all you do is talk

Sigh. My portfolio is complete. All I need to do is print two bound copies and hand them in. After turning in today's two papers, I have one research paper, a World Politics assignment, and one final to complete. I should be calming down by now, but I'm still stressed out. . the fact that I haven't washed dishes in a week, Kalliop's liter box needs changed, and my phone is damaged from dropping it in the snow adds unnecessary stress to this end-of-the-semester chaos . . along with the fact I keep thinking about where I'm ultimately going to end up in a month and a half, since I haven't had much time to focus on post-graduation plans. I know this will all come to an end sooner than I realize, but I guess this is what gives me the most anxiety. And, I just want to sleep. . for days. ugh. I've turned into a complaining asshole.

things I did when I was dead

I saw No Age last night. It was probably one of the best shows I've seen in a while. I also had the opportunity to see Soft Circle which consists of one member, Hisham Akira Bharoosha (Black Dice, Lightening Bolt) from Brooklyn. Even though I think I've lost hearing in my left hear, the show was quite refreshing and inspiring to say the least.

fitter.happier.

"AMERICA! FUCK YEAH! "

I came across the article, "Voters approve Proposition 8 banning same-sex marriage" on latimes.com with this photo displayed.

This was taken shortly after listeners had been informed that Proposition 8 had passed.

The fact that these people are this ecstatic over the banning of gay marriage in California is ridiculous.

Even though I think the passing of gay marriage rights seems over-prioritized, as if marriage is the ultimate bread prize or is the only way to be accepted amongst white traditional religious elitists (refer above), it's indeed a right that should be given to all free citizens.

I just caught someone attempting to steal my bike. . that or creepily stand outside my window for a good thirty seconds. My bike is locked up. By the time I opened my door and looked outside they sprinted around the building. Luckily, I have cool neighbors who came over to check on me because they heard someone messing around outside my door. bastards.

there is no modern romance

I came across this poem written by Barack Obama when he was 19. I found it to be pretty damn impressive.

Pop

Sitting in his seat, a seat broad and broken
In, sprinkled with ashes,
Pop switches channels, takes another
Shot of Seagrams, neat, and asks
What to do with me, a green young man
Who fails to consider the
Flim and flam of the world, since
Things have been easy for me;
I stare hard at his face, a stare
That deflects off his brow;
I'm sure he's unaware of his
Dark, watery eyes, that
Glance in different directions,
And his slow, unwelcome twitches,
Fail to pass.
I listen, nod,
Listen, open, till I cling to his pale,
Beige T-shirt, yelling,
Yelling in his ears, that hang
With heavy lobes, but he's still telling
His joke, so I ask why
He's so unhappy, to which he replies . . .
But I don't care anymore, cause
He took too damn long, and from
Under my seat, I pull out the
Mirror I've been saving; I'm laughing,
Laughing loud, the blood rushing from his face
To mine, as he grows small,
A spot in my brain, something
That may be squeezed out, like a
Watermelon seed between
Two fingers.
Pop takes another shot, neat,
Points out the same amber
Stain on his shorts that I've got on mine and
Makes me smell his smell, coming
From me; he switches channels, recites an old poem
He wrote before his mother died,
Stands, shouts, and asks
For a hug, as I shink, my
Arms barely reaching around
His thick, oily neck, and his broad back; 'cause
I see my face, framed within
Pop's black-framed glasses
And know he's laughing too.

Barack Obama

I like the lines, "What to do with me, a green young man/ Who fails to consider the/Flim and flam of the world," considering he is now the 44th president of the United States.

Instead of working on my portfolio, I've been reading non-school-related poetry. I am at the point where I have plenty ahead of me to look forward to but am uncertain about everything. I'm doing my best not to freak myself out but I'm slowly falling into this trap, as I do at the end of every semester. As much as I dislike the anxiety of writing papers hours before they're due and procrastinating at every chance I'm given, I'm going to miss attending classes. buh. Growing up sucks sometimes.

Here's another poem I just read by William Carlos Williams, the Man.

Between Walls

the back wings
of the

hospital where
nothing

will grow lie
cinders

in which shine
the broken

pieces of a green
bottle