see what i mean.
that fucking post is proof. proof that i am difficult. and i make things difficult. and i insist on drama, when drama is not there. why must i make it a struggle?

of this much i am certain...
i was meant for the crowd
i was meant for the shouting
i was meant to raise these hands with quiet all about me

i just wasted five minutes looking through the online wedding pictures of a stranger. and i'm in my quiet little room feeling very emotional. weddings have the ability to soften anyone. no matter how cynical you are... how down and out you feel about love... seeing someone else's joy... seeing someone else's hope... watching someone BE in love... its enough. its always enough. even if its only you projecting. even then. its enough.

and all my sins were pardoned...

it seems like it should be right. but something's missing. i don't know. there's no edge. which is good, i thought. i think. ah fuck. i don't know. i know that you're incredibly receptive to being loved... and i know i really want you to love me. but i just don't know if its there. i think we want these grandious things... well, at least i do. i think you might want something simple. we want the same things, i just want mine with all the frills and pain... you want the thing plain and simple. i am making no sense and i am thinking in tired metaphors. fuck. this is just all bad.

i'm pushing it. pushing to know whether this could be an "it"... not a forever "it," but a REAL IT. i'm just not convinced you are open to letting it be an "it." and that is what my frustration boils down to... i'm not sure why but i am just not in a space right now to fuck around. maybe i honestly don't know how to fuck around. i don't want to waste time if you are not open to this being something important. because i don't want to get hurt. maybe because i don't half ass anything if i can help it. i don't half ass emotions. i can't. and i really don't want to fuck around with someone who has no need for an "it." i like that things are easy with you... but i tend to think that easy is passionless. so bear with me. i'm getting used to you. i'm trying to understand you. i'm realizing we don't know each other very well. i'm learning how you are... learning what you need and what you can give... and you are so incredibly simple sometimes... that its throwing me off, ok? its warming me... its confusing me... its forcing me to think about everything... about what i want, about what i need... ahhhhhhhhhh

fuck, i love human interactions. i'm boiling somewhere deep in my belly.

cheap.
i sold my soul to adsense. well, not really. they have to accept me first. i think i just want to see if i can get accepted... and then i'll eventually realize how little i actually see to profit from this business venture. but you know what? i'm poor. if me calling google adsense a "business venture" isn't proof enough... perhaps you'd like to know that, in a moment of unabashed chivalry, the boy offered to start paying me for sex. and i seriously considered it. i mean it makes sense... i get to prostitute myself and he gets to make sure that he's my only customer. he promised to give me enough business to keep me afloat. you know what else, he calls me slurring drunk tonight... from his gig... on a dying phone... to ask me how my day was. and it was great. to know that he got really drunk and just had to call me for no apparent reason.

but this ad thing... don't hate me for it. i doubt i'll keep it. it makes me feel sorta cheap to have an ad plastered to my internet soul. like posting up paul frank ads in your diary. its cheap. but you know what? i'm not going to pretend that sometimes feeling cheap doesn't get me off. you know it.

while i'm feeling open, i should also mention that i do happen to sometimes like really bad music with really bad lyrics by semi-washed up but still incredibly hot to my inner 16 year old punk self singers... and you know what else? i like the bad lyrics. this is gold... pure gold:

"take a look around baby
yeah my whole crews ugly
but we still got the most game, the most money
the most hoes, the most honeys, it's so funny
how you hate my fuckin' guts
but at the same time love me"
~the transplants

meet me down at the lake.
so hey. december 8th is officially the day to celebrate the immaculate conception. i noticed this as i was flipping through my calendar peeking at all the assignments that have to be done in the coming months. thats when december 8th's importance jumped out at me. how is it that growing up in catholic school, we never celebrated this? possibly because the very idea of celebrating something sorta sexual would have been evil evil evil. or at the very least, sorta difficult. catholocism has a history of having a hard time talking about any sort of details about conception period... never mind the mess of having to explain an immaculate version to a bunch of kids. perhaps because it would have become twisted in our heads to a celebration of god "doing" mary. maybe because after pointing this date out to my roomie yesterday she decided she wanted to be the immaculate conception for halloween, and carry around a dildo labelled "god."

i of course have marked it down... as a day where i must have sex. i figure it is the only proper way to celebrate. my roomie suggested we all cheers our birth control pills that morning.

and then a frightening thought struck me.

"i don't think birth control pills protect you from immaculate conception."
"i guess they wouldn't, would they?"
"those bitches. they should really put that on the label. wait! i get it... that damn 0.02%!!! its saved for immaculate conception. 99.98% effective... 0.02% chance of immaculate conception."

genius.

i'm not going to lie and pretend that at some point in my life... i didn't lived in fear that god might impregnate me. you can stop laughing. i swear. there was a time where i was freaked right the fuck out that some glowing angel was going to trumpet into my little suburban room and announce that i was now pregnant. i am pretty sure though that this is a fear i will never again be plagued by. i'm almost positive that saying goodbye to virginity also meant saying goodbye to the possibility of bearing a deity. god doesn't like sloppy seconds.

dear dictionary.com,
i have recently realized how out of touch you are with modern language. sure, you're a great resource for lots of words like "galenic" or "myriad"... words like that. gold star for your entries. on the other hand... we have this. tsk tsk. first of all dictionary.com, i have to address your use of "rap." nobody says rap. just let it go. second of all... and most importantly, punani is not "sex." punani means VAGINA. female sex. everybody knows that. except you don't. you've lost a little bit of my respect tonight, dictionary.com. you're slipping.

sam

parade with me.
i went to life drawing on monday. "it's about goddamn time" was all i could hear as i walked into the room... a little intimidated, not quite sure if i could still do it. i smiled at the strangers, bumbled over to pick up some drawing materials... and took my seat. i could barely remember what i preferred to draw with. i thought about it... three years since i have done any serious drawing. three years. crazy how time flies by without me. i touched the paper and tested the charcoal along the side. it had been so long. like touching an ex-lover long after the romance had ended. hesitant about what you may feel. the whole experience was as personal as i had wanted. there were no suggestions as to how to draw, no comparing work, i barely even could hear how long each pose was going to be. it was just my hand, the model, and some marvin gaye streaming through the stereo in the room. for two hours.

and yes, i was rusty. my proportions were at times... horrid. my hand was weaker than i remember it ever being before. my eye wasn't quite as sharp... not as good at seeing detail and judging negative spaces... and even my mind grew weary after the first hour. but i did it. and it felt good. i was never an incredibly talented artist... but i always got something out of it. always. and i can always seem to be proud about some aspects of what i do. and drawing was always my favourite. so i'm glad i reconnected with that part of me. yes, reconnected with a part of me. that's a good way to put it.

plus, i love the body. and any excuse to study a body for two hours... is a good one. bodies are fucking incredible people. fucking incredible.

on a train devouring the night...
and sometimes those movie moments happen... when you stumble out of a house party with your mates... having nicely drank your problems away. incredibly pleased with life and your ability to enjoy a party filled with lots of people you don't know. sure, having a place on the couch inbetween two of your favourite people helped. as did having a bellyful of martinis... ok, and a star wars mug filled with red wine... but anyways. after a successful appearance, you stumble along yelling with your friends about how to get home and cursing those stupid bitches sitting on the porch... when you look up and there he is. walking towards you with his headphones in his ears. and you know he's looking for you. and its just what you wanted.

of course i spoil it all/personalize it by running up to him, grabbing his face, looking deep into his eyes, and exclaiming, "i am so drunk!"

this one's called... fire eye'd girl.
so i am craving a road trip. a long bus ride. some alone time. alone time plus a change of scenery. i know exactly why i want to run away this time. there's a big looming shadow over my left shoulder and if i glance to the left... i can see it clearly. its filled with anxieties. heavy workload... family problems that now seem more like family life... a lack of faith in myself... a little bit of doubt about where i am... skepticism about what i want... the changing seasons... the inbetween holidays period... sigh.

boston, anyone?

no they'll never catch me now.
so i need to pull back a bit. because i am getting in too deep. i have recognized it... i am needing more and more and more. so now all thats left to do is pull back. regain some footing. clear my headspace a bit. the teeter totter game has me sitting with my ass on the floor raising his up. push with your legs, sam. push.

cocoon

"Okay, consider this. Say you're going to go on a long trip with someone by car. And the two of you will take turns driving. Which type of person would you choose? One who's a good driver but inattentive, or an attentive person who's not such a good driver?"
~ Murakami, Sputnik Sweatheart

that's my type. some people may describe my type as quirky... or arty... or musical. but its just that these characteristics often come WITH my type. my type often is one of those... but they aren't necessarily signs of my type. my type is the latter one described in the quote above. the attentive ones. the ones that often look a little out of place... the ones that are often awkward... the ones that yes, bumble around. the ones that are a little nerdy, a lot confused, but are always aware. they have to be aware. constantly looking, asking, thinking. and i don't mean to describe these people as crazies. they don't always look so extremely nerdy. but they... well, they are ok with being vulnerable. they can give up some sense of control. they would rather not pretend to be fully in control in the first place. and sure, sometimes i swoon over the good drivers. the ones that have it all together... because for a bumbler like myself, there is something incredibly attractive in someone who is put together. but essentially, the ones that are put together or even the ones that try to appear to be put together... don't really do it for me. i like to watch people bumble. it makes me giggle. someone who is attentive... aware... who may drive a little crooked but can describe every crack in the road... and make up a story about each one... these are the people for me.

and maybe "good drivers" are this mythical norm that don't actually exist. but i'm not so sure. i've met good drivers. and while they don't always have everything together, they pretend they do. they grip the steering wheel and will the car to do what they want. they roll up their windows and keep their eyes on the road. intent on their mission. a mission that they often have not thought through... but questioning this mission only angers them. these are the people i've met that drive well.

but maybe there isn't such a sharp dichotomy. and it's more of a continuum. i agree. i agree. but it does seem sometimes that being a good driver conflicts with being attentive. being attentive just takes up so much energy.

and maybe this is also the problem with the ones i like. it's hard to be attentive and keep on the road at the same time.

maybe two bad drivers should not road trip together.


or maybe i should leave the cocoon i have made my room. bundled under my covers, listening to soft music and contemplating love. pay no attention to me... i'm not quite stable today.

..."and the world may belong for you... but it'll never belong to you..."

its the sense of touch...
"i think we miss that touch so much that we crash into each other just so we can feel something."

success is so pretty, but it makes me think i'm winning.
i didn't even know this could be a reason for hating cell phones... but here goes... they make me feel out of shape. yes. yes they do. because, yesterday as i'm running on the treadmill with buckets of sweat falling off of me and the batteries to my discman just died and therefore i have nothing to motivate me and i have to listen to the depressing sounds of everyone else's machines working working working... a cell phone starts ringing. specifically the cell phone belonging to the guy on the treadmill next to mine. without missing a stride, he casually answers it. and continues to have a 5 minute conversation while running. beside him, if he had looked, he would have seen a red-faced, out of breath, pissed off me. pissed off that he was fit enough to casually talk and run at the same time. pissed off that his conversation was happening right beside me and no matter how fast i was running, i could not run away. pissed off that he felt important enough to have to have his cell phone by his side even while he was running.

this made me think that no one gave a fuck where i was at that moment. no one knew where i was, most likely no one was wondering. and while i guess this made me a little sad at the time... to have someone else's popularity and importance shoved in my face only to have it highlight my own insignificance... it just ended up confirming that my opinion on cell phones has not changed. being alone is nice. i like being unreachable. and i will hold onto that freedom for as long as i can. and fuck the people that have morphed into cell phone talking running machines. fuck evolution. i am staying stuck in the mud.

(besides, that dude with the cell phone didn't get those seconds of joy when he got home... before you find out if you have any voice mail. because sometimes people do actually wonder where i am. sometimes.)

peach, plum, pear... joanna newsom.
when this song comes on... i can't help but think it is the best love song on my playlist right now. and its not just the lyrics... without her voice, they seem to lack the sentiment. its something about the way she sings them. but yes. it conveys the perfect amount of admiration, hesitation, innocence, and ruin... to make love.

we speak in the store
i'm a sensitive bore
you seem markedly more
and i'm oozing surprise

but it's late in the day
and you're well on your way
what was golden went gray
and i'm suddenly shy

and the gathering floozies
afford to be choosy
and all sneezing darkly
in the dimming divide

and i have read the right books
to interpret your looks
you were knocking me down
with the palm of your eye

this is unlike the story
it was written to be
i was riding its back
when it used to ride me

and we were galloping manic
to the mouth of the source
and we were swallowing panic
in the face of its force

and i am blue,
i am blue and unwell.
made me bolt like a horse.

now it's done.
watch it go.
and you've changed so.
water run from the snow.

am i so dear?
do i run rare?

and you've changed some:
peach, plum, pear
peach, plum...

i wish i could write love like this.