Saturday, August 23, 2008

wanted.

a fresh start. a little life. a pretty home. friends, conversation, food.

"i am inclined to babies and bed and brilliant friends and a magnificent stimulating home where geniuses drink gin in the kitchen after a delectable dinner and read their own novels and tell about why the stock market is the way it will be and discuss scientific mysticism." -Sylvia Plath

minus the babies.



things here feel muddled. feel stale. weighed down with too many Hims. oh, what a mess i've made. i think i've worn out my welcome in wisconsin.

so denver here i come...back.

perhaps my life is going to be an eternal string of failed attempts at fresh starts. this is a risk i am willing to take.

get me outta here.

Dear bloggers,

No one is going to read your posts if they are novel length regurgitations of your day.

Yours truly,

Manda

Saturday, August 16, 2008

vodka




me: drinking alone, does that make me a cool person or a really cool person?
john: it makes you an alcoholic.
me: yeah but that wasn't one of the options. it was either cool or really cool.
john: but what it makes you is an alcoholic.
me: i'm just going to say that you said cool.
john: you stole this bit from stephen colbert...you alcoholic.

Friday, August 15, 2008

dickinson.

i was thinking today. sitting cross legged on my coarse carpet sifting through old poems. old prose. old thoughts and words and rhymes. i was thinking about why it was so much easier then. why it is so difficult now.

i used to have this sort of dickinsonian naivety. uninhibited in my innocence. crisp white sheets. and when things happened. bad bad things. i filed them as insignificant and tucked them away. washed. pressed. folded. clean again.

i cannot pinpoint the turning point. but i know it is like that moment. that moment when the first boy breaks your heart. one that was not worthy of you to begin with (and i mean truly, truly unworthy.) and in your depravity you know that if he called you, you would rush to his doorstop. you would put your little head into his horrible chest. and you would beg forgiveness for things you did. not. do.

i find no poetry in moments so pathetic.

perhaps this is why dickinson never left her house.

Wednesday, August 13, 2008

Pluma



The Pluma Lucy headband. Have to have it.


Tuesday, August 12, 2008




smile, you have no grasp of the english language.

Sunday, August 10, 2008

i got that way

that i used to get today. no, no, not the scary sad, not that way.

the way where my skin itches so badly that i cannot stand being inside of it and i have to get out. have to get out. have to get out.

and it is not rational. for a girl to wish she was a snake. so i hop in the shower and i scrub.

he said: i could tell you you're beautiful. i could tell you you're smart. i could go on and on about your wit and your intellect and all of that hair. i could. but you would distrust every syllable. and i will not be distrusted for something i didn't do.

but all i could say was: something you have not done yet, you mean.

so he shook his head. he placed a notebook on the table.

why don't you write anymore? he asked on his way out the door.

Saturday, August 9, 2008

Marriage and babies.

I suppose it is fitting that my trip home to Utah seemed to be mostly about the above topics.



Mr. Krew Jaxzen Staheli. I wish I lived closer so I could babysit and read him bedtime novels.

(You are never too young for literature.)

I do admit that a tiny romantic part of me fancies that perhaps he will fall in love with Miss Eden.

Friday, August 8, 2008

Tarot.



I am selfish in love and too materialistic. Also, I carry burdens and do not allow love/emotion to flow freely in my life.

However, it could be worse; I could be a foolish hermit who is stabbed to death in an empty life, right Kay?