| this cracked me up for some reason. |
[25 Oct 2005|01:07pm] |
 | You scored as The Pretty-Boi Dyke. You can be a bit cocky at times and ever the heartbreaker, but no one knows that you're really just looking for true love.
my breakdown:
The Pretty-Boi Dyke | | 80% | The Student Dyke | | 70% | The Vaginal-Reference-Making Dyke | | 65% | The Quasi-Gothic Femme | | 50% | The Surprise! Dyke | | 40% | The Stud | | 40% | The Little-Boy Dyke | | 35% | The Magic Earring Ken Dyke | | 30% | The Femme Fatale | | 30% | The Bohemian Dyke | | 20% | The Sprightly Elfin Femme | | 20% | The Hipster Dyke | | 15% | The Granola Dyke | | 10% | </td>
What Type of Lesbian Are You? (Inspired by Curve Mag.)
created with QuizFarm.com |
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| ever wanted to make out with me? |
[11 Oct 2005|11:46pm] |
haha...
well, if for some unknown weird fluke you have, here's your chance.
alison's doing a photography project regarding some queer/gender issues and we're looking for girls/boys/everyone-else to get in front of the camera. some of it is gonna' be clean, some of it might get a little dirty... some of it's gonna' be anonymous... whatever the case, it's up to your comfort levels and there's no commitment or anything...
oh, and experience isn't needed. =)
if you're interested, please email me at tickle.chrystal.emo@gmail.com or leave a comment.
(all comments will be screened.)
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| *it don't seem fair. today just disappeared.* |
[08 Sep 2005|09:58am] |
that line came to me and stuck at the end of yesterday. i think i'm going to put it on right now..
god. i love that song. and so perfect for i mean to say. so perfect for yesterday, i guess...
there are things i need to remember. i think it would just hurt too much to forget...
waking up too early. a sleepy wake-up reminder when i was already up and ready to go go go. skipping the hair routine. (hey, that's monumental, you know.) train station, her squinty a.m. eyes, a shared smoke on empty stomachs decidedly unfilled with oldchangkee. can't.. remember.. the reason... why. security checked our bags and almost found the bombs we were planning to use at our destination. luckily, we put it in the cooler. out of place amidst the morning transit crowd with our smiles and ink and crap shorts. met a girl for our free passes 'cuz we were freeloaders embarking to freedom. freedom!!!! the relaxation is out of this world. no school no buttons no work no worries. it was all definitely good. until we got to the supermarket. stress on legs. that would be me. deciding on snacks was an adventure that i got lost in and sustained my purpose in life. godsent to kill. but i got away with tortilla chips and salsa, ruffles, bugles, smokes, beer, and too much ice. mcdonalds gave us breakfast. the cablecars gave us a lift. excitement like electricity. from the ground up. i said it was all so romantic. the little getaway. she said i wasn't the one carrying the cooler. which was a heavy little bitch.
it's like a silverchair lyric. i've got the greatest view from here. or more pearl jam. there's a cloud but the water remains calm. reaching in, the sun's fingers clutch the dawn to pass. even out, it's a precious thing to bear. and i know she's reached my heart in thin air. it's not in my past to presume. love can keep on moving in both directions. how to be happy and true is a quest we're taking on together. yes i know she's reached my heart in thin air.
i'm not being cheesy. the moment was pearljam-forewarned kinda' good.
so we listened to espanol introductions. and were lost when we touched down. nice. i ran around to ask for directions, definitely wasn't taking the walk surrounded by green things, found the busstop; she had a smoke without me while i ran for maps. got on the bus, got to the sand. wanted to walk through the little welcome-post sign thing. but the bitch she was lugging around wouldn't let us. our shoes came off and we saw shade we wanted. we found out later it was as perfect as spots unrelated to g could be.
ah! -i took a deep breath- fresh air and sunshine never hurt nobody.
-then proceeded to faint-
we're morons. so much lub. grr.
i'm not good with picnic mats. in her words: you suck at this, huh? my side collected sand. but she's the one who spilled the beer later. on the mat and in the sand. sandy coronas. yum. we started on the sixpack quick. popped a can each, lit cigarettes, and just sat there. we may have talked. or just sighed. at leaving all the baggage behind and dropping what we brought around us. she took out her surfer shades and her hair looked fucking ace for some odd reason. i think it's seabreeze. i wanna bottle that shit and use it as hairspray. we were the cuteness, we were. the weather was great considering the random heat and rain from the past week plus. finished the first cans and ran into the water. i don't even know how to start on this part. everything in the water... i don't think moments like those are meant to be translated into language. cool water and sticky shirts; i wanna' taste the salt of your skin, the soft dive of oblivion; knees around waists; wrestle mania; baywatch - oh, you saved my life, you're my hero! and comicbook kissing; not-so-comicbook kissing... sitting in the way of the tide at the shore and being tossed around...
i almost died. never have i had to do anything to save my life before. that was hella fucking scary. the attempt at the greatest feat of my life failed. and knocked the wind out of me. i laid on the sand half passed out for a good twenty minutes... while she offered all kinds of little assistance. to my disgruntled grunts of course. what's new? me half passed out is the same as me fully asleep. she ended up burying my hands and feet. and got way too much amusement out of that. she scares me sometimes. really, she does. she was giggling to herself and laughing, trying to keep my hands down under the sand... weirdo... i finally got air back into my lungs, sat up, started complaining about how smoking murdered my stamina, had a smoke, and for some reason, we both simultaneously started to bury her cross-legged legs. silliness: your damn knees keep showing! we had little god-modes with testicles and a penis. a little moment of brilliant insanity. then jumped back into the water. made out and wetcuddled.
the coronas ruled. the bottles were chilled and we sat under our little shade talking about our trip, how to get backstage at shows, why i wouldn't wanna' meet conor, why i have to meet amybrown.. the chips and dip fucking ruled. i couldn't stop. we watched a group of japanese faggy boys. discussed socio-cultural relevances. then we relocated 'cuz i'm a brat and wanted to swim near the rocks. wasn't the most ingenious of plans. sunburn and scars to prove that. but more chips, salsa, beer, and her is the way life is meant to be lived. for real.
the cleaning up process was a nuisance. but went by smooth enough. i think by that time, all the beer had us way too nicely mellowed out to be ruffled by anything... even the little kids around weren't inciting children-massacre statements from mi lady. =)
saw her stalker, snakes, ridiculous prices to watch fish, gurmit, and had a cup of corn and a long busride in circles which i slept through. her shoulder is comfy as fuck. gave up on finding amusement, so we sat under coffeebean umbrellas with warmed up double chocolate chip muffins, hungry peacocks, and little guerrilla gunners. oh, and a kid who tried choking the peacock. discussed the nerve of some and the stupidity of some others and the general sense of sadness that comes along with it. wished for smarter bands. odd quip about racist country music...
went up into the sky to settle our oppositional feelings towards paying muchos dineros to go down a hill. saw many things. pretty things. singapore isn't very big. and spinning makes you queasy after double chocolate chip muffins. got back down, had a smoke, came up with more insightful lines for our new book in the making: bird quotes for feminists/lesbians.
her: the female peacocks aren't as friendly as the males...
me: that's 'cuz they know they're being marginalized.
for some reason, birds seem to bring out the angry woman in me...
we ended up going downhill. fun fun. once was not enough. the chairlift fucking ruled. all the fears of heights and impalation rose to helmet-wearing and craving smokes. we're saving it for next time. definitely. i think our fun quota got fixed alright.
a long ride in floating rocking cabins and cuddling and lastkisses and meddling with the language choices. realizing how much we had spent... and pearljam lines...
topping the perfect day with a perfect ending. fucking dead cow done medium rare with a1 and baked potatoes and soup that made me miss the u s of a. rollercoasters, cold air, diversity, and diners. that's the america i love.
yeah. i think that's it... one of the best motherfucking days of my life. and only 'cuz it was spent with you. this bubbaloo happy. we so happy together!!!
(inside joke. =)
oh, and i love grand dumps at wheelock place. the kind that don't stop and come in different shades. hell yeah. i love our favorite section of borders. browsing book sleeves and chatting over random chapters. i love how our horoscopes work. together. i love giggling and whispered groaning with you about our sex. and i really love how you hold on to my arm sometimes, when i have my hands in my pockets, and we're talking about nick hornby and walking. it's a silent way of spelling love and i love that.
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| back to good roots |
[29 Jul 2005|02:53pm] |
Sailing on my every step. Inching off of the earth.
Is magnified by the things I've done.
The thing that I've become.
Every lift of my hand. Coffee cup up, and back.
Is magnified by the things I've done. The things I've seen. the things I've caused.
I'm a dead man walking.
The hammer that I once brung down now hovers over me.
Cast a shadow across, onto me.
The hallways are all mocking me.
What I've become they're all mocking me.
I'm a dead man walking. A dead man walking. A dead man walking.
I'm a dead man walking. Dead man walking. Dead man walking.
Is this just another day? This God forgotten place?
First comes love, then comes pain, let the games begin
Questions rise and answers fall, insurmountable
Love boat captain
Take the reigns and steer us towards the clear, here
It's already been sung, but it can't be said enough
All you need is love
Is this just another phase? Earthquakes making waves
Trying to shake the cancer off, stupid human beings
Once you hold the hand of love, it's all surmountable
Hold me, and make it the truth
That when all is lost there will be you
Cause to the universe I don't mean a thing
And there's just one word I still believe
And it's love.
It's an art to live with pain, mix the light into gray
Lost nine friends we'll never know, two years ago today
And if our lives became too long, would it add to our regret?
And the young, they can lose hope cause they can't see beyond today
The wisdom that the old can't give away hey
Constant recall
Sometimes life don't leave you alone
Hold me, and make it the truth
That when all is lost there will be you
Cause to the universe I don't mean a thing
And there's just one word that I still believe
And it's love, love, love, love, love
love boat captain
take the reigns, steer us towards the clear
I know it's already been sung, can't be said enough
Love is all you need, all you need is love
Love, love, love.
You can't know how it feels to be in here
All the dark horse fields, befriendin' me
You can't know what it's like to bleed from here
The blackened world goes white, it goes nowhere
You can't know what it's like to be inside
Your fading melodies can't beat my need
I'm not the same without you here
How can i quit to be there
Sit and stare
Stare..
Begging for a prayer
I wake up and wait up
when anger's in fashion
I wake up and wait up
it echoes through the mansions
I wake up and wait up
when april's in may, oh uh oh
I wake up and wait up
the answers are fatal
the answers are fatal
when I wait up and wake up
the answers are fatal
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[06 Jun 2005|03:38pm] |
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i am cancer i am hiv. i'm down with the blue jesus blue cross hospital. just looking up from my pillow feeling blessed. yes they're buying and selling our shares of air and you know it's all around you but it's hard to point and say there so you just sit on your hands and quietly contemplate your next bold move. the next thing you're gonna' have to prove to yourself. it's so hard to have faith in anything. especially your next bold move. the next thing you're gonna' have to prove to yourself. you wanna' track each trickle back to its source, then scream at the faucet till your face is hoarse. 'cuz you're surrounded by a world worth of things you can't excuse. you've got the hard cough of a chain smoker and you're at the arctic circle playing strip poker. and it's getting colder and colder every time you lose. so go ahead and make your next bold move. tell us what's the next thing you need to prove to yourself.
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| it's been too long since i last had the urge. to write something pretty. |
[06 Jun 2005|02:29am] |
| [ |
music |
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team dresch. she's amazing. |
] |
chase sleeps on my bed every night. he scratches up the covers at the foot of my bed and cuddles underneath. my quilt cover and sheets are all in the wash, but my quilt was a bundle on my bed. where else can you expect to find a sleepy puppy but under that big bundle. precious. truly.
but i had to call him off 'cuz the quilt has to be dry-cleaned, and that's a chore. so he totters after me out and follows me to the computer room, then goes out of this room to hop up on a chair right outside the door. i'm guessing to sleep to the only light on in the house at two thirty in the morning, ani difranco, and my company. it's ridiculously cute.
i think i love this puppy.
and i loved today. not a you and me gorgeous day.. but so good. so fucking good for me.
dear arson and my squared circle. mad props. seriously.
the keeper is ill. =(
but she's perfect and i love it when she reminds me. just by smiling.
today was nice.
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[07 May 2005|03:45am] |
it's cold enough to break
beneath the weight of this mistake
and no one can tell me it's alright.
and i hope it's not too late
for the man who's less than brave
no one can tell me. but no one can tell.
deny the charges. call collect.
fodding over veiled attempt.
and i am failing you.
and there are answers; never tell.
sharing rooms with cancer cells
i am not immune.
call out. come down.
i finally recognize.
and tired angels barely able
keep me safe tonight.
we're keeping quiet and we'll decide
what's desperation
sick inside
i am not allowed.
and there are reasons i will keep
ever hopeful
fall asleep.
i can show you how.
and it's cold enough to break
beneath the weight of this mistake.
and no one can tell me it's alright.
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| would you love me if i had blue hair? would you? |
[25 Nov 2004|12:21am] |
my finals are finally done with. my my my, what a stressball i've been.
bad news is - the big headache is far from medicated.
i wish advil would fix the big things.
screwed up psychology 101 and my quantum physics course. real bad. it'll be a god-given wonder if i barely pass. english 101 should be alright; maybe a c+ grade. i had that brilliant term paper i planned to write for my film class, about social restraint, lesbians, and all that good stuff.. but of course, being as brilliant as i am i couldn't possibly write the fucking paper - oh no, that would just be criminal, me write down the ingenuity of my skull to impress the cuteasfuck lecturer? of course not. don't be silly. that's just absurd. (fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. i got an A for the midterm though, but the final paper was a bit of a bitch 'cuz my head jammed up and lesbians couldn't be squeezed into the essay, even with my skill for bullshit [damn straight women]. the only queers i got were half the film class and the hottie blond dykey lady who collected my paper and smiled at me.)
the philosophy final paper was today. i'm confident enough about it to say that i wouldn't be surprised if i got a perfect score. hopefully all that i thought i knew were right. i <3 philosophy. i am so going to major in it. i <3 it lots. multiplechoice final exam? me breezing through the entire semester without attending more than one lecture and three tutorials and having read approximately one-twelfth of the texts? yay for me and yay for philosophy. (i'm pleased as shit 'cuz i got two solid A's for my midterm essays. whee.)
whee. no school for the next month. i've had so much i've been wanting to do for the last little bit of awhile. i have shortfilm to fucking make, goddammit. and i wanna' draw and paint and kiss and huggle and talk late into the night and laugh over the phone and camp out under the stars and take photos and... wheeeeee!
when was the last fucking time i was this happy while being so-fucking-sober?
this time last year?
damn.
( take that hat off and give me head. )
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| if you were looking for answers... try analyzing this... |
[19 Oct 2004|02:54am] |
I fed the clues of a lost day killed in motion
But I thought of it so like there's no other way it could've been done
Will they size my fit for a puzzle
I wish not to play a part in it
A heart stained in hate, a feeling of fear will play circles
But you, you were my favorite
But you, you know, you were my favorite
I severed my ties to shroud this body under the streets of this city
And wait for the day when I am summoned to walk across the face
Well, slowly but clearer now, in visions that play and plague memories
I loved them with all as the son should to mother and father
But you, you were my favorite
But you, you know, you were my favorite
Would I walk through the door, shedding the light of all life?
With the rise and reform, would I come as before?
Pray you're not the only one
Pray you're not the only...
If given mistakes, would I take them back?
If erasing them could, if erasing them would
But would they be the words that I would say?
Your face and a door between
I've parted three ways
For you, the (one) that I love
Did you ever really know before my face shamed to break?
Did you ever really know before my mind scarred to think?
Did you ever really know before my name son to these?
Did you, did you, did you come clean in the end from the start?
Dear Ambellina, the Prise wishes you to watch over me
Dear Ambellina, the Prise wishes all to watch over me
I fought the decisions that call and lost
My mark has the revelant piece in this
I will come reformed
In short, for the murders of those I court
I bless the hour that holds your fall
I will kill you all
I will call you (I will cross you out) (Dear Ambellina...)
Out from shelter (the Prise wishes you...)
Burn your wings (Burn your wings) (to watch over me)
You'll know no better/And learn their letters (Burn the core)
- coheed and cambria. "the crowing"
...
i love how the lyrics to songs come right to mind and fit perfectly for scenarios.
kinda' weird though. the accuracy this time is unnerving.
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| *gate our conversations from their armored rumors. this normal life is not so simple.* |
[17 Oct 2004|10:33pm] |
there is something fucked about the way stories are told. human nature and individual vanity knows only one side.
whose point of view have you been following?
where do you find your daily dose of entertainment?
throw two people and a third control into an telecasted debate or a reality tv show, and perhaps you'll see everything in color. or at least with more validity than your classic model of overly contrasted black and white. there are too many shades of gray in between. but i guess it wouldn't look quite as pretty if things were portrayed without the punchline of actuality.
absolute truth lies somewhere in holistic representation.
i adore my puns and my wishywashy ambiguity. i won't pin your name or your skin down. not here or where i have to sleep. because i know my own stories are just words from my mouth. if i knew anything about truth, i'd be on the newyorktimes bestsellers list. not tippytapping on lifejournal.
versions and the painted side of our cubic puzzles should be stated. we have that right. but if nothing else, for the sake of decency and the acknowledgement that slander is not all that nice, the implications we designate should know some reins.
i've learnt that for myself as well.
i know i'd prefer to be judged upon meeting rather than from another's hollow narcissism. i have too much of my own conceit and its intrinsic deceit to worry about as it is.
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| the droplets were heavy and my skin soaked you in |
[03 Oct 2003|11:04pm] |
the rain came out of nowhere and has me sitting here wet.
melody is the greatest.
you are breathtaking.
and i don't want to sleep because i don't want to wake up without you.
and i am tired of hearing my thoughts in my head.
everybody is right. i should just shut up already.
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| *where is the hope?* |
[02 Jul 2003|05:07pm] |
i know i have my entries locked up... but this just has to be public... be it a notice or reminder...
it's shit like this makes me want to not be a part of this bullshit world...
the only semi-redeeming factor of the situation is that it happened 3 years ago. and my god, i hope things have gotten better.
even though... i look into my mom's eyes sometimes... and i don't see a reflection of a gay daughter. just the immense denial of it.
----------------------------------
Sri Lanka Press Council Praises Anti-Gay Violence
Tuesday, 6 June 2000
COLOMBO, Sri Lanka -- Human rights advocates and women's groups reacted furiously to praise the Sri Lankan Press Council lavished on an article urging that convicted rapists should be unleashed on lesbians and branding lesbianism an act of sadism.
The Times of India reports the press council dismissed a complaint made by gay rights campaigner Sherman de Rose, who said the letter published in The Island promoted violence and hatred of lesbians.
In response to the dismissal, De Rose called the ruling "a clear indication of the strength of discrimination against gays and lesbians in this country" and said his lawyers were examining the possibility of taking the matter to court.
De Rose, executive director of the gay rights advocacy group Companions on a Journey, complained to the council that the letter published last August in The Island was published in breach of media ethics.
The five-member council instead reaffirmed sentiments expressed in the letter. "Lesbianism itself is an act of sadism and salacious. Publication of any opinion against such activities does not amount to a promotion of sadism and salacity."
Kumudini Samuel of Women and Media Collective said women's groups and human rights groups were "absolutely appalled," and Sri Lankan activists attending a United Nations parley on women's rights in New York had been informed of the council's statements. "We hope they bring it up there at a caucus on violence against women," she said.
"It is extremely offensive to have responsible people (in the press council) making statements like this, irrespective of sexual orientation," Samuel continued. "The question was did the letter incite someone to commit rape?" She said the ruling was tantamount to a hate crime.
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