Tuesday, December 22

“In Italy for 30 years under the Borgias they had warfare, terror, murder and bloodshed, but they produced Michelangelo, Leonardo da Vinci and the Renaissance. In Switzerland they had brotherly love. They had 500 years of democracy and peace, and what did that produce? The cuckoo clock.”
-film classic, The Third Man

^ from an interesting article in the new york times titled "New York Ranks Last in Happiness Rating." read it here


in other news, i am home and so excited for christmas :)

Saturday, December 19

Wednesday, December 16

I'd like to roam through nature
where being a tourist is okay


 I feel lost
 alone in this man-made machine madness
I'm mapping a path of the familiar
to ease my mind
they include a puppy gym,
and a tree that grows on the sidewalk
and reminds me of my favorite book


but I want to get lost in real trees
and caught in a swarm of pollen


The grid is eating me alive

from "chelsea walls"



"I want to be a lost poem in a stranger's coat pocket, that conveys the importance of you.
To assure you of my desire, to assure you of dreams. I want all the possibilities of you in writing.
I want to give you your reflection, I want your eyes on me, I want to travel to the lightness with you and stay there, and I want everything before you...
...everything before you to follow us like a trail behind me.
I want never to say goodbye to you, even on the street corner or the phone.
I want, I want so much... I'm breathless.
I want to put my power into a poem to burn a hole in your pocket so I can sew it.
I want my words to scream through you. I want the poem not to mean that much.
And I want to contradict myself by accident, and for you to know what I mean.
I want you to be distant and for me to feel you close, I want endless days when it's day and... nighttime never to end when it's night.
I want all the seasons in one day. I want the sun to set before us and come up in front of us.
I want water up to our waists and to be drenched by the rain, up to our ankles with holes in our shoes.
...with holes in our shoes. I want to think your thoughts because they're mine.
I want only what's urgent with you.
I want to get in the way of the barriers and I want you to be a tough guy when you're supposed to,
like you do already.
...when you're supposed to. And I want you to be tender, like you do already.
And I want us to have met for a reason and I want that reason to be important.
And I want it to be bigger than us, I want it to take over us.
I want to forget. I want to remember us.
And when you say you love me I don't want to think you really mean New York City, and all the fun
we have in it.
And I want your smile always, and your grimaces too.
I want your scar on my lips, and I want your disappointments in my heart.
I want your strength in my soul and I want your soul in my eyes.
I want to believe everything you say, and I do.
And I want you to tell me what's best when I don't know.
And when you're lost I want to find you.
And when you're weary I want to give you steeples and cathedral thoughts and coliseum dreams.
I want to drag you from the darkness and kneel with you exhausted with the blinding light blaring on us... and..."



Tuesday, December 15

Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

original here
    Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
    and remember what peace there may be in silence.
    As far as possible without surrender
    be on good terms with all persons.
    Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
    and listen to others,
    even the dull and the ignorant;
    they too have their story.
    Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
    they are vexations to the spirit.
    If you compare yourself with others,
    you may become vain and bitter;
    for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
    Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
    Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
    it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
    Exercise caution in your business affairs;
    for the world is full of trickery.
    But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
    many persons strive for high ideals;
    and everywhere life is full of heroism.
    Be yourself.
    Especially, do not feign affection.
    Neither be cynical about love;
    for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
    it is as perennial as the grass.
    Take kindly the counsel of the years,
    gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
    Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.
    But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
    Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
    Beyond a wholesome discipline,
    be gentle with yourself.
    You are a child of the universe,
    no less than the trees and the stars;
    you have a right to be here.
    And whether or not it is clear to you,
    no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
    Therefore be at peace with God,
    whatever you conceive Him to be,
    and whatever your labors and aspirations,
    in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
    With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
    it is still a beautiful world.
    Be cheerful.
    Strive to be happy.

    Max Ehrmann, Desiderata, Copyright 1952.

Saturday, December 12

"the quiet world"
by jeffrey mcdaniel


in an effort to get people to look
into each other’s eyes more,
the government has decided to allot
each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.

when the phone rings, i put it
to my ear without saying hello.
in the restaurant i point
at chicken noodle soup. i am
adjusting well to the new way.

late at night, i call my long-
distance lover and proudly say:
i only used fifty-nine today.
i saved the rest for you.

when she doesn’t respond, i know
she’s used up all her words,
so i slowly whisper i love you,
thirty-two and a third times.
after that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe

Friday, December 4



                                           


(Neruda is one of my all time favorite poets)

image via etc

Monday, November 30


sunlight breaks the window pane
dresses our skin, our bones
i'll remember that light on you always
i'll remember that light on you



sunlight breaks the window pane
painting the sheets into wrinkles
i'll remember the way we cover our eyes
i'll remember how we cover our eyes





sunlight breaks the window pane
drenching these empty covers
i'll remember the days when we filled the air
i'll remember how we filled the air




1 & 2. le love 3. ffffound

Saturday, November 14





Tonight stars rain from Heaven
We stay awake








Watching as the moon floats
Waiting for the sun








[1. astrology website 2. toulouse lautrec 3. mine]

Thursday, November 5

the past month


[^ 'finished' versions]





thanskgiving break is in 2 and half weeeks!

i can't wait for stuffing
and turkey

and zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Sunday, October 4

summer i miss you already



this photo is from the parking lot of the tweeter susquehanna bank center in philly camden two summers ago for the jack johnson concert. it was august 7th and i was there with my best friends.

i'd kill to be back there right now.

Thursday, October 1

wanderlust



n.




A very strong or irresistible impulse to travel.





[German : wandern, to wander (from Middle High German) + Lust, desire (from Middle High German , from Old High German).]

Sunday, September 13

picture this

washing my hair tends to go on the back burner when i have as much work as i do.
also, been reading a lot of Hemingway lately, particularly his short stories, and loving every second. he is my favorite writer, and that is a coveted position.
and aside from jason schwartzman, the only other man i want to marry is joseph gordon levitt. 

i wish there were a few more hours in the day.

Saturday, August 29

old fashioned

the beautiful summer night that was my birthday a few weeks ago was filled with flowery dresses, smiles, sushi and sake down on Thompson. after that, alyssa, danielle, and i found a bar in the east village, right around the corner from my apartment, with plentiful fine offerings...including, but not limited to, a nice drink deal that involved PBR and tequila shots, it was close by on Ave B, AND it had an old fashioned photo booth. after a few rounds, we hit up the booth and the following ensued...

to summarize, alyssa fell out of of the booth during the second photo session, which explains the lack of her, the surplus of danielle, and the increase of concern on my face. in the third session, notice the 3rd picture down, where the wooden heel of alyssa's adorable vena cava shoe is being held triumphantly in my hand. and the fourth picture, to prove all is well, smiles abound.

what a night. thank you to A and D for making my birthday special!
<3

Thursday, July 30

tiny dancers and piano men

got home from the Billy Joel/Elton John concert a little bit ago. it was amazing. i hate using that word so much, i use it all the time. but thats what it was, amazing. i wish i was friends with billy and elton. i bet they tell some good stories.

i'm tired. this was and still is a busy week. it actually kind of stunk. but tonight made it better. and so did last night's coffee break with my friends. i love them, and coffee, and light rain on a summer night, and music. and having something to distract you from the world.

new york on saturday. chances of me having internet for the next few weeks...unlikely.

Friday, July 17

one of my favorite things ever written

What she doesn’t know will kill you
by Matt Brochu
The UMass Daily Collegian
November 21, 2003

You met her a few months ago, and somehow she managed to seep into your subconscious like that ‘Suga how you get so fly’ song. Just like you have no clue who the hell sings it, you don’t know why she’s there. But she is, whether you like it or not. You know her cell phone, her room phone. You can dial her Aunt Doreen’s house in West Springfield (where she goes to do her laundry every two weeks) faster than you can peck-out 911. But she doesn’t know.

Her screenname, that generic one with her first name followed by three to five random numbers or UMass, has its own category at the top of your buddy list. Not only do you know what a ‘Buddy Alert’ is, you’ve rigged your computer to play ‘Fat Guy in a Little Coat’ from ‘Tommy Boy’ every time her screen name changes from gray to black. Then her away message comes down, and you have a decision to make. To IM or not to IM? These are the ridiculous games that you play on a daily basis. But she doesn’t know.

She’s it. All right, so maybe not ‘it’ it. Not necessarily Ms. Right, but closer to Ms. Right-up-there-with-Anna-Kournikova-and-Lizzie-McGuire-on-your-list-of-people-you’d-give-anything-to-be-stranded-with-on-a-broken-down-elevator. But it’s about more than that. When is it ever about more than that? Never. Not like frilly white dress, overpriced catering, embarrassing drunk in-laws more, but closer to UMass sweatpants, two D.P. Dough Roni Zonies, a futon and a movie you have no interest in seeing more. But she doesn’t know.

She’s gorgeous, but gorgeous is an understatement. More like you’re startled every time you see her because you notice something new in a “Where’s Waldo” sort of way. More like you can’t stop writing third grade run-on sentences because you can’t remotely begin to describe something … someone … so inherently amazing. But you’re a writer. You can describe anything. That’s what you do: pictures to words, events to words, words to even better words. But nothing seems right. More like you’re afraid that if you stare at her for too long, you’ll prove your parents right: that yes, your face will stick that way. But you wouldn’t mind.

You wouldn’t mind that the questioning, “Hello?” on the other end makes you want to smile and throw up at the same time. You wouldn’t mind worrying about what to get her for her birthday and spending $300 when you only have $17.50 and a Triple-A card to your name. You wouldn’t mind that she left your TV on and the blaring infomercials wake you up at 4 a.m. … because it gives you a chance to watch her sleep. You don’t mind that you’ve slipped up twice when you were hammered and hinted at how you feel, but she was too drunk to remember. So she doesn’t know.

Sure, she’s pretty, but it’s about more than that. You two connect. Anything you throw at her, she can throw right back. You figured out what’s going on in that predictable head of hers in under five minutes, but something tells you her heart would take about five years.

You remember everything she’s ever said to you, and when that freaks her out you blame it on your photographic memory (which is a lie, you have a 2.7 GPA). You can’t remember your teaching assistant’s name, and you can’t remember that your Puffton rent check was due four days ago, yet you remember the middle name of the kid who tripped her in fifth grade and gave her that cute little scar on her shoulder. Maybe it’s because you actually listen when she talks. When do you actually listen? Never. But she doesn’t know.

But she has a boyfriend. The kid is a tool, and you are not. He has no redeeming qualities, and you have about 38, even when you’re hung over. You could kick his butt, and you’ve never been in a fight in your life. He treats her like crap, and you would treat her like the princess she believed herself to be on Halloween in 1988.

But she loves him. He wouldn’t know what he had even if she slapped him across the face and dumped him, but somehow she still loves him. And somehow she still doesn’t know.

Then, out of nowhere, she slaps him across the face and dumps him. She comes to you. You’ve been there before, so you seem like the smartest guy on earth. She cries, but your corny half-joke, half-compliment somehow gets a smile out of her that almost makes you feel ashamed that you’re the only one around who gets to witness it. It looks like you might make her realize that all guys don’t deserve to have rocks thrown at them.

But nothing changes. She doesn’t know. You get that library elevator feeling in your stomach that she’ll never know. You get that feeling that you’ll be forced to write a cheesy Collegian column about her that makes “Sleepless in Seattle” look like “Girls Gone Wild.”

You go to sleep. You wake up. She doesn’t know. You’re not in love. You’re not obsessed. You blame it on the fact that you just need to get some, but still, it’s about more than that. It would just be nice if once in your life, things worked out the way you wanted them to.

So ___________, it’s about time you know.

Now cut this out, fill in her name, and give it to her, coward. Just let me know how it works out.

Matt Brochu is a Collegian columnist.

Monday, June 29

umbrella ella ay ay



http://www.oddee.com/item_96678.aspx
hehe check this out. 15 interesting umbrellas.
some are pretty funny, some are damn cute.
15 interesting pillows. the scrabble and ctrl/alt/det ones have to be my fave.