dress me dress me just undress me kiss me kiss me i want you to kiss me bathe me bathe me bathe me in your undying love please don’t say no don’t say you’re going to go good bye good bye i love you good bye
It’s a little salty but first you taste the cold sweet tomatoes. Only as an afterthought does the salty cheese hit your tongue. You wouldn’t even know there was homemade hummus spread on there but you know and just can’t really taste it. The cheese blocks out everything.
She stays in the room and naps for hours at a time while I work for hours at a time to pay the rent and energy bill. She invites friends over and has a ball while I sit and read manga, try to do homework, or talk to my boyfriend over their noise. If I invite my boyfriend over, her face clouds into silent anger and she barely manages a muttered hello. She’ll fall into an angered huff of vacuuming if there’s the smallest speck of dust on the floor, even at three in the morning. She can wash her dishes, and sometimes mine if I help take out the trash, but she can’t be bothered to empty the dishwasher. She’ll throw down her bag and bang pots and plastic containers in her fit of silent rage if she comes back and realizes I haven’t taken out the trash yet. She’ll play murderous video games on full volume until four or five in the morning, but somewhere around three I’ve given up and finally fallen asleep. Her opinions are always right, even when they’re wrong. She’s never a hypocrite, even if she is. In her mind she is above all others.
A mere three weeks flew by in the blink of an eye No more soft white petals to dot the sky A few drops there before rain drops everywhere Now the petals blow away without a goodbye.
A few weeks ago the cherry blossoms along my street all started blooming their little pink petals and actually brought some happy color to the dull college street I live on. However, it has been raining, as it does in April, and now most of the blossoms are gone. I wonder how the cherry tree in front of my house is doing.
How long has it been since I’ve looked out through the kitchen sink window and seen bright, water-logged grass, overgrown from lack of trimming. It has been a very long winter. For once, I’m excited for spring and summer.
thoughtenterprise said: Yes, it does. I’m going to try my hardest to work saying “shwa” into normal conversation tomorrow. :)
You are incredibly awesome. The sound of a schwa is simple “uhh” so you’re bound to say it eventually. You don’t even have to try that hard! =D Unless you want to say the actual word. That’s even more awesome.
A schwa is actually the upside down ‘e’ you can see in my picture, but not that clearly. I’ll have to fix that. I’m currently taking a linguistics class, which is super interesting and it’s one of the strangest but common sounds. Or so I think. So I decided to name/dedicate this blog to the schwa. It’s finding the schwa, so elusive, but it’s also finding me in the process. I hope that answered your question. =/
My first blog was named “Variations on a Theme”. I say was because then I changed it. It wasn’t really my first blog, but it was the first blog I decided to take seriously. I still have it.Shameless advertising here. But recently I encountered the phrase Variations on a Theme again and I remembered how much I liked it. Obviously I did because I named my blog after it. But I can’t remember where I got it. Perhaps the classical song of the same name? Perhaps in a quote similar to the one I saw somewhere yesterday. Regardless, now I am tempted to rename this blog here and change it into Variations on a Theme. Resurrection. So, should I?
Only 1 1/2 more months until I'm out of this hell hole.
it was only one or two at the time, but it started to increase. if you weren’t around i’d put on my jacket, stick the pack and lighter into my pocket, ashamed that i was forcing these drugs to make my mind feel better. then i’d walk to the sixth floor of that parking deck, and even though the view sucked i’d stand up there for hours, it felt like, clearing my mind while muddying my lungs.
Thank you for the follow! May I ask what your name is?
(I always enjoy getting to know my followers a bit.)
Thank you for entering my sphere of the internet! My name’s Katherine. I only got to see a little bit of your tumblr before following you but I like what you’ve got so far. =) It’s nice of you, getting to know your followers. Makes me feel like I should do the same.
it’s april again. remember last year? we danced our little slide-along dance, picking partners but ending up back with each other but we still didn’t know what to do. finally during one of those giant thunderstorms i let loose to let you know that i was ready for the taking. my clothes stuck to my skin and i happily jumped in puddles. when we came back in the band was still playing and my hair dripped puddles. i would have made a great headbanger.
I have happened upon this page four times or so in the past few weeks. By chance. I think it’s a sign that I must make this deliciousness and also begin attempting bread products rather than simple baked goods. This weekend’s project: Cinnamon Sugar Pull-Apart Bread
The other day I had my first adult encounter with an etch-a-sketch. I remembered not understanding at all how to use it when I was a kid. The controls simply did not make any sense. This day, though, within seconds of picking up the etch-a-sketch and twiddling the dials, I understood exactly how the buttons worked and how to control it. Yes, it was still difficult to control, but now I had an idea of what I wanted. The only problem I encountered was not being familiar with the coordination of my right hand and my left hand.
Disclaimer: This is a response to You Should Date An Illiterate Girl. Any phrases or word choices are those of the writer and is only used as an attempt to get my point across.
Date a girl who reads. Find her in the farthest corner of a four-story library. Find her in the dark, malty sweat, and vibrating walls of a basement show. Wherever you find her, find her smiling. Make sure that it lingers when the people that are talking to her look away uncharmed. Impress her with your worldly knowledge and shameless dreams. Use your boyish good looks and unfaltering strength. Ignore the overbearing remarks of friends. Kiss her behind the locked doors of a dressing room because you’ve always loved a challenge. Plan for more risks. Take her to the apartment you share with two other guys. Dispatch with fucking. Make love to her because you are a romantic.
Progress through coffee breaks and art gallery meetings you’ve carefully thought out into a relationship. Fake shared interests until they become real like ska and Indian curry. Discuss favorite literature and politics. Build up from here to introduce the real you until she can no longer run away. Make it meaningful or at least fake it until she’s caught. Begin to embrace it and run towards the safe haven until you realize it’s you who has been trapped in the well-placed net. Do everything together. Think little of those past dreams you charmed her with. Reach out to grasp the months slipping away, but make no real effort to go back. Find a place together. Decorate together. Argue about whether to use yellow or purple. Watch the years pass and wonder if you should do something about it.
Ask her father for her hand in marriage because you can’t imagine a life without her. Bring your best friend to pick out the thousand dollar ring. Take her back to the first date, acting just as nervous as before. Remind her of your time together. She’ll get teary-eyed or worried. Clumsily get onto your knee and expose the ring. Mess up well-rehearsed lines, tossing them for feelings instead. Do not stop, even if sweat rolls down your forehead and your bladder is about to empty itself on your pants. If she cries, it’s happiness. If she doesn’t cry, be just as happy.
Let the anxiety and chaos die down after a few kids, after a few years. Get a job or a career, anything to pay the bills. She’ll work at home and take care of the kids. Move into a bigger house. Watch your children grow up without you. See the innocence that isn’t there. Fall out of love. Get a divorce. Fall into a cycle. Fall into indifference: bored, crazed, sad, it doens’t matter. Walk your daughter down the aisle. Grow old. Try to remember the achievements that don’t come to mind. Feel fulfilled, but worthless. Wonder where the time went. Lose yourself in the morning paper, imagine they are talking about you. Fade away with your memories. When lucid enough, observe that you shouldn’t have pushed away the girl who reads. She was the best thing in your life. Die, and wonder if she died too.
Do those things, god damnit, because nothing is better than a girl who reads. A life in hell is worth it when it stirs up your mind as your mind continues to crumble. A girl who reads possesses the brains and vocabulary to describe the uneventfulness your life will take on as you enter society. A girl who reads will push you to remember what it is you went to college for, and why you dropped out. She’ll remind you that cheap tricks won’t work and you’ll wrack your brains to find a solution and end up finding a lover.
Do it, because a girl who reads understands life. Literature has taught her to imagine what could be and on her ship towards freedom she’ll rescue you and you’ll climb aboard and carve your name into the mast. A girl who reads knows the life given to you is a life of decay and doesn’t want to step into the lie. A girl who reads can smile, not in ignorance, but in knowing that though the world is turning upside down because everyone falls into the spider’s web there are still flies trying to unstick themselves. She can pack a suitcase for her and for you and decide that you are a period but still wait around for you to change into an ellipsis.
Date a girl who reads because a girl who doesn’t read will eventually grow tired of your insistance on creating a better world for you and her. She doesn’t understand the need to move forward and remains rooted to the spot. But most important, the girl who doesn’t read knows the significance of an end. She is comfortable with them and pauses to say hello to them like dear old friends.
Date a girl who reads because girls who read are storytellers. There on the corner, there in the coffee shop, there on the roof, in the windowseat of a condominium. The girl who reads has spun out the accound of her life and it is bursting with meaning. The girl who reads makes you want to end this stalemate and try harder. But even if you cannot find yourself climbing Mt. Everest, the girl who reads will deem you worthy of pursuit and chase you until you climb it. You are weak, but she is your strength and you crave it. She will accept nothing less but also nothing more than what you have to give. The girl who reads really, really, really loves you.
Like snow melting at the touch of boiling water, the chocolate froze within seconds after being drizzled onto the irregular white mounds of vanilla ice cream. I cracked open the plastic crate of raspberries and dropped them precariously around and on top. A trembling began in my stomach that surged to the muscles in my forearm, twitching my fingers that ached to just tap on frozen chocolate, breaking its perfection. I halted my breath and pushed my hand down with all the effort of a football player pushing through a line of defense. The perfect picture would only last until the feasting began.