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Well crud, I missed another month completely. Now I am holed up riding out this harsh North Carolina winter (it is 40 degrees and raining right now! that's cold right?).

Today I have to do an entire research project. I honestly haven't even decided what to write about, but it's due at 3:30 tomorrow. Power of prayer etc.

Yeah, I really need to hop to it. Also I have learned some things in this first week of my meds; I am allergic to cats, and my roommate's cat likes my room and knows how to jump against the door until it opens and then curl up ON MY FACE. Is this a normal this for a cat to do? At least I can fake illness easier when I am constantly in tears from the cat dander.

I wish I had more to say but my time allotted for blogging has run out. BBL YALL!

"nights of pleasure"

I have been thinking (again) about how my aesthetic perceptions are warped by staring into a light display most days. No wonder I can't make meaningful art. I've been feeling mostly all right though.

Today I have to find my debit card and do a huge pile of homework. I am going to try to take more walks. Today I plan to walk to Chubby's Tacos and eat dinner by myself.

Regarding this video: I'd hit it (and you know you would too, slur).

"oh you nasty boys"

Hello friends!

Thank you for thinking about me sometimes. What am I doing right now? Oh! I am so glad that you asked!

Yeah, nothing. Should I cut my hair?

I have been praying intermittently to the various energies in the area that they would coalesce into something that could help me clean my room. It may have worked; perhaps it was this ethereal being that whispered in my ear as I slept and inspired me to get a rack for my clothes and some storage buckets for my "important papers" and some shelves for my books and to throw away a bunch of things that I guess were trash.

I have a crisis about once a semester at around this time, and luckily this year I think I managed to have the bulk of it over the weekend. In my blue period I would be on the road to school, and then I would have a panic attack and go shopping instead. And then I would do the same thing several days in a row. And then I would cry and my professors would say that it was ok. I think the fact that I don't do this anymore means I am becoming an adult, in some sense of the word.

Oh no, I didn't mean to "get real" w yall!!! I HOPE U WERE READY!!!

I made a sister/brother blog on tumblr if yall want to read it.

Also, I wanted to add this to my Aretha post:


Also, because why not, here's this:

Bear with me yall, it's been an Aretha Franklin day.







Watching these just makes me think of all of the times I've watched someone really belting a song (or trying, rather) and feeling like they are screaming for no reason. Aretha does it with real feeling, and her voice gives me shivers.

Like I said, compare/contrast with this video. Mariah you know I love you, but you are a diva for my generation. What I mean by this is, like the America of the 90s you are soulless. (Aside: is this why Beyoncé is so compelling, because she has made herself into some sort of holographic post-diva?). Poor, poor Mariah. Her new singles are simultaneously fabulous and profoundly sad. (Y U SO OBSESSED W ME?) (I WANT 2 KNOW WHAT LUV IS!!!)

It's a new semester already. I am trying to recognize that for the rest of my life I will not deserve a summer vacation ever again, and that it is OK that for the first time I did not have one. Went on a soul journey pilgrimage to Dollywood, a little slice of paradise nestled between her mountainous titties. I rode a roller coaster that turned me upside down in exhilarating ways, and then slept in a haunted house. Then I went to Mexico.

I am already having an existential crisis at school. My professor photocopied my in-class writing as an example for the class, along with a bunch of other admittedly shitty paragraphs. While she critiqued most of the writing pretty harshly, she talked about mine last and said that, while it wasn't perfect, it was one of the only adequate responses. Still, I can't help feeling weird when I am the only white person in the course and the professor is holding me up as what my fellow students should aspire to. Isn't that one of the reasons that HBCUs are important, to be a place where minority students can feel what it's like to be a majority for once? It makes me feel like an intruder, like I am in a space where I do not belong.

I have given this plenty of thought in my time at this school. In most ways it is a very positive thing for me to be enrolled at NCCU. I pay my full tuition, which opens up financial aid for other students who have to have it to be able to attend college. I get an experience similar to what minority students must experience at any other college; when I look around a classroom I mostly see faces that do not look like me. However, my experience is completely different. Instead of being dismissed and silenced, when I do speak up in class my words still carry the privilege accorded to white people in America. I have had opportunities far beyond those of my fellow students; the poems we were discussing are by Natasha Trethewey, a poet I actually got a chance to meet at Governor's School. And while I take pride in the fact that I know enough to write a perceptive essay about black women's experiences, it also feels weird to be publicly commended for it in front of a group of them who a professor has just told that their writing is woefully inadequate. Yall, I am 23 and yall are all 18. If it takes you 6 years to finish your undergrad degree, I bet you'll be able to write a pretty solid Freshman English paper too.

Whoosh, apparently I had SOMETHING TO SAAAYYY.

Also, Ellie Greenwich died. To Ellie: thank you, for writing songs so beautiful and true.

This is my fortieth post. I mean, that's pretty good, right?







I finally found some quality images of Joseph Cornell's assemblages with parrots. These resonate so much with me, I'm always so amazed that they exist. I'm working on some kind of art thing; I think it's going to end up being a zine. I know that's tired, but I'm going to do it my own way, at my own pace. This means it will never be finished.

Anyway, I'm working on a few poems that may eat each other and some collages. Also something to do with Rimbaud in Africa and queers as participants in imperialism. There's something interesting about the way homosexuality was being constructed and its definition constricted as Europe attempted to annex the entire world. I need to reread Zami/Audre Lorde, my plan is to write my own biomythography. We'll see. I am hoping that it will write itself once the momentum picks up, but pshh.

The thing happened again where I went vegan and within two weeks I was eating both dairy and meat.

I am going to Dollywood, and then on to Mexico. It's finally summer.

My motherfucking guinea pig died. Her name was Princess. She lived a mostly fine life. The highlight of her day was when I fed her not only compressed pellets of hay, but also some actual dried grass. The best days were when I cleaned her cage.

Lots of stuff is up in the air, it is like mercury is in retrograde again, but all of my horrorscopes/whoreoscopes are A+∞+. I feel that I used to know what I wanted to change about my life, but now I'm just sort of lolling (LOLing?) about stoned at the crossroads (have been here for like 4 years now?)

I am auditioning some new girls for the spare room tomorrow. I'll keep yall posted.

I want a husband who will sing songs like this to me.