The Goat and the Ram and the Water Bearer/

I met an Aries not too long ago. This Aries, this Ram, fascinated me. The goat, my Capricorn, older and wiser, is frustrated at the world. And I, the Aquarian is frustrated and pissed off at both of them.

But I think my being frustrated at my Capricorn is strictly artifical.

Semi-Autobiographical, to a Certain Extent.

Biking for Johnny and me was an escape. It was a proclamation of our freedom, of our rebellion. We felt one with the wind on our bicycles. Johnny's wispy blond hair that fell beyond his shoulders looked so beautiful in the wind. My hair, short and dishwatery, was always left in a wind-bursted mowhawk on my yellow bike. We rode everywhere, we were nothing without or bikes. Our passion for our bikes was as deep as the mutual hidden passion we had for each other. But we were too cowardly to admit it at the time.

Today, a warm early spring weekend morning, we were riding our bikes around my school. I attended school at St. Rose of Lima Academy, which for me was the seventh ring of hell. I stole his top from when we went swimming at a pool of my friend's and he was chasing me to get it back. We were riding past the priory. I was, to put it simply, laughing my ass off. "Mo! Come on! I'm gonna tell the priests you stole a shirt from a poor kid!" Johnny, thin, long, and pale was laughing. He nodded at the group of priests all decked out in their albs that were welcoming an extremely tall man in khakis and a black polo.

I turned and noticed the tall man carrying some suitcases. He was peculiar and and he looked much older than he truly was. His hair was almost completely a dark grey and thinning. He had smile lines and his deep brown eyes happily danced as he chuckled at Johnny's remark. He was certainly innocent. He was much more innocent than me and I was only newly thirteen at the time! I slowed down and Johnny was now biking beside me.I handed him his prized Nirvana shirt and said, "Let's go down to Franklin."


When we got to Franklin Park, a playground adjasent to the Red River elementary school, I sat at the nearest bench and asked, "You see that guy moving into the priory?"

Johnny, his pale blue eyes glistening in the morning sun, replied, "Yeah. What about him?"

"Dunno," my feet were resting on my bike seat, "he seemed childlike."

"So?"

"Strange."

"You just don't want some new guy possibly cramping your style. You still want to get away with all the shit you pull there." Johnny laughed and sat beside me. He put his shirt on and watched a little girl that fell bawl at the sight of her bleeding knee with sympathy overflowing his eyes. "He seems OK. He's just a priest. You don't even deal with them that much there anyway."


That was from a story I'm writing. What do you guys think? NEED OPINIONS.

Goodbye Sister Disco.

I feel very... Townshend today. I dunno... I guess it has something to do with all the pictures I have of Pete Townshend on my walls. Maybe because I finally met a Pete Townshend... extremely tall, bright blue eyes, pale... plays guitar. Short hair and a mouth like Pete's. And this man's dance left me behind in a whirlwind of notes, chords, and Metallica.

This man teaches me guitar. He's very cool despite the fact that he's never heard of the Velvets, Television, or my beloved 13th Floor Elevators. I didn't have my boyfriend teach me guitar because he's a distraction. I swear, every time he even tried to teach me guitar I couldn't concentrate. This guy, however, knows how to keep my attention despite his cuteness. 

Haha... Just wanted to say that I've found another Townshend. I found a legit one. Not some bagger at the grocery store that looks more like Coffin Joe instead of Pete.

Close to the Frozen Borderline.

Nico is haunting me. Everywhere I turn, through sheer insanity or otherwise, I see her and her willow build. I see her flaxen hair. I see her eyes penetrating me and dissecting everything I do. The scientist is now the subject in my mind. 

Her heart of doom, her body, her mind is no longer. I see it in others. I see it in my boyfriend as the days go on. I've known the boy for two years almost, and now he seems less like what I saw him as. This is good,  but maybe concerning. His eyes, once quietly somber and icy, much like hers, are now widening, looking more frightened, more like a deer in headlights.

I see her forbidden ways in the shadows of my mind. My mind is facing the wind, I am trying to find the meanings of everything in the world through dark, shady streets. I see her child-like innocence in the dark eyes of a man forty-one years old. This man is too innocent for the time. I see his eyes dance across the room, sparkling, shining, smiling the kindest smiles, laughing at the stupidest jokes just because. People like this man are just living in dreams of beauty and love. They sail away into things once possible, but cease to even be fathomed by anyone slightly logical.

Maybe I'm just nostalgic about things sure to never come back. Maybe I am insane, but I feel Nico, throwing her songs up in the air. I see her enigma that she left for those few worthy to solve. Maybe she wasn't even that enigmatic... maybe she just wanted to runaway and to everyone she met, tell them a different story. Her kind, well-meaning case of Pseudological fantastica left everyone that knew her and know of her in this constant state of wonder. Was that her goal? Did she purposely lie to make everyone always think about her? Was she that diabolically vain to come up with such a brilliant plan? Maybe, or maybe her past just ruined her.

Well if that was her goal, she succeeded. She is haunting me against her will. I see her in the boy I love. I see her in the man that is in the shadows of my mind. I see her in my mind. Or maybe I'm in an endless Carolian dream world, under a watchful eye, in a maze within a maze. Maybe this world is of the Queen of Hearts, or maybe I forgot what a dream was. Seeing that I've possibly forgot what a dream was, I find a dream, a fantasy. This fantasy is Nico. I am again the scientist with a theoretical microscope that is being abused and insulted by a fairylike subject that I can't help but bow to on the Sabbath. Nico is haunting me. Everywhere I turn, through sheer insanity or otherwise, I see her and her willow build. I see her flaxen hair. I see her eyes penetrating me and dissecting everything I do. The scientist is now the subject in my mind. 

                                                               

            That's Nico crica 1956

If I Could Walk Away From Me...

I had a very good day today. It was magical. I slow danced for no particular reason to "Candy Says"by the Velvet Underground and "My Funny Valentine" by Nico with my beloved. We were listening to some mixtape I jacked from Jean-Marie, I guess he made it for his girlfriend and when they broke up she gave him all the stuff he gave her back. It had all these love songs on it. And they were all really slow and lovey-dovey. It was really sweet because after some French ballad, "Candy Says" started and it got all mushy between Pauler-Bear and me.

He, though he pretends to act all cool and distant, is such a mushy, emotional sap. And I really like that.

Saps are OK... Really OK. Like totally amazing. Like the greatest, coolest, bestest people in the world. 

I Give You My Blessing.

So, there's this blog that has absolutely no followers other than me and one other person. This blog is 

bowtiemagazine.blogspot.com

Chalee, the owner, has featured me on the blog twice. One interview, and one little bit about my club. Check it out and follow it even! Also leave a comment or two on my interview, which should be the most recent post. 

Teenagers Are Stupid. (Prepare for a Gross, Gynecological, Realistic Post)

Why am I discriminating against myself? Because it's true. The general population of teenagers are fucking dumbasses. Yes, I do stupid things, but not as stupid as not putting on a condom right or at all.

"Oh I can't get pregnant on my period." "Oh he'll just withdraw before he comes." "Oh we can get married and live happily ever after." Those are all myths.

1. Yes. You can get pregnant on your period.

2. Sure, that could work. But what about the pre jizz that comes out to lubricate the penis? That contains too semen.

3. No. Having a baby will not save or help your relationship. It'll most likely destroy it. Take Sara Palin's daughter. She was engaged to her baby daddy but they broke up.

Why are my peers so stupid that they would ruin their lives with, and I'm being excruciatingly blunt, a parasite that drains you of everything? Why can't my peers do something as simple as put on a condom right? Why must they risk everything by not using a condom at all?

Uh yeah... I know quite a bit about that birth control, babies, sex, and the anatomical side to all that stuff. And yeah it's weird, but if writing doesn't work out, which it without a doubt won't I'm going to go into gynecology, preferably preforming abortions. Because a few months ago, on May 31, George Tiller, MD, was killed by anti-choice radical Scott Roeder for providing late-term abortions (abortions after twenty-one weeks) at his clinic.

George Tiller was operating one of only THREE women's health clinics in the USA that provided late-term abortions. And he was murdered by people that couldn't just live with the fact that abortions were being preformed for women who needed them.

George Tiller's death affected me and the way I think greatly. Because of him, I find a calling to open my own women's health clinic, preferably on the south side of Chicago (those crazy racialists would never go down to the ghetto), that provides late-term abortions. I am willing to risk life and limb for that cause, even though I'm a cowardly, whiney, complainer.

OK, enough with the weird random vag talk.