can't say i regret coming
whyamistillhere?
srsly.
i don't wear makeup anymore.
i dont wear skirts.
i dont watch tv.
i can't stand the sound of my own brain thinking.
i am so tired of everyone thinking they are so inherently different that every spontaneously planned thing they do has to be fundamentally "alternative" and anti-structuralized and anarchic that they are constantly being lumped together because there is only so far you can push the system and core of normality before you are all the same.
no more meetings SCHEDULED to start at 9:17 pm. Not 9:00, not 9:30. But 9 fucking 17.
where are these girls getting dressed up to go? if there some alterna-prom that's happening tonight that requires you to break out your cute flats and your carefully planned out "just fell out of bed and i am naturally this adorable" outfit? wow your hair is big, girl. and your hips are so small. my hips aren't like that.
here it's all about who can spout out little known facts by the most obscure band like: "HEY! The postal service is too mainstream, I like their old stuff better. But have you heard of the LEAD ART MUFFET TUFFETS?1? Their earlier stuff was good, but they've sold out."
god, i'm really trying not to sound bitter or garrulous but there is more to life than art. there is more to life than talking about art in some urbane, post-modern, post-structuralized, poignant, astute, sappy, BULLSHITY way.
NO
i don't think that the shadow of that light represents eternal life
NO
i don't agree that misrepresentation and dishonesty in government can be cured by you sitting at this fucking table 3 hours every week and incessantly talking about how fucked up the right-wing racist, homophobic white male paradigm is without doing A GOD DAMN THING ABOUT IT and then you look at me like I should say something because I'm the resident black/feminist/queer in the room. FUCK YOU, i'm judging all of you because you are amusing. THATS RIGHT, YOU AMUSE ME. fuckers.
There are so many disenfranchised and impecunious people on the street. i feel bad for them, in a sort of distant, disconnected way in that I am fourtunate to not be in their position and I can't relate, having never been without anything my entire life. I'm lucky, i know.
don't even get me started on the dykes here. they are so busy wearing name brands and tight jeans and hair mousse and that special blazer that makes them especially andro to commit to anything or act out. BE IRRATIONAL. DO SOMETHING. i know what your thinking, what are you doing mercedes, plenty. you just dont know about me working for the glbt teen hotline or volunteering to babysit children while their single mothers are trying to get an education in night class. whatever, i'm no better, but i will say i am sick of those assholes.
whatever.
I DONT CARE HOW DIFFERENT YOU ARE.
I DONT CARE WHAT YOUR ART REPRESENTS.
I DONT CARE IF YOU DONT THINK THIS SCHOOL ISN'T "THAT BAD".
AND I REALLY DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF YOU THINK I'M WORTHY TO SIT NEXT TO YOU ON THE BUS/IN THE CLASSROOM/DURING MY SMOKE BREAK.
what are my breasts too big? do they make you uncomfortable? is it my hair, is it too wavy for your liking? is my skin too tan, does it remind you that i am different?
i talked to a social worker at the ywca, apparently I'm starting a group of some kind. I'm not sure what for, because any cause that I have is surely under represented and would have little fan base with my art school constituents and i would rather cut out my fucking (well it did at one point, long ago) vagina before i would start an art club. we can visit 203023020 museums every day! fuck yes! rah rah!
i really do have to get out of here before i lose all appreciation for art. really. i am becoming concerned for my arty appreciation.
OH MY GOD NO I WILL NOT BUY YOU ALCOHOL. NO I DONT HAVE A CIGARETTE. NO I DONT THINK THAT GUY IS CUTE IN A METROSEXUAL KIND OF WAY.
you are just a dick. man, i've read about people actually taking on the outward appearance of that famed male sex object, but I had never fully seen one walking around. amazing.
LADIES WHAT ARE YOU DOING. WHY ARE YOU COOKING THE MEN DINNER. WHY ARE YOU BAKING THEM CAKES. WHY ARE YOU DOING THEIR HOMEWORK. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON (this actually happens, esp. with the asian kids).
just fuck all of you. but hey, thanks for turning me into that demonized angry-as-fuck dyke on a warpath that society expects me to be. thanks.
of course I don't want to give you the impression that I don't have friends here. On the contrary I have lots, probably more than I did in Texas. I just don't like any of them. well maybe 2 girls, but that is it.
why are you buying into this 30 grand a year fake watered-down charade of mendacious, insincere eccentricity?
it's like high school with public transportation and paintbrushes. great christ.
california has changed me, for better or worse.
smith, mount holyoke, sarah lawrence, wellesley, simmons (final draft)
srsly.
i don't wear makeup anymore.
i dont wear skirts.
i dont watch tv.
i can't stand the sound of my own brain thinking.
i am so tired of everyone thinking they are so inherently different that every spontaneously planned thing they do has to be fundamentally "alternative" and anti-structuralized and anarchic that they are constantly being lumped together because there is only so far you can push the system and core of normality before you are all the same.
no more meetings SCHEDULED to start at 9:17 pm. Not 9:00, not 9:30. But 9 fucking 17.
where are these girls getting dressed up to go? if there some alterna-prom that's happening tonight that requires you to break out your cute flats and your carefully planned out "just fell out of bed and i am naturally this adorable" outfit? wow your hair is big, girl. and your hips are so small. my hips aren't like that.
here it's all about who can spout out little known facts by the most obscure band like: "HEY! The postal service is too mainstream, I like their old stuff better. But have you heard of the LEAD ART MUFFET TUFFETS?1? Their earlier stuff was good, but they've sold out."
god, i'm really trying not to sound bitter or garrulous but there is more to life than art. there is more to life than talking about art in some urbane, post-modern, post-structuralized, poignant, astute, sappy, BULLSHITY way.
NO
i don't think that the shadow of that light represents eternal life
NO
i don't agree that misrepresentation and dishonesty in government can be cured by you sitting at this fucking table 3 hours every week and incessantly talking about how fucked up the right-wing racist, homophobic white male paradigm is without doing A GOD DAMN THING ABOUT IT and then you look at me like I should say something because I'm the resident black/feminist/queer in the room. FUCK YOU, i'm judging all of you because you are amusing. THATS RIGHT, YOU AMUSE ME. fuckers.
There are so many disenfranchised and impecunious people on the street. i feel bad for them, in a sort of distant, disconnected way in that I am fourtunate to not be in their position and I can't relate, having never been without anything my entire life. I'm lucky, i know.
don't even get me started on the dykes here. they are so busy wearing name brands and tight jeans and hair mousse and that special blazer that makes them especially andro to commit to anything or act out. BE IRRATIONAL. DO SOMETHING. i know what your thinking, what are you doing mercedes, plenty. you just dont know about me working for the glbt teen hotline or volunteering to babysit children while their single mothers are trying to get an education in night class. whatever, i'm no better, but i will say i am sick of those assholes.
whatever.
I DONT CARE HOW DIFFERENT YOU ARE.
I DONT CARE WHAT YOUR ART REPRESENTS.
I DONT CARE IF YOU DONT THINK THIS SCHOOL ISN'T "THAT BAD".
AND I REALLY DON'T GIVE A SHIT IF YOU THINK I'M WORTHY TO SIT NEXT TO YOU ON THE BUS/IN THE CLASSROOM/DURING MY SMOKE BREAK.
what are my breasts too big? do they make you uncomfortable? is it my hair, is it too wavy for your liking? is my skin too tan, does it remind you that i am different?
i talked to a social worker at the ywca, apparently I'm starting a group of some kind. I'm not sure what for, because any cause that I have is surely under represented and would have little fan base with my art school constituents and i would rather cut out my fucking (well it did at one point, long ago) vagina before i would start an art club. we can visit 203023020 museums every day! fuck yes! rah rah!
i really do have to get out of here before i lose all appreciation for art. really. i am becoming concerned for my arty appreciation.
OH MY GOD NO I WILL NOT BUY YOU ALCOHOL. NO I DONT HAVE A CIGARETTE. NO I DONT THINK THAT GUY IS CUTE IN A METROSEXUAL KIND OF WAY.
you are just a dick. man, i've read about people actually taking on the outward appearance of that famed male sex object, but I had never fully seen one walking around. amazing.
LADIES WHAT ARE YOU DOING. WHY ARE YOU COOKING THE MEN DINNER. WHY ARE YOU BAKING THEM CAKES. WHY ARE YOU DOING THEIR HOMEWORK. WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON (this actually happens, esp. with the asian kids).
just fuck all of you. but hey, thanks for turning me into that demonized angry-as-fuck dyke on a warpath that society expects me to be. thanks.
of course I don't want to give you the impression that I don't have friends here. On the contrary I have lots, probably more than I did in Texas. I just don't like any of them. well maybe 2 girls, but that is it.
why are you buying into this 30 grand a year fake watered-down charade of mendacious, insincere eccentricity?
it's like high school with public transportation and paintbrushes. great christ.
california has changed me, for better or worse.
smith, mount holyoke, sarah lawrence, wellesley, simmons (final draft)