Lines of the day: Of course I’m happy to hear from you in the same way you’re happy to get a bad fortune in a good fortune cookie, or the other way around.
There has got to be something better then you, then something shaped like love stuck to the bottom of your shoe.
The sound of failure! Or as Kate always used to tell me, Remember: You can't spell failure without U-R-A! I of course didn't bring my computer home to Fargo this weekend but in my defense I knew that I would be too busy imbibing spirits with the fam to get anything else accomplished. So now, here we are. 31 years old and still not bothering to cut a piece of birthday cake when I can just eat it off the container on which it came. But I did get some Christmas shopping done tonight, so thumbs up!
The big 60 page manuscript compiling is still nowhere closer to being finished. Lame-o. I have to say I don't know when I'm going to get a chance to work on it. The truth, she hurts. But I got some good books for my birthday which could provide some inspirational material. That is if I ever finish Anna Karenina.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Absentee ballot
Lines of the day: Do shoes with my name carved in ever walk across the carpet in the thought base over your spine, should I keep trying or have something better to do with my time? Cause I actually don’t.
If it’s red and blue then it’s purple, but if it’s purple then it’s not.
An hour is like a day is like a week is like a tree growing that I wanted to be when I grew up.
Excuses, excuses, excuses. I worked roughly 62 hours over seven days. I haven't been home at all because when I wasn't working I was out with friends or I was home but I was sleeping. These are facts but also sound like excuses for not having written anything. And then the one time I had time there was a citywide internet outage for Comcast. Sometimes when I work that much I think to myself, I can't do this! I literally can't do this! except all the while, I'm doing it.
Needless to say there has been little to no progress on compiling a 60 page poetry manuscript. But I did finish decorating my apartment! (This included decorating for Christmas.) And of course nothing will get done over the long weekend but that's because I'm going home which is the greatest excuse of them all. I love going home. I love Fargo. That's good since I have it tattooed on my upper back. I of course also love it here but home is home.
If it’s red and blue then it’s purple, but if it’s purple then it’s not.
An hour is like a day is like a week is like a tree growing that I wanted to be when I grew up.
Excuses, excuses, excuses. I worked roughly 62 hours over seven days. I haven't been home at all because when I wasn't working I was out with friends or I was home but I was sleeping. These are facts but also sound like excuses for not having written anything. And then the one time I had time there was a citywide internet outage for Comcast. Sometimes when I work that much I think to myself, I can't do this! I literally can't do this! except all the while, I'm doing it.
Needless to say there has been little to no progress on compiling a 60 page poetry manuscript. But I did finish decorating my apartment! (This included decorating for Christmas.) And of course nothing will get done over the long weekend but that's because I'm going home which is the greatest excuse of them all. I love going home. I love Fargo. That's good since I have it tattooed on my upper back. I of course also love it here but home is home.
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
I ate too many peanut M&M's today.
I'm going to get coffee with Kate tonite. We haven't been able to have a pumpkin spice latte together yet so I'm thinking tonite is the nite.
Reading over your own poems that you've read before is always an odd thing. One of my favorite things that I've written is actually a collection of lines. This is when I'm going through my old stuff and I find a poem that is wretched and boring (you think you're pretty brilliant sometimes when you're angsty and writing something and then you go back years later and think dear God, was I that annoying in person?) and find a random line that I managed to nail amidst the lines of crap. So I type those. I have several pages by now. At some point I could probably go through and find enough similar ones to create a poem. Or I could throw a bunch together and write something completey non-sensical. However since I don't have a word count anymore I thought I would have a line of the day where I will just pick one at random. Let's start now! How fun!
Line of the day: I didn't even notice you were leaving until haven't you left yet?
See, that could possibly go in a poem. I don't even remember where most of them came from; I can tell you for free that this one was 95% certain about a boy. Shocking, shocking. It would work well if I could rhyme it into something. If I could produce a book of biting rhyming poetry about boys, that would be awesome. Wouldn't it be more productive if I started doing things rather then saying oh, and then I want to do this? Silly Alison. In conclusion, I finished my edamame hummus and it hurts my heart a little to be out.
Reading over your own poems that you've read before is always an odd thing. One of my favorite things that I've written is actually a collection of lines. This is when I'm going through my old stuff and I find a poem that is wretched and boring (you think you're pretty brilliant sometimes when you're angsty and writing something and then you go back years later and think dear God, was I that annoying in person?) and find a random line that I managed to nail amidst the lines of crap. So I type those. I have several pages by now. At some point I could probably go through and find enough similar ones to create a poem. Or I could throw a bunch together and write something completey non-sensical. However since I don't have a word count anymore I thought I would have a line of the day where I will just pick one at random. Let's start now! How fun!
Line of the day: I didn't even notice you were leaving until haven't you left yet?
See, that could possibly go in a poem. I don't even remember where most of them came from; I can tell you for free that this one was 95% certain about a boy. Shocking, shocking. It would work well if I could rhyme it into something. If I could produce a book of biting rhyming poetry about boys, that would be awesome. Wouldn't it be more productive if I started doing things rather then saying oh, and then I want to do this? Silly Alison. In conclusion, I finished my edamame hummus and it hurts my heart a little to be out.
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