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November 18, 2010

good ol' days.

In college I was required to write countless pages for my English (creative writing) major, in conjunction with my Communications major. Since graduating I've basically let all my writing slip. Except for this blog  - where I ignore punctuation because there is a certain aesthetic to how works look on the page, and I enjoy that more sometimes that hearing it a loud perfectly.

These are some of the poems that got me an A+ in English 412 - pretty funny to look back.

Whiskey. Whispers. Cocaine. Cries

Laugh you up. Drink you down. And spit.
Make you choke on the bitter inhalation of yesterday’s whim.
Those big baby browns. Staring at you. Behind a varnish of conscience.
Unbuttoned and upside down. Merciful meaningless mess.

Giving hand to your thought out lapse.
Snorting. Sniffing. Gulping. Gluttony.
This shrieking adoration clawing you inward out.
An ingestion of man made illusion.

Yearning for that narcotic haze.
Itching for acidic inebriation. Begging for a sallow come down.
Raging. Loving and leaving on the loose.
Whimpering in a vomit filled haze.

Bloody glances shared over a cliché glass of wine.
A Marlboro red rimming your white trash mouth.
Soaked in Satan’s spit.
Jersey blend pants clinging to your knees.

A mannequin of discount designer wear.
Crusted blood.  Barking under your guilt-ridden fingernails.
Political engagements of alley way conduct.
Glazed over eyes. Rocked with wrongdoing.

And a clip of a story that a professor loved - and my classmates didn't understand. 

Sisley worked flawlessly with tremulous hands. Her wistful ballerina moves made her exchange between her Chanel bag and Grant's kitchen counter look effortless. Chopping, shuffling, smoothing, cutting, rolling---these actions never presented themselves as elderly to Sisley. Her four hundred dollar Philip Lim shirt, $190 Hudson Jeans, and those famous red bottomed shoes, Christian Lobutains, a mere chump change of $750, laid on her emaciated frame like a runway model that doesn't exist in the real world. Grant watched his girlfriend with a stare that only Ralph Lauren Models possess. Sisley was, to him and everyone else in the tri city area, perfection. Lazily flopped over the marble counter tops Sisley, cut her father's investment banking funds into 4 white lines. Two little wisps from heaven for her, and two for Grant if he behaved.
    Sisley had always had the reputations of pristine role model. Class president, captain of the track team, honors in English, Math, and Bulimia. She came dressed to her Holy Family classes each day sporting a look form the future fashion seasons, never ever did she repeat outfits. Her $3,000 hair extensions switched out every other week were always the shiniest of golden. So beautiful that, even if here face did not have its timeless ethereal features, a blue blood nose, pink pouts of lip, wide black eyes, and arched cheek bones, Sisley would still have been beautiful. 

HILARIOUS going through my college email. My neighbors watched Hadley while my family snowboarded in Montana - they made her a blog:

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