Sunday, August 22, 2010

what i thought while cooking

3:54 PM - 8/22/2010

. human beings are like flies; if you hit them, you'll get your hands dirtied. - me

Saturday, August 7, 2010

You Are Not Wood Chipped Off a Piece of the Old Block
but they will tell you so
BEGAN? TO 12:39 AM - 8/7/2010

Bring him back the foot
Stomp him in the head
Don't bring back the dead
It's blood like muck and soot

Rather be the angel in today
Nothing can be better than praise
Not even your hands you have to raise
Lately you've been thinking about moving steady

You're more than a pyramid of criminality
Inside something murks so precious and good
Life is better to you than food
And (but) ingestion of spoken reality becomes your mentality

surprisingly, i memorized the meaning of monetize.

What has happened, Anatasia?
12:19 AM to 12:25 AM - 8/7/2010

Anastasia is a girl who does not fear a thing. She is Asian-American, from Detroit, but her heart and living mind will always be in California. Her dead mind will relax under the expectation of her mother and father. To marry, to bear children. Her family name becoming nonexistent to strangers, those who recently knew the Mrs., and just revived by through the collection of old school papers. "I will be a doctor," they say. "I'm a star," the jagged words read. It is not as if they mock her, ridicule her for what she has chosen to do by tradition; but she is embarrassed to realize how far she has fallen from imagination. Anatasia could have been anything. She could have freed the world of disease. Be stuck in a supermarket in Spain by losing her passport and documentations whilst there for study. Anastasia could have been anything, I tell you. But married off and pregnant, the mother and child of those who will no longer be thought of as strangers, business as usual Anastasia, won't squeak a peep.

For the lost at heart. No, really, I mean the surgeons.