I hate fondue -- I'm always losing my bread.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-11-01T20:52:00

2009-11-02T04:52:32Z

i think i might have big ears, but i'm not sure.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-10-26T03:49:00

2009-10-26T10:49:43Z

I was wrong; I guess it's pretty rad to be young.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-10-23T21:12:00

2009-10-24T04:12:15Z

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-10-13T01:38:00

2009-10-13T08:40:51Z

Laughing so hard right now remembering when, for a brief time, Pam and I had a radio show together at Dartmouth. She always kept me from cussing, and I made fun of her Ben Gibbard plays. I played Babes in Toyland just to piss her off and hit her in the head with one of the swinging mikes. Only after she mocked me for playing riot grrrl tracks.

LOLZ.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-09-27T03:31:00

2009-09-27T10:31:32Z

So happy right now.

I hope I don't die.

2nd year started

2009-09-08T07:47:05Z

I am hemorrhaging ideas.

Sorry for that visual.

Well,

2009-09-01T05:51:57Z

that sandwich was terrible, but the potato chips and pickle were great.

>:O

2009-08-28T10:26:04Z

WORDS CANNOT EXPRESS HOW BUMMED I AM ABOUT HAVING DRUNKENLY LEFT MY HAM AND CHEESE PANINI SOMEWHERE, IN THE DARKNESS, BEFORE GOING HOME.

DAMMIT.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-06-17T01:59:00

2009-06-17T09:00:25Z

Okay, so I guess Jenny Holzer is getting to me. Haha! Pot kettle blahblahblah.

Everyone hates a showy magpie.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-06-17T01:42:00

2009-06-17T08:43:37Z

Malleability does not equal open-mindedness. Then again, no point in living as if on an island with only coconuts for company.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-06-17T01:14:00

2009-06-17T08:42:12Z

Summer is great for underthinking. The heat trumps everything, and everyone tends to forget about things in light of a sun that sets at 9pm.

I wish people would shut the fuck up, sometimes. It isn't winter yet, so now's the time for you to just chill out.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-06-06T08:23:00

2009-06-06T15:47:06Z

High school and college writing = horrendous. Obvious, but true. You go from littering wish fulfillment pieces with adjectives and adverbs, to writing about banal personal anecdotes that are interesting to no one but yourself. I really don't know how high school and college writing instructors deal with this shit. Maybe people become successful writers once they stop trying to depict "everyday" profundities. Or maybe people just grow up and begin to really understand other people, as opposed to just themselves. It's foolish to expect others to find you interesting, even more foolish to try to make yourself seem interesting, because really, most people just don't give a fuck. That's it, right there -- you just do it because you're compelled to. This shit is not an accessory.

I'm not cynical, I swear (nor am I sarcastic [no, seriously]). I just wish people would spend more time being self-reflective rather than creating worthless things that are solely meant to reflect themselves. It's artificial! Like the time I saw oxidized wrought iron lawn furniture sitting outside a bar -- when I touched one of the chairs, I learned it was plastic.

Anyway, I think that calling oneself a poet is kind of like saying one is a cartographer. Or a blacksmith. Cobbler. Iconographer. etc etc etc etc etc etc

Also, I'm really glad all the poetry and fiction I wrote during the first 3/4th of college are saved in my PC back at home, and not on this laptop. I think if I were to read them now, I'd just vomit out of embarrassment. Even for the best writers, juvenilia is at worst cruel, and at best "cute." VOM.

Now's the time to refer to myself as "Serious Sydney"

2009-06-04T10:38:53Z

I have almost no sense of humor when it comes to my work, whatever the medium. It only becomes problematic when others try to josh about it. Is this like having children? Bummer all around.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-06-03T02:31:00

2009-06-03T09:32:37Z

I'm writing too many parts poems? This is kind of like how I have to make a series of photographs, or a series of drawings, or a grouping of videos.

Guh.

Face Update

2009-05-28T20:58:36Z

Since I don't have facebook.

Bad face day, good hair day. My bangs have grown out. My hair is hella long. I'm happy with it, but I haven't gotten it cut since February and think it's time for a slight clean up.

SUP, GUYS. HAPPY SUMMER!

Allergies are destroying me and my visage has grown bloated and snot-filled.

blog update

2009-05-14T07:42:24Z

yup. stuff from the tail end of the semester.

unrelatedly,

2009-05-13T08:23:20Z

SUCK IT, YOU'RE STILL NOT COOL.

okay,

2009-05-13T08:21:18Z

I don't mean ALL macrocosm lenses. Just ... some. Systemizations built on breaking down systemizations just aren't efficient for me.

Alright,

2009-05-13T08:14:13Z

fuck it, I don't know if I can deal with macrocosm lenses anymore. It strikes me as silly even though I know that crying over some Sarah Polley song or a rabbit with no tail is just silly. Completely silly ...

What was I saying? Oh, right, that I'm just feeling intolerant.

There's a woman in my class that I have a warm crush on. She is my art parallel, I like her tired doe eyes, her weird sense of humor that sometimes manifests in onomatopoeias, and the sound of her voice. Straight (mostly, I think?), but whatever, I'm looking forward to playing tennis with her (LOL!).

lolz

2009-05-12T08:49:20Z

Between the bouts of depression and bursts of frivolous and frenetic cooking, I think you'll find that I'd make an excellent typical housewife.

Upon hitting writer's block, Sylvia Plath would bake desserts.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-05-01T02:24:00

2009-05-01T09:25:03Z

Back on the "making stuff" wagon.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-04-29T22:12:00

2009-04-30T05:16:19Z

1. Art school is HARD.
2. Making conceptually and visually interesting autobiographical work is HARD.
3. I saw a green duck fly over the Burnside bridge as I was driving back home.
4. At the video store, there was a totally chubby white dude with a rat tail, thin tight vintage tee, and super skinny jeans. I wanted to cry. DRESS TO YOUR BODY TYPE. Clothes are the worst way to manifest wishful thinking.
5. I rented the first disc of the first season of Battlestar Galactica. FML.
6. I'm done with cigarettes. Good-bye, Turkish Golds.

just mo'

2009-04-20T07:52:10Z

Not having a debit card or credit card this weekend has forced me to come to terms with how disgustingly dependent I am on money. May is going to be monk month. I will not buy a single piece of clothing, only buy food staples, cut down barhopping, borrow books instead of buying them, and use my bicycle as my main mode of transportation.

Freaking ambitious, but I'm going to try.

bloodjetpoetry @ 2009-04-17T01:24:00

2009-04-17T09:18:16Z

Others no longer fuel me.

Spontaneous combustion.

Ars poetica = question mark. I'm convinced only artists and theorists enjoy it, unless the facade is distractingly shiny. That, in turn, undermines aesthetics. So ... at the other end of the spectrum: formalism?

... hm, now I want to photograph someone with a red herring on their face. The people of Sweden incorporate false leads (which originate from surrounding waters) into their meals. They are a staple, such as bread and rice and potatoes. An appetite ruined by the empty calories of red candies (factory-made in America, though less deceitful than Häagen Dazs). Man, my life is stupid. These are the kinds of things I think about. Expressions of wit can be signs of vanity. UGH. FML.

First year reviews are coming up in a week and a half. I'm buckling just thinking about it. After this weekend, no more fun until the semester ends.

Also, why does thinking late at night make life seem so much scarier and harder than it actually is? Here's to paralysis!

Confession:

2009-04-09T08:09:57Z

I don't dislike gladiator sandals. In fact, I like them and think it's rad that the trend has spilled over into the impending '09 spring/summer.