I woke up in a closet.

How to Flutter.

A classmate and I collaborated on a project where we created a game that would write a poem using Twitter, six people,  a single die and birth order.

We used the word ADVICE to come up with six other words: Addiction, Death, Voyeur, Itching, Celibacy, and Eczema.  She chose the first three words, I chose the last.  We swapped words so that I had the first three and she had the last, then we each made a list of at least six different tweets using the individual word as a trend.  With our six piles of six tweets or more, we went to class.  Depending on birth order (oldest to youngest), we chose who got to roll the die first to determine which word they would get (1-Addiction, 2-Death, 3-Voyeur), etc.  Then from youngest to oldest, we cast the die to determine which number the tweet would be for the first stanza.  For the second stanza, we reversed the die-casting order from oldest to youngest, and so on until we had six stanzas then a tercet until we had created something like a Sestina.

And the result:

@websites I’d have thought you were into voyeurism:)

New post: Meth is Death

Dear eczema: go away. Thanks

In another dimension, with voyeuristic intention,

I have another addiction. I have a beard.

My face has become immune to itching.

Temporary celibacy doesn’t count as celibacy—that’s a dry spell.

Just had sex. Im officially on top. Sorry I cant be

Packing, wrapping stuff in newspaper gives me eczema

on my voyueristic little cherub hard at work.

Being with out the internet for the past 3 days has made

Itching the crotch

Death to all the ppl that juss unfolowwed

Bad promotional ideas—Sylvia Plath doll complete with mini oven,

Scratch n Sniff eczema booklet, Pop up book on erectile dysfunction.

Losing to a bad addiction of buffalo chicken wing pizza,

I am now living a life of celibacy, Motherfuckers

Pitching, pitching, itching. Hash abuse!

Demonic In clinical psychology, voyeurism is the sexual interest in or practice of

Eczema. I didn’t miss you

ITCHING MY ASS, doing whatever it took to break free

from pornography. Temperature voyeurism must stop.

Prolonged celibacy can cause issues relating to ppl.

So if I have sex I won’t hate all of humanity.

Death to polo boos.

Myspace used to be an addiction.

Death to the bitch that crosses my path.

How did you happen to see your neighbor having sex?

My genital Itching is Getting Better Guys, TY for asking

Celibacy→a fool-proof way to avoid potty-training!


Im already itching for another

catbook w/out a pen is, a pack of cigarettes w/out a

Voyeur in a really awkward dude’s life haha

Officially one day strong in my celibacy

How is the eczema on your thumb at the moment?

Did you know according to the Bible

Eczema can eat my dick. Taking up celibacy—gonna try to grow that hymen back.

Death is the next  step, after life, I mean. Ah! Emphatic denial, the first sign you have an addiction.

Favorite new saying after sex: are you itching?

The best way to read it might be to cut and past the entire poem into Text Edit on a Mac and have the automated voice read it to you.


Remember that scene from Garden State where he’s drinking with his old high school friends?

I am currently sitting at my dad’s laptop (which is currently positioned in the same place that my family’s old desktop with its Office Max cookie-cutter computer desk always was) reading Pitchfork and listening to a Giants game.  I haven’t read Pitchfork or overhead a Giants game since my Freshman year in college.  That was the only other year I made it home for the Fall.

Last night Julie and I went to O’Lacy’s — possibly the only bar in Batavia that was ever hyped up enough for me to want to go to it.  Our High School chemistry teacher was there.  He was chewing tobacco and spitting into a plastic cup.  Apparently he has his first baby due in a few weeks.

Perhaps for old time’s sake, perhaps just because this is what we always do when we’re together in a public setting in Batavia, Julie and I crouched next to each other pointing and laughing at most of the people in the bar.  Later on when Julie left, I went to T.F. Brown’s with Michael and a few others.  Upon realizing that the band covering Beatles songs and the crowd of Batavia High graduates was too much to handle, I followed Michael outside to smoke a cigarette.  I didn’t have a lighter so I walked over to a table that seemed to be filled with strangers.  The girl closest to me who I decided to ask was wearing a pair of gray fleece sweatpants and had her hair in a pony tail.  “Yeah, what’s your name?” she said.




“You called Caitlin Hayes fat.  That’s not cool, she had a baby.”

“I don’t remember calling her fat, actually.”

“Here’s my lighter.”


I returned to my table and tried to focus on things like how my Jack and ginger ale tasted sort of like a blow pop.  I also tried to think about how despite the horrific encounter that I had to endure with the patron saint of Caitlin Hayes, I was drinking something that was half the price of what I would be buying in New York.

Tomorrow I go back to Brooklyn.  I’m hoping that my flight gets in on time so I can make it to the only class I have that subtracts a letter grade for each absence.  That’s right, the small press class at Pratt does that.

Live from Batavia, it’s Saturday evening.
November 7, 2009, 11:03 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized | Tags: , ,

Thursday night I arrived in Buffalo around 10 p.m. after taxiing at JFK for an hour.  While on the runway, the passenger next to me pointed out a burning aircraft with two firetrucks trying to extinguish the flames.

Friday I helped Julie with some sweeping and such at the gallery before her opening.  The Needle & Groove was incredibly successful, totally worth the flight back to see a very good friend’s work on display.

I finally told my parents that I’m planning on traveling for a month after graduation.  I also talked about moving out of my apartment.  The prospect of both of these things seemed fine with them.

I bought a ton of dresses from salvation army that I’m going to hem right now.  Bye.

See ya’ll Monday.
November 5, 2009, 7:08 pm
Filed under: Uncategorized


Tonight I’m flying to Buffalo so I can make it to Julie’s gallery opening and to a few Doctor’s appointments.

Remember the time:

At some point in this blog (I got lazy searching for the exact post), I wrote about how sad it is to look in your closet and see an item of clothing that was purchased with lofty expectations of its fit and compliment attraction.  I explained how it’s kind of sad to see it and know that it’s never been worn.  Out of that sadness, I pull the dress — sweatshirt, whatever — out of the closet and wear it around just because I feel bad for the inanimate object.

So I thought about my blog and how I hadn’t updated it in awhile.  Rather than start out with how bummed I am that I’ve been “neglecting” it like it’s some kind of writerly duty, I thought I would round up some other blogs whose writers think “I should write in this more often.”

Here’s an example of the vague, but probably philosophical at the time it was written, “I should stop resting on my nonexistent laurels and do something with myself” sort of post.

This guy hasn’t written since 2007.  Because he’s been making money!  You don’t really need a Xanga if you’re making money.

It looks like this entry was the first and last for this gamespot.com user.  He/she is self-conscious of the fact that they will be publishing their “first official” journal entry on The Internet, but this doesn’t keep him/her from saying “Christmas is cumming.”

And of course, I’ll end with the practice makes perfect “shoulda coulda woulda” entry.


I don’t know if I’ll write more.  I just landed on the other side of the annual hump in the year where I think that I want to drop out of my expensive art school to be a window washer in Seattle, and one of my co-workers gave me a pep-talk about writing about what I’m interested in.

This is what I’m interested in:  eating oatmeal cookie Ben and Jerry’s Ice Cream and watching Jon Hamm seduce women.