it seems that nowadays that all i ever do when im not in the library studying or writing a paper i am in my room reading and writing. other than to go to class/library or go to eat i dont really leave my room (oh, or to get coffee). but the wierd thing is the lack of content or amount of writing i have done. i stay up late every night and find that i 
have done nothing productive. usually ill search around for hours online and gain nothing from it. i check my gmail and statcounter like every five minutes, expecting my inbox to say atleast 'Inbox (1)' or for there to be atleast one more visitor to my blog. niether of these situations occur very often.

in regards to what i write on; i journal everyday so i atleast get some writing in everyday. then everything else i write on normal 8.5" x 11" computer paper. i have a big stack of paper with poems, beginnings of stories, names of authors, books, movies, or music artists, ideas for poems or something to write about, potential poem titles. i need to get a notebook to write all this in. i think it would be more 'convenient' and easier to keep together. i try not to waste paper so i fit in as much as i can on a single sheet of paper so they are all over the place and sometimes i can't find things that i have written. i think i will get a molskine notebook for this purpose. i will probaly get a couple of the small bendable, pocket-sized ones to carry around with me so that i can write down ideas at all times. i think this is a good idea. another thing about my writing is that i have barely anything typed on my computer. that is why i have not posted very many things i have written. i'm not sure if it's because i am lazy or not, but i think it has a lot to do with the fact that i feel anxious about reading things i have written. when i write i usually have an idea that sparks in my head and goes only so far as a couple lines, then i kind of just let my mind take it where it wants to go from there. a lot of times it turns out bad. so i get nervous about reading it after i have written it and to type it up i feel that it
makes it 'concrete' or 'official.' there is no turning back after that point. i am doomed for eternity for writing something so bad. i realize that i am a bit paranoid and self-rightous, i think, for saying this, but it is just that way. 

i only have one more week of school until the summer. i am exciteed. maybe i'll get an extra hour or two of sleep.

this is something i wrote a couple of weeks ago. the title is from a list of potential poem titles in brandon scott gorrell's poetry book, during my nervous breakdown i want to have a biographer present. 
i really liked this book alot.


i want to take a bath in 13 gallons of warm coffee


i take a filter and hold it underneath the faucet.
it’s brown.
the bathtub is filling with a steaming hot liquid.
it excites me to look at it.
i stare at the quickly filling tub.
it will soon overflow

there are 13 gallons of coffee
lying stagnant, waiting for me to enter its warm, wet environment.
i strip down to nothing but my flesh
i slowly step into the inviting brown murkiness
it is delicious to the touch
it warms every inch of my body as i enter it completely.
i feel the caffeine seeping in to my pours
it still allows me to relax for a short moment.
it does not simulate my nerves too soon.

i lie there for an hour,
soaking in the runoff of the grinded, roasted seeds.
it is only barely, still warm.
i can now feel the caffeine flowing through my veins.
i can no longer lie still.

i stand to find that i look like a brown, leathery ogre.
all i need is my axe and a few bulbous warts.



this is something else i wrote that i sort of liked:


paper of inquisition


academia
strain on the mind
things learned
things lost
i touch the white keys with little grey letters on them
electricity is conducted through my skin
i loose my train of thought
i am exhausted
my fingers are frozen
they are numb
i no can no longer feel them


comments and criticisms are welcome.

couldn't sleep

couldn't get to sleep last night so instead of rolling around in bed for 7 hours i decided to get up and write a little. here is a sample of the fruits of my midnight labor.


can’t sleep

slumber comes and goes without warning

it doesn’t stay

when i touch the concrete wall

the roughness hurts my fingers

i imagine falling out of bed and hitting the floor

wondering if anyone would notice that i am there

lying in a puddle of my red hot blood

i am a clone

i was created in a test tube

my exact copy lies in the bed next to mine

we were an experiment

unlike me he has found his forty winks

the hum is intoxicating

the gentle sound of two fans running to keep themselves cool

the lights outside are dim

they barely pierce the darkness through the blinds

i can’t see a thing in the gloom

a mountain of kitties

kendra gave me this idea.

they never stop
meow
meow
meow
all day long they
meow

they roll over each other
climbing
climbing
all in the corner of my dining room
they don’t do anything but pile on top of one another into a mountain
they never tire
they are self sustaining
they need not food or water
only climbing

i will make this an attraction
i will charge $4.71 for people to see it
people will come to see the flowing mountain of kitties
they will come from Uzbekistan
they will ask ‘where do the cats come from?’ in an accent i can barely understand
i will say ‘i don’t know’
they will take more pictures
then they will leave


after everyone has left i cover the mountain with a sheet
i am tired of looking at it
i go to sleep

the next morning i pull off the sheet and look to find that the mountain is gone
where did they go? i question myself

i hear a knock at the door
i open it
the tourists from Uzbekistan are standing at the door
they demand to see the mountain of kitties
i tell them that it is not there anymore

they become angry
i tell them i’m sorry
they do not want to hear it

a small girl from the group runs at me screaming
she is holding a knife
i don’t move
she runs me through with the blade
but i’m not bleeding
not blood anyways

the girl pulls out the knife
i hear meowing
suddenly a cat drops to the floor
i look around wondering where it came from
another cat drops to the floor

suddenly i look down to see that the cats
are coming out of my stomach
i am going to be sick
so that’s where the mountain of kitties went i thought

the tourists pull out their cameras and snap some photos.