How Soap feels about revision:

You're clever--everybody's clever nowadays. You're clever. Everybody's clever nowadays. Hear my voice in your head, and think of me kindly.

There is no doubt that writing style is important. ‘It’s not what you say, it’s how you say it.’—I don’t remember where that quote is from but it rings so true. Finding or creating your own voice is, I think, the hardest part of writing. It’s all been done before! Well, it seems like it’s all been done before, all been said before and in every way there is to say it.

I struggle with my written-voice a lot. I tend to emulate my favorite authors’ voices, or the voice of whomever I’m reading at the moment. Once and while I’ll think I’ve finally found it..finally found that certain style that is my own, only to read a book a month later written in the same style—and the real kick in the teeth, done far better than how I did it.



I love how before finishing a sentence, I can tell it’s Genet; or, even though his style tends to vary a bit, a few pages in I know it’s Kerouac.

I love how I can recognize Graham Coxon’s guitar playing almost instantly, even though I know nothing about music; or how when I discover a new band, I can usually pick out who influenced them—like when I got into Black Rebel Motorcycle Club and knew without looking it up that they loved the Stone Roses as much as I me.



I wanta be like a Graham Coxon guitar riff.

All art is quite useless / satanic reptiles from outerspace! / 'cos I'm feeling so Bohemian like you

I painted Oscar Wilde! I did it for theatre. I haven’t painted in four years, and goddamn! It felt good! I forgot how relaxing painting can be (except, of course, when you mess up—UGH!). That relaxation was definitely what I needed to clear my head after a super strange couple of weeks topped off by an unbelievably (and quite unnecessary) stressful fall break. He’s not finished yet, but he doesn’t really need to be. Well, Oscar himself is—I don’t paint people because I don’t know how to.. I need to figure out what to do at the bottom, because if I just do it solid green in the bare spots it’ll look like crap. The flowers are from the artwork for Salomé (one of his plays), so I might add more artwork from that or maybe paint it green and then do paisley with pen over it? I’ll be sure to show the finished product, unless it looks like utter crap. Ha.







http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KTcF-7opGLU
-hahahaha oh my god. I know I'd call my cult 'the Bohemian Club'. My only reason for sharing this video is so that we can all collectively laugh at 'the Bohemian Club.' Hahahaha--

So what do you do?
Oh yeah I wait tables too.
No I haven't heard your band,
Cause you guys are pretty new.
But if you dig on Vegan food,
Well come over to my work,
I'll have them cook you something that you'll really love,

Cause I like you,
Yeah, I like you,
And I'm feeling so Bohemian like you,
Yeah, I like you,
Yeah, I like you,
And I feel wahoo, wooo

That cult is as fierce Courtney Taylor-Taylor.

Free Masons used to freak me out. Oscar Wilde was a Free Mason; so was Aleister Crowley.

Me White Noise and drugs that I've never done nor seen in person with me own two eyes

A Blog Entry in which your humble narrator responds to whatever she pleases, however she pleases!

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/technology/7094764.stm
-Anyone who pays for virtual furniture deserves to have it stolen.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/cbbcnews/hi/newsid_7070000/newsid_7077700/7077795.stm
-This is freaking disgusting. Not the petrified body, but the lack of morals the living have nowadays. It is so..disgusting and inhumane to mettle with someone’s body…to dig one from his grave. I don’t care who it is, or how long ago they were buried. If they dug up John Lennon to be put on display there would be all kinds of nastiness..no support whatsoever. It is so wrong. I’m too lazy to look right now, but from what I remember much was put into mummification and whatnot in Egypt, as I believe it was all a very important part of the soul’s journey to heaven (or whatever have you..or had them..) UGH!

http://www.bbc.co.uk/imagine/episode/damon_and_jamie.shtml
-When I went to Manchester, I had a really good time. Oh! When I went to London last October, I met Jamie Hewlett! There were Gorillaz posters everywhere, by the Thames, and he was at the end of them! I’ll have to post about that sometime.



Quotes from the book I'm reading at the moment, Diary of a Drug Fiend by Aleister Crowley

You bet we sniffed! And then we danced all round the suite for several years--probably as much as eight or nine minutes by the clock--but what's the use of talking about clocks when Einstein has proved that time is only another dimension of space? What's the good of astronomers proving that the earth wiggles round 1000 miles an hour, and wiggles on 1000 miles a minute, if you can't keep going?
It would be absolutely silly to hang about and get left behind, and very likely find ourselves on the moon, and nobody to talk to but Jules Verne, H. G. Wells, and that crowd.
-I really love how simple yet flow-y this is, and surreal and funny. And it’s basically my thought process--when I'm tired in an awesome way--taken out of my head and put in a book that was written way before I was born by a super famous guy. Pretty sweet.

Thinking of days makes you think of years, and thinking of years makes you think of death, which is ridiculous.
Lou and I were living minute by minute, second by second. A tick of the clock marked for us an interval of eternity.
We were the heirs of eternal life. We had nothing to do with death. That was a pretty wise bird who said, "To-morrow never comes."
We were out of time and space. We were living according to the instruction of our Saviour: "Take no thought of the marrow."
-No idea why I liked this one. Yes, that was just a little facetious.

I think what I've found most interesting about the book so far is the realization I understand/can follow Crowley's cocaine-prose better than normal writing; it's as if my brain functions as if were always on cocaine. Maybe that's why I can't sleep.





Here, have some poetry courtesy of Phil Daniels:

Oi,
You're a little mug ya little tart,
No education,
Everybody comes in and out the room,
They're out the room, they're in the room, they're out,
That's right, no-one's hurt,
You know they're not comin' in with a pair of maracas are they?
Doin' a fuckin' bit of maraca and stuff,
Like, you know what I mean,
Don't ya, you know, you know well what I mean,
But I ain't moaning about it or complaining about it or anything like that,
'Cos like that's what it is you know, you know and you kick a football,
You kick a football, everybody kicks a football,
I don't wanna rant and rave, yeah alright, at all, fair enough innit,
Fair enough,
And like you're going like "Sorry, sorry mate,"
You know you get down now, and you look at the wall,
And what does the wall say to ya?
I ain't a mirror, fuck off,
That's the way it goes,
It's true though innit?
Think about it,
Don't stall man, I've got houses to build.

"To which I replied, 'I sneeze and hits come out!'"

Crumb Begging lives at 210 Waller Street, in a bedsit not fit for a mouse let alone a human being. He spends his days recording sounds on a modular synthesizer apparatus from Radioshack, and writing the most beautiful poetry, not with words, but with his existence...and with words. He has no job because he needs all the time the universe has to offer to make his music because otherwise his soul, and all other souls in the world, would parish. He lives on the dole and looks it, too, and everyone thinks he must be on the brown or the white because of his dirty fingers. His jacket is torn, his jeans have holes, and his brown leather shoes have flappy soles (which give the comical impression that they are always laughing). Crumb Begging went to an Ivy League school and his brain is bigger than a basketball and filled with much more than air, but he gave up the life of a scholar for one of an artist.

Servo lives in SoHo, a block away from Crumb Begging. He lives with his wife and daughter in a fancy place made of window-walls that face the river and there are chandeliers in every room of their home. He only wears the best suits, and even though his office is only a mile from his home, he takes a cab there everyday. Servo grew up in a poor working class family, and he has worked hard all his days so he could one day provide his family with what he couldn’t have growing up. There is nothing he cherishes more than his daughter, and he holds no accomplishment higher than that of being her hero.

Every morning both Crumb Begging and Servo go into the same coffee shop for their morning brew, and each morning they pass disapproving looks.

Finally, after years, it happens--Crumb Begging bumps into Servo, causing a cascade of coffee.

Servo: You worthless gutter rat! You are a symbol of everything that is wrong with society!! You spilled my coffee!!
Crumb Begging: Easy, it was an accident! And what’s wrong with not working a typical job; with living on the dole if you’re comfortable with it, eh??
Servo: Your hair is what’s wrong with it, I don’t like your hair! You have dirty hair!
Crumb Begging: Well pardon me, I didn’t realize my filth was such a bane on the men and women of this country. It would probably be seen as a great contribution to society if you’d donate some of your trust fund money to the cleansing of my hair. I’m sure you’d be honored by the highest power for buying me shampoo. You’d get a statue, I’m sure!
Servo: I’ve earned everything I own, thanks. Education--have you heard of it? If you had I’m sure you wouldn’t be in such a poor state. Shame, that. We really must take more pity on our under-educated.
Crumb Begging: …apparently so. Perhaps teach them about what it is to love and have a soul, etc.

Meanwhile, Sally Cinnamon sits alone in the corner watching it all unfold, and thinks to herself, “they’re all either insane and dumb on crack or soulless swine in good threads!”

Sleep (is a) pillow Come ___

Sleep. I haven’t been getting much sleep lately. I never get much sleep, I haven’t for a long time, that’s just how it is. But it’s been worse for the past three weeks or so. Usually I’ll average about 4-5 hours a night, but it’s been 2-3 and sometimes none at all, and no naps! I used to take naps. Anyway, it’s really doing me in right now, everything everything. My mind. My school work. When I don’t sleep I act irrationally. For example, I had to write an analytical paper for lit, and so I did, and I e-mailed it to myself so I could print it up, but the e-mail didn’t send because I was a dumb zombie when I sent it… So I rewrote as much as I could in the hour I had free before class, handed that in, told my prof. not to take it seriously because it wasn’t the real one and it’s important that he knows that..and a lot of nonsense later, I’m at home reading over the essay one last time before e-mailing it (for full credit!!) when I decide I hate it and delete it. Like that. And rewrite the whole thing in a night and get 10% marked off for it being late. I would have gotten an ‘A’. And now I’m going to rewrite it again, to try to get that ‘A’ back. Repentance.

And today, it was almost like I woke up as I was getting off the bus. I don’t really remember falling asleep last night, it was a light sleep, for maybe an hour, I think. And then I’m at school? That’s when things became fully..when things took their proper shape and began to exist, anyway. I wasn’t asleep on the bus, and I bought my Earl Grey as usual at Lakewood Commons with no troubles..but it’s all a bit hazy. Like in movies..with that ominous, pulsating white-noise in the background, and everything is slightly blue-tinted. But that’s not how it is really, that’s just how I remember it.

I’ve seen a doctor about my sleep issues before, don’t think I’m irresponsible, but I hated what those sleeping pills did. And to be honest, I like getting little sleep because I get more done and because it makes things more interesting. (Oh, and I have tried cutting out the caffeine completely..it does nothing.)

But this. It’s getting to be a bit much. I can’t even write a coherent blog. But could I ever? Yes I could…but could I really? Yes… Tommy Nooka.

And the dreams! I’ve been having these amazing dreams that are subsequently becoming the disappointment of my life. I dream that I’m writing amazing poetry..and I have to sleep for five more minutes so I can finish the poem I’m working on. And there is actually a poem there, I can see it! But it’s hazy, and I can’t remember a word of it when I awaken fully. It’s probably an epic poem sent to me from Rimbaud, one that would have me set for life…my life’s achievement. Or whatever. I don’t really believe that.

And!!! I keep having near anxiety attacks about death. Not that I feel it’s just around the corner or anything like that, but the realization that I’ll die before having a chance to read all the amazing books in the world. What kind of freaking fear is that? And I seriously freak out about it.

I’m being very honest right now. If this non-sleep thing keeps up I’m definitely going to have to see a doctor.

Everything; all of that and this and non-that and this-that, is all okay though, because my life is nearly complete:






Dr. Anton Fjordson says, 'bring me Paul McCartney's head on Heather's peg leg!'

The prices of textbooks make me consider dropping out almost everyday, no joke.

A vision of students today… Rather than helping promote learning and making learning material more accessible, technology is helping students waste time during and after class. It is a tool which is meant to be used to cut down on cost, less textbooks, etc....

To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what the direct, singular point of the video was. The bit about how much time kids waste in class on sites almost seemed like a thesis, but there was so much more (and unrelated) information throughout. Maybe the point was that college is handled haphazardly on both sides of the spectrum; how major universities make their students feel minuscule and unimportant (except when it comes to money), and how students don't always realize that even though they are in an unfortunate situation (in my opinion, the cost of education today is absolutely ridiculous), they are also privileged, and that while they're there, they might as well use their time wisely.

I do think that if students were made to feel more important, or at least human, then maybe they'd put more effort into their studies..but. No. That distance between student and educator isn't an issue at Community College, and yet I see the same things go on here.

The video made college seem hopeless and pointless and a waste of time and money, which is something that always lingers in the back of my mind. However, those feelings are strictly towards my own situation. See, I'm a lit major (or going to be when I get to a university..if I don't quit first) but I don't want to be a writer, I don't want to be a teacher..I just don't know. I think that's the problem with a lot of college students actually, they don't know what they want. It's too soon to know what you want out of the rest of you life, but then again, it'll always be too soon. Anyway, I love learning, so that's why I keep on keeping on. I just wish this 'hobby' wouldn't cost my parent's, and eventually me, so much.
…I'm only trying to get a degree so I can get a student visa in England. True story. But if that does happen, it'll be for a master’s program..years and thousands upon thousands of dollars away.

Oh! Oscar Wilde said: "Education is an admirable thing, but it is well to remember from time to time that nothing that is worth knowing can be taught."

And he knew everything. Also, all the information about me is essential in the quest for you to know everything. Ever. Like Oscar Fingal O'Flahertie Wills Wilde.

I'm tired.

Darwinian Replicant I Don’t Like the Word Meme‏

I didn't really feel like pasting all of the rules and that, but I did feel like playing along, so here are my answers to the Darwinian game that Amy or Ms. Amy or Ms. Braziller or Ms. Amy Braziller or maybe Professor Amy Braziller posted in her blog:

The Questions and Answers:
• The best subtitled movie in modern pop culture is: Y Tu Mama Tambien (WORD!!) It would have been The Dreamers if Michael Pitt’s lack of talent wasn’t so irritating and distracting.
• The best breakfast food in American cooking is: Toast and orange juice!!!
• The best queer novel in 20th century fiction is: Our Lady of the Flowers by Jean Genet!!
• The best 1960s song in avant-garde rock music is: “Heroin” by The Velvet Underground
• The best British novel in gothic fiction is: The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde

This I Believe: Life is a Four Letter Word / Joyride Neon

My friend, Brian, is filled to the brim with madness, with a pure and utter love of life and he lets nothing get in the way of his vivid vision of what life should be like, no matter what that vision may be at any given moment. He once moved to Texas to live in the back of a van just because there was an offer and because he could and so he did. Soon after he returned from his van-life, three or so months later, he left for Portland to live on various couches and to build mega-bikes, huge bikes stacked two-high and welded together. Brian is twenty-one years and human flesh of my belief.

I believe life should be beatific madness. I believe life should be spontaneous prose. (spoken quickly after, as if there is no period) Life should be Kerouac’s spontaneous prose; life should be On the Road. (short pause) I believe in wandering around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and going (emphasis on going), leaving no broken hearts*; I believe my life should be lived in between the lines of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl.

Easier said or read than done, however. It is so easy to get caught up in the fear of unknowns. (short pause) What will happen to me if I leave? Where will I end up? What will my family think, and (normal paced until about here, then spoken quickly as if there are no semi-colons) who will take care of my cat; what will I eat; where will I work; where will I live; will I have a home; what will become of my future; what does future even mean; will I die, and by that I mean will I die a horrific, premature death?

(pause a couple of beats)

Would a long life not fully lived be better than a short one of soul and rapture?

(pause a couple of beats)

I have been able to bury my fears long enough to undertake a couple of adventures, the most spontaneous being one to Manchester, England to see a Chinese Opera. Not four days after the mere thought had entered my head I was there; and never before had I felt such gratification, such happiness and delight, and all other emotions on the scale from good to bad. Never had I felt so complete and real and alive.

No, a long, consistent, and tedious life is not for me. But I’m not quite ready to let go of my comforts yet, to take that plunge into madness. Until I am though, I will follow those who already have, like my friend Brian. Until I am ready (beat pause) ‘the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes "AWWW!"’**

The maddest person of all time, Neal Cassady, his last words were supposedly, “sixty-four thousand nine-hundred and twenty-eight,” the number of ties he had counted on the railroad line in his mad-life travels. Maybe, (beat pause) if I keep at it, (beat pause) those will be my last words as well, and (beat pause) even if they do come prematurely, they’ll be worth it.

* ‘..who wandered around and around at midnight in the railroad yard wondering where to go, and went, leaving no broken hearts..’ from Howl by Allen Ginsberg
** ‘But then they danced down the streets like dingledodies, and I shambled after as I’ve been doing all my life after the people who interest me, because the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the sky and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “awww!”’ -On the Road, Jack Kerouac