beginning. It makes perfect sense, since when you first meet someone *surprise* you make judgments on their appearance.

I encounter way too many people who confuse the initial infatuation with being in love with the person. These people get hurt the most and the hardest. What really gets me is they never seem to learn from the consequence. Every single relationship burns fast and quick, and they are just as hurt and alone in the end as they were before. Every lasting loving relationship in my friends' and family's lives took time to grow into something great. Every one of my own relationships where the love was slow to burn were the better ones. I got hurt falling too fast and hard, and god I wish others knew better.

I'm not a cynic, I just learn from my mistakes.

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derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
Thanksgiving involved turkey, casserole, and family members. It was quite a lovely time indeed.

Oh look pictures of my cat. His name is Figaro. He is kind of an ass, but I love him anyway.

Biiiiig Boooooooty

I love kitties!

derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
Sooooo here are some pooooooeeeeeemmmmssssss (not edited. feel free to rip them a new one. does me some good to get abused every now and then)

Yeshua bobbed his head,
smiling at me like a fool,
as he turned his music up.
Interpol, of all things.

"It's just noise you know."

Sweat stained collars and worn boots,
sleeping dogs beside his bed, tongues and laces wagging.
Nails forever yellow, brown, and black, at the tips of his hands
surprisingly docile and sweet.
In through the mouth and out through the nose, heaving, mustache bristling,
Dad asks me for something;
iced tea or beer.
He smiles at me when I bring it to him,
and God I wish would tear his yoke away.

Humanlike limb proportions
ribs and fingers compiled of fractures
and fragments so delicately picked from the earth
where blunt weapons once brought them to being.
Before this, merely guesswork and faith
mortared our too-solid houses.
Grandmother still scyred, charmed, and water-witched
her way to wells and well-being.
Mother still curses dead birds at our doorway.

Homo habilis cracked the rocks apart for tools of progress,
very clearly, unlike the beautiful tools of humans.
Before this, we stripped down meat and skin
with teeth and nails, and sheer will.
Like my father eating ribs while I
try not to laugh at the stains on his shirt,
and the mud-like sauce filling the creases of his hands.

A lot of people spent a lot of time trying to
determine the relative intelligence of our ancestors
based on the shape of their skulls and protruding brows.
But we have chins and bare skin,
so therefore, if you don't mind I would like
very much to reach between the space
you so wonderfully placed between us and
take your hand, waist, chest- or even -lips.

Very Happy Unbirthday
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
This morning I woke up sad, the kind of sad that leaves a lump in your chest and sends you into a spiral of denial that you should be happy. I really should be, I had one of the best weekends of my LIFE these past few days. I saw so many family and friends for my birthday, participated in an amazing AIDS Walk in Austin, and had a great Sunday evening to wrap it all up.

Maybe it's Monday. Maybe it's the stress. Maybe it's because I woke up knowing that weekend was over, and wouldn't happen again for a while. Orchestra isn't close to fun anymore, it's really anything but; articles for the paper are getting harder to complete on time; I already fucked up at my new job that I love (even though I really think it's her fault but what can I do about that); I have to register for classes and have no idea what the fuck I am doing; and to top it all off I am more home sick than I have been in a while.

Since when was this weekend allowed to end? I'm 21 now, I should be happier.

Rufus Wainwright, where have you been all my life?
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
I got a couch! An AWESOME couch! My parents bought it for me a couple of weekends ago and oh man it is so comfy.
Yes, that is also a cardboard cutout of Frodo Baggins. What?

OH and I made these troubadour gloves! I am hoping to make about 10 pairs and sell them on Etsy!

They remind me a lot of the gloves Aida wore in the film 'The Piano'. Hmmmm, maybe I will make some black ones and call them Aida gloves......

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I'll fix my procrastination problem... just you wait!
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
It's not that I haven't been productive, it's almost the opposite. I've been writing like mad lately. Papers, news stories, and class assigmnets are taking up so much of my time it's hard to get a good piece going. I should edit some poems I've been working on later tonight and hopefully get those posted up here.

I want to write, I can feel it. I get this sort of electricity running through me, high wiring my nerves. I get so nervous, though, because I have to make this creative energy count. So many characters, stories, poems, and ideas shoot through my head all at once. I wish I had some way to just comb them out. Lord knows I've had plenty of inspiration, now I just need to take the right finger out of the right dike hole.

Double Take
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
"I'd rather not see Wizard of Oz. It's just not one of my favorite movies."

He should have stopped there.

"That, and I don't want to fight off all the gay guys."

I think he might have just said 'gays', I might be acting a little generous here. This guy isn't a douche, or a tool, or a jackass... at least he isn't that way most of the time I spend with him. Somehow this slipped through the cracks, however, until just now.


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Don't you f@&%ing rain on my parade
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
I have been typing non stop for the past week. Class assignments, memos, letters, and even more importantly- my trial article for the University Star. This thing will make or break me. If the article is up to standards (which I think it is) they will publish it, but I won't get paid until my next assignment. My purse has been put up and permanently replaced by my backpack, filled with spirals,novels, legal pads (glee!), and what ever else I used to carry around in my suddenly way too small purse. I even went to a (successful) job interview with this bad girl in tote.

While most might stress the fuck out at the idea of even 1/4 of my work load, I honestly get a kick out of this. I've never had to write this much so constantly -  and I fucking love it. This is how I know I am on the right path here. I've had to buy a new dictionary (just collegiate, saving the Oxford for my bday or xmas) and AP style book, and I was just as frickin giddy about that as I am about buying shoes. Procrastination lost all conception to me, seeing as I finished several assigments at least a day ahead of their due date. My pace astounds me, and I hope I can keep it up.

I'm cooking, too, as if you couldn't notice from my other entries. Tonight the menu consists of spaghetti tossed in either a tomato basil pesto or some light olive oil with tomatos and seasoning, corn on the cob, and (save your fork!) chocolate cream pie!!! Pictures hopefully shall be posted, assuming of course my friends and I don't devour everything in one heap. My parents are visiting this weekend, so Sunday I plan on making some baked chicken with seasoned corn on le cob (what? it's DELICIOUS) and either some sweet corn bread or more pie.

Bon appetit!

nom noms
derp, demonlock, pixiedolores, scribbles at midnight
Friday I made some delicious berry loaves using some blueberry muffin mix and frozen strawberries. They were a big hit at Julia's dinner night. I think I might make these a repeat offense.

Sunday after church Julia, Alli, and I stuffed our faces at Cracker Barrel, or at least we tried. Julia and I each took home leftovers, and here are the results of mine:

Yummy delicious chicken tacos!!!

See, college students don't have to just live off ramen and pizza hut!