Sunday, July 26, 2009

If You Called Me...

If you called me a cunt, I wouldn't care. I don't beleive in censoring words because they're "bad." For the world to be truly beautiful, you need the ugly. That's how the world spins. And I'm really going all Hemingway on you guys for some reason. Living near his birthplace helps, I guess.

I say cunt all the time. I swear all the time. I use offensive words. But I don't do it wit malcontent. I do it because I don't know any better. And growing up, I was a precousious little bitch.

Something I'm Actually Proud of.

"Clark Grohl is a nihlist. Clark Grohl likes to destroy. In the words said by a piece of Clark Grohl, the singer Nico, "A true artist must self-destruct." And Clark was determined to do just that. But then Clark Grohl was introduced to slefish indulgences, and had me."

That was a little exerpt from a story I'm working on. I really like that one bit. Just wanted to share it. The character that bit was about was kind of based off of a lot of people combined. Including Ernest Hemingway, Nico, and myself. I always like to write destructive characters, they're the funnest to come up with. I'm not gonna post the story, it's far too personal for me. I'll post little bits I'm proud of, though.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Radio Free Chicago.

There're no decent local radio stations in Chicago. When my dad was my age, there were a ton of great, amazing radio stations that played the greastest music. Now, however, it's all just bullshit.

I'm gonna start my own radio station, someday. And I'll make sure it's in Chicago.

Their Last Song was "Suckers"

It's sad when bands breakup. Especially when the band had some potential. My boy's group broke up. The last song they played was "Suckers." "Suckers" was the first song they ever wrote. And it was about a blowjob.

But, it was inevitable. Especially when the rythem guitarist is a douchebag.

Well, now my boyfriend is gonna start a more artsy group with his bassist. Or a more Nirvana-esque group. I'd think it'd be cool if they went in the avant-garde, artsy direction, but the bassist isn't that artsy a bassist. Shit, he was lucky he could do a decent version of the bass solo in "My Generation." Too bad my boyfriend I all upset and angsty about the disbandment of his band.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Oh Come On.

Come on, Rhys Webb isn't gay. Besides my best friend, being gay himself, has a perfect gaydar. Rhys isn't gay.

Friday, July 10, 2009

Fuck You.

Fuck the ignorance of the world. They are pieces of shit.

I was listening to some golden Nirvana rarities and talking on the phone with a friend about going to the Art Institute with him and we were talking about the Ivan Albrights there and my really obnoxious, ignorant, lame aunt says, "What's this grunge crap you're listening to? What's with you and grunge?"

First of all, I'm not infatuated with grunge like some of my friends. I just like hard, heavy music, and in my opinion Nirvana's version of "Puss" is a great hard, heavy song. I told her, "Dude, I'm not obsessed with grunge. Nirvana's just a really really good band." She even was of the MTV age when they came out, she was nineteen, but she was busy being all nostalgic about cheesy eighties pop, never growing up. Being the female Peter Pan but in an annoying, ignorant way.

Then I went back to talking to my friend and then, once again, my aunt buts in, "What are you doing going to the art museum? That's boring."

People like her don't appreciate art, beauty, or even life. She doesn't know what beauty is. People think that being friends with the "fringe people" is bad, but only because they are ignorant. Because they only know God. Because they only know the rules, the norm. They won't ever stray from the middle of the belt. They will remain blue collar and dumb as a doorknob.

But these people whom I love so dearly, that treat me like their own daughter, don't know that art keeps me alive. They don't realize that I love spending hours at museums, just gazing at statues of Buddha and Hindi gods and goddesses. They don't know that the sounds of harmoniums and guitars make me euphoric. They poo-poo the things that make me happy; they poo-poo the people I love merely because they don't know any better. They think people with long hair are weird. They think anyone that identifies as Muslim is a terrorist. They think French people hate America. They think that gay people are going to Hell.

I can't even believe that I'm related to people like that.
Yes, there are some great, tolerant people in my family, but most of them are in their own little world of Fox News, blue collar America, people who hate unions but are in unions anyways, and ignorance. They upset me so much. They belittle me. They tell me that the people I hang out with are freaks, particularly my best friend who is gay and my friend from France. They are constantly asking why I want to be a writer. They just can't accept people, even their own niece/cousin/granddaughter/whatever.
People that aren't accepting of people are just ignorant. They're just scared to leave the safeness of their little world. I'm glad that I can. I'm glad that because I've ignored my family that I know the coolest people in the world. I'm glad that I'm not an alcholholic at seventeen. I'm glad that I can take in people of all races, creeds, sexualities, genders, and political stances. I just wish more people can be like that. And, though I'm sad to say this, my family, being as ignorant as they are, are peices of shit. Though I still love them, they have no respect for my opinions and are intent on changing them. They can't make me do shit.

Tuesday, July 7, 2009


These boots are the sex.
I know a lot of people that would kill for those.
I am one of those.
And I know a lot of people that would kill to see a girl in those.

It Doesn't Really Matter.

I really hate people that say, "Please pray for this person for he/she has turned away from God."

Who cares? Why does it matter whether or not someone believes in God or not?

I am raised Catholic, but I don't really practice any religion. I just live. My philosphy doesn't include God. It includes freedom, fun, beauty, and art. I don't care if you're Baptist, Muslim, Atheist, part of a cult, or Satanic. I don't care what you believe, as long as you don't hurt anyone or press your beliefs onto people. It doesn't matter if they're good people anyway.

Even my hardcore Republican Catholic grandmother doesn't give a flying fuck about what you believe in, as long as you eat her food without complaining, she won't care.

Maybe the world would be better Godless, with people keeping their beliefs private, but people are proud of who they are, and I guess that's OK too.

I have hardcore Catholic friends, they don't care my lifestyle and I don't care for their lifestyles, but we're friends. And we like eachother and we have so much in common that beliefs don't matter. My bestfriend goes to Mass every Sunday morning with his family, and he's gay. He wear's a crucifix around his neck with pride.

I have friends that have been altar servers since fifth grade and they are wild sex fiends. Everyone has their own opinions on God and what God expects of them. I believe whoever just doesn't want anyone to get hurt, to have everyone appriciate beauty and art. My boyfriend doesn't think anything is up there at all. That it's all science, and part of me believes that too, yet the part of me that never grew up, the little girl, the Alice in Wonderland in me wants to believe in fairy tales. And I won't deny myself a fairy tale.

Some religions are beautiful. I respect those religions. I respect all religions. But you tell me that you shun people of other religions, I'll shun you just as you shun my friends, just as you shun me.

Don't press your beliefs on people, they don't care. They'll just end up not liking you. And don't tease people because they believe in God, it shouldn't matter to you. Sure, you it against them if they are being hypocritical, but don't tease or hurt them for nothing. Everyone is a person. Catholic, Muslim, Hindi, Jewish, Bhuddist, Atheist, Taoist, whatever, everyone is a person.

Monday, July 6, 2009

He Only Comes out When I Drink My Gin.

Don't get the reference?

Dr. Jimmy.
Don't get the reference?


I was just thinking about angsty teenage boys that a sexually frustrated.
I was also thinking about perverted old men I know that are:
A) obsessed with the Who &
B) sexually frustrated.
Quadrophenia just came to mind.
You got to love boys like that.
They're fun to tease.
Not that I am the perpetrator of the said sexual frustration.
Ahem... you get the drift.
I have guy friends like Jimmy from Quadrophenia, they're hilarious.
I love them.
I love Quadrophenia.

Saturday, July 4, 2009

Your Lonliness Tells You That You've Sinned

Paris seems so unobtainable to me. That bohemian Parisian lifestyle that only poets, artists, and their muses seem to live seems so far away, so long gone. I've only longed to live that lifestyle since I was like twelve, but now reality hits me. It's impossible. The poets I fantasize about are dead or never existed. Their muses are only souls trapped in paintings, that never walked the earth.

I have a friend from Paris that moved here to Chicago about three years ago, he's one of my closest friends, and he's one of the only people I've told about my dreams of Paris, and he said that my dreams are too far fetched, that Rimbaud is dead, and that even if I find what I'm looking for in Paris, it won't be the way I envision it. He says that I can be a promiscuous poet in America, that it isn't that much more special in Paris. I merely told him that he doesn't get it, and he said that he does, and he knows it doesn't exist.

Jean-Marie is a Capricorn. I know tons of them, my boyfriend is one. But Jean is a total Capricorn, not born on the cusp of Sagittarius and Capricorn or the cusp of Capricorn and Aquarius, as my boyfriend is. Jean likes to be blunt and blatant. It suits him and his black hair and his sarcastic disposition. Yet, he is stable in that sense for the better. He doesn't believe in fairy-tales and won't stand nonsense or beating around the bush. He is sweet though, and he promised to take me to Paris someday, but I don't believe what he says about the Parisian poets. I'll find them. I will. I know I will.

Yet his bluntness and incredible ability to pull me out of any outrageous flight of fancy made me a bit unsure. Maybe that time is long since dead, maybe Pig-Alle is merely a tourist destination now. But I'm used to getting what I want, it's terrible, I know, but I will be sure I find something like my Paris. Like my Rimbaud. Maybe what I find as my Rimbaud won't be a poet, maybe it'll be a painter, musician, or even from Paris, France or even Europe! I just might all ready have two Rimbauds. My two favorite Capricorns might be my Rimbauds, though he was a Libra.

I dunno, Rimbaud made me want to be a writer. I wanted to write like Rimbaud just as much as I wanted to write like Lester Bangs or Legs McNeil. Rimbaud's life captivates me. His long nights with beautiful women, his fiery relationship with Paul Verlaine intrigues me. His premature death saddens me. "A Season in Hell" relates to me so much it make my knees buckle. I convinced myself at twelve that I will go to Paris and bring me back a poet. just like Rimbaud. Now that I am older, and a teeny tiny bit more in touch with reality, I feel that I will never, ever find a poet that would publish a whole book of poems about me.

But if dreaming is all I can do, I am happy with that. Dreaming, hoping, wishing, whatever is a perfect release. Sometimes reality just is too blunt. Bluntness is great, but fairy-tale dreams are fun. Jean keeps grounded, sure, but my Aquarian dreams and need for freedom is stronger. My boyfriend encourages me to work hard and focus on "the now" but it's just so much more fun to get lost in your own little wonderland of swarthy, subtle poets and flighty, bright-eyed painters. But I'm happy with my sarcasstic bookworm and virtuoso romantic if I'll never find my Rimbaud. Hell, I'm happiest with my own personal virtuoso.

Green Monsters. Green Piss. Green Day.

Green Day pisses me off.

I love concept albums, totally, but there really isn't much credibility to having the singles all over MTV is there? 21-Century Breakdown is an OK album with some classic Green Day style songs. But they don't change it up. Billie Joe Armstrong is waaay too old to be sporting guyliner. They don't grow and learn. Great, American Idiot earned them millions of dollars, but why not expand? Why not change the sound up, why not change the image up. Because it's not the 90s anymore, now it's all about the image. Armstrong sold out to that. He sold out to the image. He was great in the 90s. Dookie was one of my favorite albums, but now all I have to say is:
What's the point of being a somewhat credible band when Hot Topic mall punks are wearing your t-shirts saying that they're deep, emotional, sensitive, and no one understands them. Whatever if they really feel that, but the black hearts, black parade, black soul shit is just that: BULLSHIT. Why Armstrong, do you give these really annoying teenie-boppers a stepping stone?
BTW* I still have a burning crush on Mike Drint. :P, so just remember, Mike Drint is cool, Billie Joe Armstrong is lame.

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Of Everything That Stands the End

It's really beautiful out today. I think I just might be a morning person but I feel nature flowing through my veins.

I always wake up at five in the morning, it's this weird natural thing. I either go back to sleep or let my dogs out. Today I let my dogs outside. I usually stay out there with them for fifteen minutes to take in the misty Chicago morning. I sat on top of the totally unused dog house that once belonged to my now deceased neighbor and watched the very light, dull pink light from the cold sun caress the grey blue morning sky. The morning star was out. It was really gorgeous. My dog Melrose was sitting on the ground right next to me, blissfully watching the bitches, Lily and Becky, fight.

The morning is always forlorn. The very early morning at least. I love that feeling of being alone with only pale morning light and animals as your company. You get time to think about things you rarely get the chance to. I thought about my version of the human life cycle: Birth, love, death. The funny thing was, was that I found myself sitting naturally in the northeast direction. It doesn't have a meaning, it does to me, but it doesn't to the rest world. Finding myself sitting in that direction made me feel wistful. I always feel wistful, though. I smiled and thought that someone was sitting southwest outside, feeling just as wistful as me.

But I doubt that. The town northeast to me is a sleepy, quiet little town. Everyone I know from their would be fast asleep, and when they wake up, it'd be midday, and they'd all have to go to work.

I road my bike to that town. The streets were totally empty. Some shop keeps were just getting to work. I road past a friend's house, the house was quiet for once. I saw a cat too. I always see that cat around, I sometimes stop to pet her. She's really nice. I sat on a curb and played with her. I call her Gummo, it suits her. She reminds me of the bunny boy from the movie of the same name, a total vagabond. Gummo and I have that in common. And yes, I did this all while my parents were fast asleep.

I think it's worthwhile to be a vagabond. You get to see things you wouldn't see otherwise. If I wasn't a drifter, if I wasn't merely curious of the world around me, I wouldn't be an Alice. I would be just another Allison. No, Allison is not my name, it's just a term I use to describe girls that are just ordinary. I used to be called Allison by mistake a lot, I made sure people knew me as Alice. When I hear my name, I think no limits. When I hear the name Allison, I think boring, no point, bland. It'd be terrible to be considered bland.

I just can't stand it when people say they don't want to travel. It tells me that you are ignorant, unwilling to change, to adapt, and that you will never experience the beauty of sitting on a curb outside some beautiful, Victorian house petting a stray cat you've named Gummo. I travel everyday. I travel on my bike, going wherever my heart takes me. I do this all in the earliest hours of the morning when I cannot be seen, where I can take in the beauty. Where I can think about birth, love, and death. Where I can wonder about what's going on northeast from me. Where I can follow a cloud, and find myself meeting Gummo once again.

Wednesday, July 1, 2009

Disco Goddess

New favorite Nirvana song! It's "Hairspray Queen." I think it's totally dope....

And I was just informed that it's about oral sex. Whatever, now I'm all giggly because now I'm thinking about things of that sort... Yeah... just wanted mention it.... Wait! Now that I'm thinking about it, my boyfriend's group covered it at a party once! But they covered every Nirvana song because my boyfriend would bone Kurt if Kurt was alive and a girl. It's a whole vanity thing to fall in love with a person that slightly resembles you.

Do you ever notice that? Couples that look alike? I do all the time. As I said, it's a vanity thing. Or an envy thing depending on the couple. But I noticed like the last few guys I've went out with were like all blond and blue-eyed. I'm not a total blondie, but I am blonde and blue-eyed. Well I've always liked waspy looking boys.

Now I'm thinking about late 80s Nirvana. That was the best Nirvana. Like the best song off of Bleach was "Love Buzz" but I'm biased because that's my boyfriend's song for me. Other than that, it's "Downer."

Well that was your daily dose of Nirvana and sexual connotations... no... not even connotations, just blunt sex talk... I have "Hairspray Queen" somewhere in my playlist towards the end, try and fine the lube reference!