21 feet under
4 am blue
all over coffee
Amnesty International
Amnesty International USA
bay folk sketchbook
beautiful shadows
brian andreas
cat power
cynthia connolly
cynthia connolly -- banned in dc
dissociated voices (sound samples on the bottom)
donald miller
dover beach
dresden dolls
drinking sky and sweet black
God's Debris
green night on a dusty red moon
he scanned it, staggered
how now brown sock?
i found this magazine in santa cruz . . .
jacaranda (greysight)
jonathan hartsaw
jones soda
koyaanisqatsi
letters from home. (Rnk.)
listen to the rain (turn your speakers on)
mindwalk
mogwai
paul madonna
pedro the lion
pleiades
richard stine
Rivers and Tides
SAP
staring out the window at the rain (my old blog)
the deep end. seven feet.
the deep end. seven feet. part 2.
the near and the far
thirteen
throatshot
undefined
what happened to lani garver
white oleander
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This is my blogchalk:
United States, California, sometimes Steiermark, Austria, something bored teenagers say when they speak useless words into brick walls of cotton candy, English, German, Noreia,creative writing, fiction, reading, college student, strange, cat power, mogwai, arap strap, dresden dolls, white oleander, the earth, my butt, and other big, round things, welcome to the dollhouse, fuckers.
from feb. 05 reader's digest:
proverbs from around the world:
"he on whose head we would break a coconut never stands still." -- yoruban (west africa)
"there is no economy in going to bed early to save candles if the result be twins." -- chinese
"with patience and saliva the ant swallows the elephant." -- colombian
"why should a man without a head want a hat?" -- chilean
"the man with nostrils is Mr. Nose among the noseless." -- hindi (india)
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there is something mystical about this time, something similar to what gypsies must feel. this underlying layer of nightfires and dancing and clanking jewelry. it's a strange game, discovering myself here, and it's funny how good i feel, how i'm learning really not to give a fuck if i'm liked. because i think maybe you end up finding the people who were meant to like you, and the rest don't matter.
my inner monologue doesn't echo so loudly now. it's more soothing, a whisper, a mellow hum.
beautiful, i want to tell them all -- it's all so beautiful. and i'm not tied so tightly to someone, in so many knots, and my strings are in my own hand, i'm controlling the dance. which makes it my own dance. i wonder if this was here all along, if i could have found it before. but it seems that all the clocks are synchronized with fate, that each second hand marks off a point in which i am exactly where i need to be.
listening to: dralion soundtrack (cirque du soleil)
moon phases |