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[06 Dec 2009|05:38am] |
damn good looking.
you are eating spicy hot dog sausages
covered in cheese
sliced into perfect halves
because you are drunk
and numbers are the only thing that makes sense
make sense of this
tristeza
pbr
and endless symmetry
you did roll a five today
a skinny black tie
dreads
and a scar where your monroe used to be
this is who you are now
drink in your indecision
taste your doubt
and breathe deep the love you will never stop believing in
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[06 Dec 2009|12:43am] |
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[06 Dec 2009|02:46pm] |
vilia, konica centuria 200
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| VICTORY |
[05 Dec 2009|09:15pm] |
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music |
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Lady Gaga; Paparazzi |
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WE WON WE WON WE FUCKING WON. Hel-lo, 6-17-5.
I was trying to figure out what this weird sensation was; it's suddenly so light! and pleasurable! really good! SHIT IS THIS WHAT WINNING'S LIKE? It's been so long, I wasn't sure. (Just like listening to Montreal-Boston the other night, I wasn't sure about all these numbers. Second in PK? Do the rankings even go that low? WEIRD. I was sure that the only way to describe special teams was "twenty-ninth." Or "thirtieth." ETA, 21:38: Boston, obviously. Montreal's current status can best be summed-up as "suck," freaking awesome alumni warm-up notwithstanding. Oh, Montreal, the team you have now is the one you need to worry about! Also about booting Roy out of the building before he can give Price any more ideas.)
Anyway, the Hurricanes media are pie-faced heteros, they haven't posted any pictures yet.
NOTHING ELSE MATTERS. ERIK COLE GOT THE HAT-TRICK, WE KILLED SOME PENALTIES, BRYAN RODNEY IS A HUMAN. SO MUCH JOYYYY. Ahahaha RAYCROFT.
 
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| first post! |
[05 Dec 2009|04:22pm] |
Hello everyone! I know this is long overdue, i've been a member of this community since the summer, but i was 'researching' all the work people do, because for my senior show as a fashion major, i'm deconstruct-reconstructing old boy band tshirts (nsync, backstreet boys, and a spice girls too haha). i needed ideas on how to do it and make it look professional, and when i make the final project i'll post it here!
in the meantime, here are some other surgeries and designs i've done which have been inspired here.( follow me )
thank you all again and keep up the amazing work! reworking old shirts is such a necessity in this economy, and youre all so talented at what you do
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[05 Dec 2009|03:22pm] |
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give me one good reason i shouldn't abandon this relationship with you.
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[06 Dec 2009|02:59am] |
I am lost -- Lost, lost, impossibly lost. I thought I liked you. I thought that maybe perhaps for once I found a boy that I could crush on for a while, distract me, help me get over him.
It worked. It worked perhaps a little too well -- because then I went overseas for a week and to distract myself from you I fell for someone else, someone you know as well.
It's like the cycle that never stops. I cannot unfall for someone unless I fall for someone else but when I fall deeply enough I have to get out of it again by falling for another someone I do not know well enough. And it goes on and on and on and feels so futile because I know, I know, I know.
It is as if I do not know how to be out of love.
"Love".
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[05 Dec 2009|09:57pm] |
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| Sweater Recon |
[05 Dec 2009|12:55pm] |
Hey guys,
I've searched the archives and was unable to find the answer to this. I have several vintage knit sweaters that I want to make smaller and alter. How should I go about this? Is there a certain type of needle and/or stitch length that I should be using? I have only reconstructed things made of "easy" fabric so I have no idea where to even start.
Thanks!
-Ashley
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| Озеро |
[05 Dec 2009|04:12pm] |
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[05 Dec 2009|04:01pm] |
"AEROSTIGMATI" - оргалит. акрил. 100х100 см. 2009г.
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) katushonok_art - ЖЖ автора
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| i drunkenly just sent this to someone. |
[05 Dec 2009|03:38am] |
i don't remember what it says.
//
i never responded to this.
i'm not sure how.
because i remember it caughtme in the throat.
and i still haven't figured out why your words do that.
i think it has something to do with sigur ros, my brother, worship, photography, your sister, rolling tobacco, and many other things.
but, you still fit in.
in this place, where you and i jump in and out of each others lives. but, when they are there, they are needed.
and that is good.
i don't really know what God meant when He said 'It was good.'.
i don't.
but,
i know these things:
i woke up and wished i hadn't slept so late, because i'm trying to learn how to be a responsibly adult & still exist in some make believe 'garden state', 'lost in translation', 'love me, if you dare', 'the go-getters',
'into the wild', 'on the road', 'franny & zooey', bukowski, sigur ros, salinger, poe kind of world.
but, it's hard to figure out how to do all of that & still see God.
and, God.
fuck.
sister,
believe me when i say i still see God.
and, it's a frustrated, relentless, seeking God.
and he's always trying to win me.
and i'm fighting so fucking hard.
but, i see him.
amidst the photograph.
in the backdrop
the silohette, sunset, ray of light.
i see him in the poem
word
honey-soft spoken
i would believe if i could
and i will
because G-d
formed my lips
and they will sing
speak
lie
repent
praise
relive
all the moments i have ever been given
in an attempt
to remember what it was like to be adam
in the garden of eden
with a tempting apple
and a world that was already free
we always think he messed up big.
adam.
but, honestly, i would have wanted to know what the apple tasted like.
but, i also want to believe that i would have had the forsight to know that i would have rather spent forever with God.
but, i wouldn't have already known that.
i would have been curious.
and, love, that is what scares me about my life now.
i feel like adam.
i know the goodness and grace of God.
i know that i believe God lives and breathes in all of the world.
and i will find every reason that i can
to prove that God exists in whatever i am doing.
regardless of whether or not that is true.
I am too much of Adam.
I need you, sisterdear.
To come back to Yakima,
and sit in mel's
and write a poem to me about how God is somewhere in all of this.
And for all of my over-analyzing, and psychology-wondering, and dream-making, i want to understand where God can fit into all of this with me.
because,
as you know,
i've started playing piano,
and, there have been a few moments some mornings,
when i'm hungover,
with a coffee cup and a cigarette,
where i will play a song
and hear the black and ivory keys
sing to me of God.
and,
i won't know it.
but, bukowski will throw 'empties' at my grandfather's grave,
and salinger will forget to publish his short stories for me to read,
and keruoac will die before i am ready,
and my thoughts will all leave me
before i am can begin
to open my voice to sing
kayla,
i smoke camel wides
i drink red wine
i write poems on my computer in my porch-closet-fort
to 'details in the fabric' by jason mraz
and your sister has the porch table covered in old glass bowls
they are red, green, and white
and hold tea lights
and if i light them all,
and smile just right,
and i'm drunk enough,
i can see God then too.
i am saying that time hasn't done anything.
but prove to me that we can still do this.
stories.
and wonder.
and faults.
and good.
and God. and all.
I think we can.
and i love you, sister.
i love the drunk wonderings of a poor boy still finding God in the fabric.
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[05 Dec 2009|04:32am] |
He's a local musician. He's a beautiful human being. Knowledgeable, witty, goofy, classy, talented, inspiring. He's the epitome of "dreamy".
But crushes are just that, crushes. Nothing could ever come from it. I know this.
but
Jeremy Mertz is my dreamy, untouchable boy at the diner.
who's yours? :]
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[05 Dec 2009|12:33am] |
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I am freaking out about growing up.
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[05 Dec 2009|02:56am] |
Today the world smelt of christmas. We strolled around the city. There was this little Italian food store down an alley that baked bread and sold antipasti. We ate all the free samples. I brought some artichokes and some Italian pastries. It reminded me of being back there with him.
He'd cook me dinner and take me by the hand. I'd climb on the back of the bike and we'd drive around the city. I needed those few months to be okay again and to feel wanted. To lie in bed with someone knowing that they wanted me to stay there. In another country, a million miles away from home. Another life.
Everything's so different today. It's like it really is another life away. Us sitting about in cafes drinking coffee. I don't read to him in English anymore, and he doesn't sit trying to teach me Italian.
Now i can't even be in love with just one boy. Now i'm in love with a boy that doesn't want me. And one i know i can never be with.
Where have the days of Italian sunshine gone?
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[05 Dec 2009|12:47am] |
I watched the walls all this evening, waiting for a text back, just saying anything, to let me know you care at all.
I could tell myself you've fallen asleep but there hasn't been a day I haven't got a good night text from you since, well, the ex girlfriend incident.
I know somethings wrong:
When we lay together, you lay silent and staring.
"What are you thinking about?"
"Nothing"
"Please tell me"
"I don't remember"
Alarm bells
"Are you okay?"
"Yeah I'm fine. Just tired."
Sirens
I've heard it all before, even used it, I know, I feel somethings not right. You won't tell me. Fine. So push me away.
You still say all the right words, hold my hand, kiss me by the canal.
Your heart isn't in it.
Your smile is fake.
Your eyes don't quite meet mine.
You don't look at me the same way.
I left with a sinking feeling. Probably you realised I'm not who you thought I was. Probably you got bored of me. Just like all the others. Every fucking time.
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