Happy Halloween.

Soulie showed this to me today. She was most distressed in her poetry class today, as she is dyslexic, and this poem is written how she might normally see things on the page! It was interesting to see. Try reading it out loud to yourself and imagine the trouble she had. Poor Soulie!
~
May Swenson
"A Nosty Fright"


The roldengod and the soneyhuckle,
the sack eyed blusan and the wistle theed
are all tangled with the oison pivy,
the fallen nine peedles and the wumbleteed.

A mipchunk caught in a wobceb tried
to hip and skide in a dandy sune
but a stobler put up a EEP KOFF sign.
Then the unfucky lellow met a phytoon

and was sept out to swea. He difted for drays
till a hassgropper flying happened to spot
the boolish feast all debraggled and wet,
covered with snears and tot.

Loonmight shone through the winey poods
where rushmooms grew among risted twoots.
Back blats flew between the twees
and orned howls hounded their soots.

A kumkpin stood with a tooked creeth
on the sindow will of a house
where a icked wold itch lived all alone
except for her stoombrick, a mitten and a kouse.

"Here we part," said hassgropper.
"Pere we hart," said mipchunk, too.
They purried away on opposite haths,
both scared of some "Bat!" or "Scoo!"

October was ending on a nosty fright
with scroans and greeches and chanking clains,
with oblins and gelfs, coaths and urses,
skinning grulls and stoodblains.

Will it ever be morning, Nofember virst,
skue bly and the sappy hun, our friend?
With light breaves of wall by the fayside?
I sope ho, so that this oem can pend.

At a Loss

Do you know, in all the time I've been a writer, and that's been quite some time, I've never before gotten writer's block? I've had moments where I wasn't in the mood to write. I've had moments where my stories and poetry and other sweet creations didn't turn out as they should have. But I've never stopped mid paragraph and stared at the screen thinking "Well shit."

I'm at a loss.

Spooning

I was laying in my bed, my arms curled around my pillow, snuggled and warm. Content. I began to think about spooning. How good it feels to have the warmth and weight of someone against you, someone to make you feel safe and loved. And then I realized it. No one ever makes me feel safe and loved. Because I am always the big spoon.

With my sister, my sweet sister, I'm the big spoon, the protector. Same with the friends that I cuddle with when watching movies or when I'm keeping them from dying of alcohol poisoning in the night. I'm the big spoon. I thought about the boy that I'd spent a night with, how we hadn't cuddled, since there had been no room. But I know that if we had, I would have been the big spoon there too. No one is strong enough to be my big spoon. I do not trust them at my back, I do not believe they can protect me.

And so, I've got a new goal in life. I am searching for my Big Spoon.

From the Minds of My Peers...

So, as I was speaking with a new friend of mine on instant messenger, I made the clever move of reading his buddy info. This is what I found.

"Some time ago there was a place. A place called Hope. And in this place, there was a time. A time called Desire. And in this place at this time someone decided that pieces of chocolate were delicious and decided to put them inside of sugar dough. That was an awesome idea. But then you, the ass-licking, vindictive raisin, got jealous and lonely and decided to be inside of my cookies sometimes too. That was not awesome. In fact, it fucking sucked. You're a chewy, obnoxious, healthy interruption to my cookies.

Nature's candy? You know what-- fuck you. You're just the pathetic misshapen remnants of a grape, a mediocre fruit to begin with. You're in my cookie because you think you're so much better than chocolate chips, which happen to be awesome. You happen to suck.

In conclusion, fuck you. Fuck you and your motherfucking vitamins and your minerals. I don't respect your sexuality. Fuck you and your cocky-ass fucking wrinkles. You look like my scrotum. And while you may or may not be significantly larger than my scrotum, you taste much worse. My scrotum is delicious. Chocolate chips are delicious. You are a punk. But this isn't about my scrotum. This is about the blood of my forefathers, spilt on the land that you defile with your miniaturized goodiness. This is about liberty, justice, and other various things that are really awesome, like tiger sharks. And velociraptors. Goddamnit are they kick ass. With their strong jaws and their many rows of razor teeth and sickle-shaped talons. I saw on the Discovery Channel that a flock of seven could tear apart Joe Lieberman in 18 seconds flat on a moderately humid day. That's so fucking cool. I wish I was like that sometimes--all powerful and strong. Sometimes when my roommate leaves I take all my clothes off and pretend I'm a velociraptor and pounce upon my roommate's desk as would a ferocious bloodthirsty velociraptor, knocking over his lamp with my semi-erect penis. And then I drink apple juice.

Fuck you, raisins. Stay out of my cookies."


I may be in love w/ this boy...

Self-explanatory.

"Ashtree" (9:56:47 PM): that is my favorite picture of John McCain

"Sarah" (9:56:50 PM): oh. my. god.

"Sarah" (9:57:06 PM): that is terrifying

"Ashtree" (9:57:32 PM): "why won't you vote Republican, Ashley?"
*whips out picture*
"oh. it's all very clear now...excuse me, I must go BLEACH MY EYES NOW"

"Sarah" (9:57:43 PM): LOL

~
Picture from http://harryallen.info/wp-content/uploads/2008/04/john-mccain2.jpg