English 111
Experimental Writing Seminar / Charles Bernstein
Spring 2011



edited collaborations here

compiled by Hannah


You have a fair amount of choice

Fair like this day

And her hair in the breeze

And the ferris wheel

Moving round and round in the hollow

Of my chest


I’ve been feeling so tired

No one makes me feel young anymore

But the smell of spring

And I think that I’ll try again


I’m not asking for much,

Just a couple

Of pages will do


I tied my worries

Into a bundle of old letters

And lost them in your high tide


Sometimes input is Just Data


Sometimes it’s the World


Words do not belong to us

It’s about how we use them

What I’ve learned—here at least—

You can’t fail

But I’ve also learned—in my years—

Don’t be afraid to try


Vague stanzas sound significant

Specifics can sound righteous

I sound pretentious


So much depends upon

Writing, writhing, wringing

Words and not spaces,



Pick me up and put me in you red wheelbarrow

Sprint through the yard with me

Pitched forward on its thick rubber wheel

I’ll sing you a poem

Wrapped up in geist and frosted flakes

Until I tip out

Onto the muddy, wheel torn, grass


“Why would you feel bad?”

you snap at me,

defensive not wanting to hear

so I don’t, for you

and I think about

lying on the bamboo, out in the forest


What is life, but an


Stretched to fit our words?


You are a watchmaker

You see the beauty in my parts.

You understand that broken is

A testament to tried and true

You mend me, because you know I am worth your time


What is sense?

Truth, resonance, something inarguable, or

Something that’s already been said

And agreed-upon?


Sense? No.


Not nonsense

But it does exist in

 A relationship of non-sense


I don’t get why everyone is trying to tell me

What they think I think (or feel).  I think they

Think they know what I feel because they

Feel like they’ve seen me like this before.

But I think they’re

Idiots.  I do what I want…


Sometimes there is nothing to say

It’s fun when those times fall

On Valentine’s Day


Maybe I’m out in left field

But, then nothing

Except baseball and shortstops

And unanswered questions


Mean anything to me

When your boyfriend manages

To convince you that

Valentine’s day is just

A hallmark holiday

You turn to baseball

For men who chew seeds,

Grip bats,

Run through the

Bases, making balls fly

And crowds grow wild

Like sunflowers along the fence


I gave you a weed rose

On Valentine’s Day.

Last year.

You liked that.  I wonder

If I knew everything back then.


It has a personality.

I wonder if it’s

Better than mine.


I wish I could fold into your laugh lines

They cradle life like an infant

And blow miraculous wonders into pruned toes


Habitual ordering of words,

Hypothetical suggestions, a prescription

For the neurons of the interlocutor to follow


I didn’t know what was going on

in Egypt.

I own a TV.

But it won’t tell me how to see it.


Why is it that things happen all at once,

Or nothing happens at all?

Is it in the stars? Based on the tides?

The rising & setting of the sun?

I wish I could control it more

And I’m not even a control freak


I wish I could snap my fingers & be with you

Across an ocean in milliseconds

# dream on


control oceans, control TVs

control revolutions, evolutions

Egypt, snap, no control


I’d like to float

Over the many squares

That have cradled



I called you sporadically for three weeks asking you to be my friend.

You seem to have forgotten the moments in your blue box car.

I sat behind the wheel trying to learn stick shift

You the teacher in the passenger seat

The greatest lesson you ever taught me was

To let go.


Tramping through fallen boughs and

Scrapped leaves, my boot skids

On a loose rock, and my feet slide out.


As it Got Caught in my throat

I contemplated keeping it there

Snug and tight

It seemed to fit

Like a glove


Just read something that has the potential

To change my perspective on life.

For today at least.

Tomorrow I’ll probably need another

4pm wake-up call.


I don’t think we’ll know what made you so quiet

You are your own secret

You never told us

And you’ve said much more with your silence


There’s a certain slant of light

On the parking garage and

On winter afternoons that

Make cars drive slower

And freeze.


The fuel a thick jelly in the engine

For the moment before it starts

You wonder if you’ll have an

Excuse to stay home

At last


We can both explore

The insides of your

Mind, where you

Cook high-tech language. 



compiled by Lily


You know father time?

He measures the strands of white hairs

The number of missing teeth

But he needs to spin counter clockwise

To keep up with my inner child.


What if all clocks spun counter-clockwise

Would we count down to noon or New Year?

And would the years go in reverse?


The hands on a clock are always running


I wish I could them but I know

I’m not supposed to.

I wonder what I’d so if I one day

Caught up?


Clocks are weird

Who uses clocks?

Time is weirder

That’s my cue


What comes in spaces

Leaves space

Because you know

You did it,

Didn’t you?


The ice in my mold

Has melted, leaving

Hollow spaces, your

Impression intact


The mountain is

Sturdy, durable, solid.

But time and erosion

Will have the last say.


Are when I see the thick vines

Granlery through the reins

Consuming the minerals and breaking down

The work of people long ago

I feel relieved that nothing lasts forever


Even time won’t last fore er-

Odd time might


Why can’t we love without complications

Or without heaviness?

Or without restriction.


Should have kept my coat

It looks so hazy and warm

I’ve been complaining

For months


The words aren’t coming easily

They filter through


Language failure


Maybe language fails when you see it,

Like a preview of thoughts

If you say or hear something out loud

You can’t pretend it didn’t happen

Or you didn’t see it

Words aloud are real


Buy Coke

Bye Coke

Hello advertising










Can’t be here

Too much longer

Too much time

Passing the time


The people are

Represented by

Two, or more


It’s weird to see past thoughts

On paper, like someone watched

Me thinking them before


Amnesia is necessary at times

Because memory is a burden

Remembering thoughts would require

Owning them


Dn’t gv m

Ny f yr



Maybe all men got one big soul everybody’s a part of, all faces are the same man.

-Grapes of Wrath

(wait, can I quote someone in this collaborative poem?)

If not, I offer you this: I need to leave.  There is so much more

Than this, that which we pretend to know.


There are many things that crack under pressure

Egg shells, walls, the earth beneath our feet

Don’t fall in.


Grapes of wrath and dust

Bowls over through plain

And Japanese roll


The quietest person in the room always

Suffers the most scrutiny.

Or maybe!

It seems like agony because the spotlight is

So infrequent.


I sleep at my house

But my home is everywhere

It’s good to be home


compiled by Henry


Why does spring hurt so much?


So Much happier

in shorts and t-shirt

that's scary


The weather is mocking me.

all i've wanted is sunshine

and on such a dark day

it arrives.

why do they say everything happens for a reason?


Everyone suffers in their own way

because suffering is relative.

Suffering is relatives


relatives, oh what suffering

they manage to cause

both with their presence

and with their absence


listening to katy perry

in class – springtime dream

i took this class & i liked it


I am calm for the first time in weeks.

the unhinged door is aligned with the stars.

My breath is sleeping soundly

in the crib built in my lungs


I need to allow myself

a breath; it's so much

nicer to breath when

the air is warm.


Is the weather

a placebo? Maybe

but I'm smiling


Brain Broken

By Pack of Wild Cigarettes

News at eleven.


If you go to parties

dressed as a panda

then you can be

party panda.


Do the British say "Brilliant" as often as they say it on TV?

I didn't notice

But then again I was too busy trying to find the love of my life

on a train.



How naïve!


When time flies I love you

work hard, play hard

April showers bring the wrong side of the bed


keep your eye on the prize

or you won't play to win

my heart stops when the sun is shining


if life is a journey

i cant decide how long I've been on it for

but i always hope for something to shift my path


a boulder in the way and there's

no way around

if i were a boulder

my life could be a round of

songs or alcoholic beverages


more drinks, more songs more

stones. saturday night fever

and I'm just heating up.


$20 for a week of alcohol?

I'm paying up. I gotta be

efficient so I can dress the boy

in a leopard bra.


If you say you want me to

find what I'm looking for,

and you're open to anything that happens,

you should mean it.


Data minds yield data mines

min your own damn mind


I feel hyperlinked

hypertactical drill sergeants

carpet-bombing brain stems


room temp w/ a breeze

thats all i needs


you know what happens when I google my name?

when I google "Sarah"?

the first hit is the Wikipedia page for Sarah Palin.

Sarah fucking Palin.

What a disgrace.

we see this paper pad going around

And perhaps something comes to us when its across the room.

But then you forget it.



How much of excitement lies in anticipation?

is waiting half the fun? all?

if life is one big waiting room

you better put down the magazine.


trying to remember to appreciate what I have

trying to be "grateful"

and think things could be worse


only makes me more cynical than ever


maybe you can read my mind,

though I'm not sure

where you learned to

read in stars


I miss the suction sound of your ear

against the speakers of old phones

with the chunky buttons

set up by the door

plugged in under the hat box dresser

the notepad and credit union pen

all ready to take down messages

for my parents


sometimes you just need

to turn down the volume

and enjoy the white noise.

Its the little things that

are hard to hear or



I miss the silence in between our voices


the people who get stuck in the

mire of my life are

glad to have gone missing


note to self: add mire, admire, a mired, red mid


that night we were reckless together

you left your seed of doubt in me.

we should have used a condom.


compiled by Sarah


I hate spring. Winter forever! Grim, frosty, ice.

I hate winter. Three months

Is too long to feel depressed.

Three long winters

Too depressed for spring

Frosty months ice hate

Not going to have any more snow

Tried to build an [igloo?] in the backyard

Had to use a tarp for a top

We were always a grey slush

Somewhere between a liquid

And a [dehition?]

Our cold stiffness

Thaws in the warm,

We breath of March.

Yes the wet breath of March

Down my neck as I trudge along

March is the black hole of

The year.

Confusion and delusion

Until we are finally free of

The [grey?] days

And also I don’t feel like talking today.

I guess I’m the only one who likes winter

I miss snow, I’ll take it over rain

And I hate spring

I wish there were only three seasons

Vivaldi might agree

Time doesn’t belong on a wrist

Or a wall

Or a dresser

I want to capture it

And turn it upside down

I love winter! I feel like a need to go to Siberia in the summer

To hibernate until it gets cold again.

I agree that March sucks.

When I made my Twitter account I used the last name “Davidov”

Because that’s what my friend imagined my Russian name to be.

Though now I know there were 3 Dadidovs of note, including one who

Was a Soviet soldier in WWII. He was awarded the Hero of the Soviet Union.

In any case, I really liked Lily’s free-write.

We’re all constraining

Our speech today

Sometimes, around

2:00 pm I realize

I haven’t spoken

All day.

What does that feel like?

On my way to the train

I talk to myself

Sing [?]

Practice accents

I say thank you to the driver

In return for the green slip

Of person that let’s me on the El

And then I spend hours trying

To explain grammar which is

Impossible to do without opening

My mouth—grammar is a spoken

Friction was I born to speak?

I feel guilty for feeling these days

Because I feel like I should be doing

This is why I miss driving alone

Wind whipping through cracked windows,

The cold air scratches my temples

Walking my skin

But Justin Bieber is an amazing cliché

He’s a walking cliché

His songs are so silly

This verse is meaningless

I’m uncharacteristically argumentative today

Last night I was characteristically introspective

Or something

Achieving the duality that I’ve learned to create

Between opened and closed

Happysad quitloud asleepawake

I think oddly, it’s like the changing of the seasons

Today is hot not wet dampwindy brightgray

I suppose we’re all transitioning

Transitioning days, weeks, months

Seasons-February to March

Melting into each other like rain

On a grey day in Philadelphia

Gone with the Wind, Lawrence of Arabia, Cleopatra…these are all

Epics I have yet to see.

“Poetic” words: feel, sweet death, virgin snow, flowers (roses) swaying in the gentle wind that smells of peonies (that wasn’t a word)

LOVE, HATE, this is what moves us?

Or is it what’s in the middle?

When I got back to my room

Today, my picture frame had

Fallen on my floor—glass

Shattered and scattered.

Shattered and scattered.

Family and friends no longer

Protected. What does this mean?

If you’re in a great mood

With a nice cup of tea

Wearing your favorite sneakers

Why is it still raining outside?

So comforting—the rain,

Your tea, your sneakers

Like a new haircut

And why is it still raining

Who knows what we really want?

Is memory eternal a real thing?

I can think on my own

Thank you very much.

Why did you always make

Me feel like I couldn’t.

I want you to know I’m

Not thankful for anything

That has anything to do

With you and your thoughts.

Give credit where it is do

But don’t when it doesn’t

This is the thing we are

Trying to figure out

Not being free of influence

Not being free of ourselves

I’m totally drained

It’s hard to write and have

To keep so much track of

So many words from so many

Moments at once. The

Ink in my pen is flowing better,

I thought it was broken. This

Is good.

I have a quota

Too many words

To understand

On Sunday something seemed so hopeful about light blue

Not it’s dingy, grayish

And it’s oppressively hot in here

Hard to make friends when all I can think

about is I’m melting

I’d like to have a real conversation though

Rather than fleeting words and chuckles


The wind came up

He set the sprinkler

Near my open window

And my desk soll

When this stream of water

My drawer still does not close

All the way what

Does this mean?

The other day, a wise man told me

Told me that people used to die

By sneezing.

They’d walk into the street

And sneeze for the first time

And that’d be it.

There is a fine line between smiling and laughing

When I smile I feel like I am in control

I prefer smiling on the inside

So only we can see

It’s really something to see a big,

Beautiful, tooth-ful smilke fade

Slowly to the straight line our

Mouths are when no one’s


Kind of a perfect word for so many things

What’s the opposite of fleeting


Free night. Free write.

Writing in this manner

Is so freeing, right?


compiled by Alice


Take the time

to remember

to do

the things we

don’t understand



is underrated


is easier


Can I overstate that I’m underwhelmed?

Can I undermine + oversee?

At least you understand the upside


But isn’t it the point

I mean it hurts

so isn’t that the point?


Is there something to a

“theory of everything”?

Can the universe, and all beyond

be summed up in a few points?

What’s the point?


The point is that the

answer to “why?”

is always “because.”


Sometimes the answer does not let us understand.

when you ask “why”, i say “why not?”

Must there always be a because?

Because is underwhelming

I’d rather it be overcomplicated

and make me think more and more and more

and stop asking why


A good question is most of the answer

and a good answer makes more questions

and if we look for more things to ask

we know more and be more


So much depends on...

Getting a greenlight to cross 38th street to get to class if you’re running late.

What would have happened if I had told him I loved him earlier?

The last moments of your life are tragic, stunning, intimate

And yet in movies these days we see peoples last moments all the time

we cheer when we see the enemy die.

This in unrelated

But will I ever be that to him?


I think I’ve spent too much of my life looking for a single answer

Answer E makes me doubt myself, but

maybe doubt is good when choosing all of the above.


If I knew what I know now

I’d point to the rainbow and say

I drew that for you

see it’s wrinkling in the rain


drawing rainbows

would you use the usual colors

or find a new spectrum


Circle the appropriate answer

  1. Yes
  2. No
  3. Maybe
  4. I don’t know
  5. All of the above


It’s hard to respect an online space

especially when you want to

#tag life.


Scattered attention makes us feel like

we’re getting more things done.

But really we’re just doing more things badly.


More things, more answers.

There is no right answer.

I choose D. “I don’t know.”


Scattered attention yes-

as if we have all returned physically but

our thoughts are still on their way

hopefully when they arrive, they come slowly

otherwise I’ll need another vacation


Wake up early on purpose

Tired makes an afternoon buzz

Events are heavy with extra momentum

12:00 AM 12:00 AM 12:00 AM

make up your mind, clock!

I hate indecision, at least in respect to technology

You’re supposed to be perfect.


Can I dream between snooze buttons?

Do my grandma’s days move slower or faster?

Which one of us wants to be young again

Sorry I couldn’t read the handwriting!


Bad habits take concentration

She has cried every time I leave.

She is lonely

I want to give her an imaginary friend.


My roommate told us she had

an imaginary friend named Stray Tambolean

She’s an only child

It explains a lot.


Sometimes ____ ____’s like an imaginary world

With imaginary friends

And imaginary lives

Magical realism?


The Mystic Myriad Manifold

Maneuvering Moves Me

Mindful of My Misgivings.


What’s the price of a good night?

Do you pay for it the next morning?

Or for long after?

Do you ever stop paying?


I am always paying for something:

$2.00 for coffee creamer

$10.00 for the shuttle

A penance for negative thoughts. Priceless.

What is my life- a commercial

for Mastercard?


I prefer to imagine life experience to experience,

Memory to memory, memories made in the Mystical magical manifold of my mind.

and now I am making more while the others

seem to slip away fast - I don’t remember if I had

an imaginary friend.

When I lose a memory, what am I paying for?


There was an earthquake

and people died

and I’m sorry, I really am

but I had chicken wings today



I come out of German thinking and speaking in German

Too bad I can’t think and speak German in my German class.


They say you’ve truly mastered a language

when you start dreaming in it

I hope I never dream in java


There is a giant crack in the Earth

The weather gods were playing baseball with the planets.

We got hit the hardest

They are celebrating their home run.


tectonic plate movements

are a geological thing

but I like it better

thinking of the Gods playing

baseball. I think the

Yankee could beat ‘em.


An earthquake melt down tsunami

An apocalyptic trifecta

I don’t know what to do, shake, melt or swim


When it winds back on itself

That’s when the magic happens.


How to get from my “To-Do”

to my “Done?”

I’ve never made a “Done” list.

Maybe I should.


Everyone has a someone

but my someone and I

have other someones at

the moment, and it’s not

like we ever belonged to

each other in the first place.

Does that mean we’re done?


Speaking of done, and to do,

all I keep thinking is what can I do?

I want to do something

to help the shakes and the quakes

explosions and overflowsions

and the broken hearts, and the empty hears

there is so much to do and

so much will never be done

because when we’ve done, aren’t we dead?


Poland is so cold

frozen scorched earth

maybe some closure.


I am not whole

But I am not broken

I miss you, that’s all


compiled by Olivia


You throw around heavy words

like you were the world’s strongest man

I, your boulder


Could easily be a bullet

in my Grandma’s .22

standing on the porch

firing the heads off the ground hogs

She’s small but she’s strong too

maybe stronger than you


You must be delusional

to think that I’ll wait for you

I won’t sway to your beckoning lust

I have to be earned


Why do you want to see me?

Why now?

You never wanted to know me before.

Until later at least.

Over a Blue Moon, or 3, and a salad

at the Bulldog.

Even then it didn’t feel settled.

Are you surprised I said no?


The one over there might be more impressionable though

I’d take my chances with her

Andy always said he could buy it,

I mean,

They all drink it,

It all goes down the same

Though Marilyn never digested it well


but I want to get back

to this impressionable girl

are you naïve? self-confident?

maybe it will work,

maybe not

at least there’s a Blue Moon involved


Right now I feel like Poland, 1939

Trampled and tired

WWII doesnt work in poetry



It’s still cold outside

But the sun burns bright

and my room its warm, bay

windows grab heat like a magnifying glass


“Did you find your Indies, John” Pause. “You will.”

“…I may have sailed past them.”


I felt like a Jewish father at a bar-mitzvah

trying to clap to the beat

like a bad sprinter

reaching just after the gun


as my pre-pubescent son

(he developed late, see)

gets sweaty in the horde

of 13-yr-old girls towering

over him like you tower

over her now, that impressionable Jezebel


I want to

Take you through my telescope

so we can see only what

I want to be

I see HER between us


And rather than compile a list of 365 reasons

why I love you-I

will dwell on the fact

that your list belongs

to her.


It’s easier to make not sense than make sense

there is no nonsense however

Living free from reason doesn’t help

make more sense,

Personally, I need reasons, answered for everything

Still asking Why.


There will be no answers, though.

As everything falls from the previous moment’s leap,

a question is never enough


This, of course, is noise

and this s coarse with noise

but I digress—

The squirrels are late

I must record them listening


translated by translated by translate

a rose is a rose is a rose is a rose

translated by a rose is a translated rose


my right ear won’t stop pounding

I’m experiencing an auditory heart attack

soon my eyes will cease to breathe


little lemon yellow

yellow little lemon

lemon lemon little



Our eyes are falling out

But our mouths

are too dumb to notice


Deaf and blind, dumb and willfully ignorant

we marinate in the futility of seeking answers


Deaf, in the sense that

I don’t understand French

and my right is

stil plugged


She has a network of capillaries in her

oozing with tree sap

They teach her to sparkle unconditionally


Fergie sparkling in her

football pads

is pwoof

of the power of that game

a game

any game


We play these games

like we both know the

ending of the story, but

don’t want to ruin it for the



“When I first saw her she was regarded as someone finished, lost, broken.

she seemed barely to notice the others abut her.”


Everything is arbitrary

There was no reason for us to be here right now

Time won’t ever be a reason

Everyone is scared of this

But I’m not


Not knowing what

or if I did, would it

be easier to tell you


“I told you,

He told you,

She told you,

They told you,

we told you,

it tells you.”

…you said it.


you think she’s an open book,

but you don’t know what page to turn to,

do you?


There’s a resistance

to your insistence

to open our mouths

with our ears still open too

so maybe we should close our eyes then?

That might make this easier.

But only if you insist.


You insist upon reading

the roadmap of veins

drawn on my arm, but

you already know where

they lead and how to get there


Sex is good for the knees.

You see your girlfriend this weekend,

so your knees will feel a lot better.

I don’t want to be reminded of that.


When you do see her

massage her earlobes

and whisper nice things

that will make your lives easier


I put more weight

in your sweet nothings

that in her most naked confessions


compiled by Andrea


Who can say what hasn't been said

who is to say it's worth saying

I can't remember what I've heard from

what I've thought


and that's because I've probably

already thought all the thoughts I'll ever think and

from here on out they'll

be whats rolling around in my

head like  pills in an orange bottle





like  KEATS!



I've got nothing to declare,

but you let me into this place anyway

Not quite so friendly though, I might add

Well, he is British...

And that always makes us laugh


He was probably a stand-up chap,

then and I mean that in the comedic sense

because sometimes I like  to speak in puns

and sometimes write haikus


Linen suits mark repetition

with wrinkles, meditation on movement and stillness

The boredom splits mountains,

opening wide spans between moments.


We're trying not to try

but art is not fair

so we fail

and give conscious explanations


I'm riding a unicycle down

the line between boredom and

hunger, looking for a helmet


Slouching tired in my chair,

a smell is wafting through the air

coffee bean and

dirt. I like  that.


And then it just went from there

nobody here hey anything they

really need to say and yet

we search through our minds

for something that others might find



Does it mean that I'm really ignorant if I still don't know what the hell is going on in Egypt???

“So do you take that for epilepsy or....?”

The Lone Rider of Santa Fe?

Mrs. Draper


Careful the beverage you're about to enjoy

is extremely hot

Fasten your seat belt

Mind the gap

Look Both Ways

Fill in the bubbles

Follow Directions




One month later, have you failed yet?

I've failed miserably.

Fallen so far off the path, it seems like  I always forget,

everyday I think “tomorrow.”

We know not how to make them, but it's hard to let (go)

of a hope that one day there will be no failure.


begun begone beg big brag

belie below bestow beside

bright brittle brown brick-brack

bristle brustle hustle


We beat our spoons

against the sides of

our bowls. In protest

of cereal.


We spoon our sides

against protest

our bowls beat


I just got a box

of Special K Yogurt & Berry.

It's OK.


I went with Kashi flakes & berries

it made me feel good about myself


I think British (English? Does that include Scottish, Welsh, Irish—OK, it does)

food leaves much to be desired, especially breakfast.

There were two extremes:

Muesli and yoghurt, or

3 different kinds of meat.

Everyone was shocked when all I ordered was 2 eggs & toast


Wasps and birds

carry harsh louds

Almost as many as

Frogs & toads


I'm not very tired yet, but it's only Monday.

Spiraling into the normal pattern is inevitable.

The spiral continues until, May?

But what happens after that?

That's going to be new. I'm not scared though.


Is there anything redemptive about New Jersey?

besides walt whitman and william carlos williams

and why does it inspire so many w's

and turnpikes?


Snapping jaws snag lips on hooks,

lines, swirling in eddies,

rush to straining bow


It's colloquial, isn't it?

Though the word itself

is not.


Abbreviate should be

shorter, but who

am I to say?


I'll write short

lines; cuz I like

how the page

is looking.


Stanza to stanza

line to line

verse to verse

page to page


He told me it's not dead yet,

but I might want to start planning

the funeral.

Oh wow...


Purple, royal hue

what is it about Monday?

That kings sit purple


A bizarre chance occurrence

spun threads between kingdoms:

schemes grew elaborate, binding lives and hues.


We are living in exphrastic space,

in hidden messages—

we hate them.

we destroy consumer capitalism.


I have tried to create disconnections

between A and B, a self-fulfilling prophecy

I write my own horoscopes


I never knew that the abominable snowman is supposed to be a yeti

But I guess that makes sense...

Little Rahm likes the new heater in the tank

Walt Whitman, Dick Whitman...

Is that ironic?




compiled by Alexandra



20 Questions.



is it something I keep in my bedroom,

hidden safely under my bed?


Why does light improve my mood when outside & upset

me in doors?


how can I stop myself from fucking

it up again?


why does everything always fail to

live up to expectations?


Lots of questions today.

We just talked about Existentialism in my German class today.

“Existentiulismus” How can anyone have that roll off your tongue naturally?

Is there a connection?


Are we having class next week?


Will we keep this up forever?


today has more shortlines

that’s relaxing.


If I ask a question about asking a question, does that make

me post-modern?




A Fling ends before Fling

A self-professed open end

The weather is combating my mood.


even minor changes

are changes



If I could combine the words ennui, apathy, & overwhelmed

I could sum up impending graduation

If only I had the words.


I still find it hard to take anything seriously

I wonder, at what age do you learn that skill.

I’m ok for now being unserious

And I hope it never changes.


can’t think of anything to say

i’ll probably edit this out later

for being stupid and insubstantial


Why did he have to say “Dream Weaver”?

Now that lame song is stuck in my head.

I have nothing profound to say today


Is this the 11th question?

Was that rhetorical?


I used to be mortally afraid of the

number 13. Is this the 13th question?


you should be able

to buy a google

that had search results

based on hilariousness


I don’t get why hotels skip the

13th floor – if you’re on the 14th

  1. what floor are you really on?


Suddenly the floor dropped out

and when you were there

We ate Bread and meat and

all the soap in the cupboard

and our mouths couldn’t stay clean

Because you were too filthy

and you were too Good.


Why is there always doubt in my stomache?

it pooles at the bottom

and seeps through my pores

I wonder if any one can see the ink

spilling from my belly button


hooked-on-phonic is like

crack cocaine?

reading is an extraction

I wish I could read because

I wanted to, not

Because I had to.


My gmail page thinks my e-mails suggest

Due Diligence Analysis

Love relationships

Motivational phrases

Is google mocking me?


The warm weather is weighing heavily on

my liveliness,

humidity tugs at my eyelids

would be nice to go lay in the grass

and forget the other things weighing me down


my gmail page also suggests due diligence analysis

I’m not even sure what that means

it also suggests I might need friends


I always loved Chase Utley, but now I’m not so sure

I like Roy Hallady more, but just in a “just friends” way =)

I once lived a lie

I told my friend that Chase Utley and I were having an affair

He believed me for four months.

Apparently he told this to people when he was drunk at a party.

See, these are the trivial thoughts flowing through my mind today.


Number 18

Does this count as annoying?








P     A

e      E

r      S

i      T

P     H

a      E

T     T    

e    I


I     C



I heard your name screamed.

I wanted to stop and look.

But I kept walking.

Why do I care about someone

I shouldn’t care about


I care so much about everyone

but usually from a distance,

it’s very easy to get attached

if I care too much, and

too closely.


Caring is a burden

It’s safer to be distant

my work always reflects what I am not:

Photographs: neat & tidy

Poetry: distant, ambivalent, unemotional.


4pm wake up call, I’m always waiting for you.

Showed that I care

Because she is suffering, I’m sure (I would be)

And I do not “care” for her (euphemism)

But no one deserves such suffering


I try not to care but always end up

worrying. caring about everyone else

but what about myself? rarely


Go on take the money and run


Am I too obsessed with questions?

Well, that’s number 20.


Ok. enough now.

I’ve chosen not to be

Anonymous apparently. My

pen is too loud to protect

my identity. But why would

we want to remain unknown?


It’s a different kind of MILF

when our mother gets hotter



It’s even more different

when it’s

your dad.


Someone was skipped

Oh well

The pad cycles on

I guess he is a ghost writer

For this round.


we write lone lines,

separating them so we can see

what they’d look like as

if they were strangers


This is kind of Emersonian

We’re alone among many

On our own in the masses

I want to lay down now


dreaming of dreaming

eyes closed

gotta go…






Thirteen minutes! Ahh!

The freedom of an hour between classes. What do we do with it?


We can’t do things with our time –

it doesn’t belong to us.

I choose to think we belong to it

and it does things to us


because minute to minute

we have to option to jump

up and run away with a stolen

credit card and a ham sandwich

but we never do


does the choice actually exist?

Question 21. Sorry.