Prose and Cons

Okay guys, listen up. I know you've all stopped following my blog, but it's time to rejoin the throngs. Starting in January, I will be hosting (with Justine Middleton) a new fiction and nonfiction show called Prose and Cons. Are we the cons? Is Rafael the con? Are we all cons here? Who knows, but it's a crime not to have a good prose show already, right? So, the show is on World Wide Word Radio Network, basically a sister show to the Moe Green Poetry Discussion. So far we've booked Nick Flynn for January, and I'm reading some badass books sent through Norton that I think would make for good shows. So keep an ear out. I'll be posting updates here and through facebook. Especially if I can figure out how to stream the show from here (and I think I can!). Yeah, I see html thingies up near the top, so I think this will work out.

Wow, I'm pretty gross.

Wow, let me update you, blog. I've been not updating at all, and as far as the blogging world is concerned, it looks like I've been in Hong Kong a long time. Not so! I will not tell all that has been happening. Suffice it to say enough. Enough enough. Too much maybe? Maybe.

I've been thinking of updating for a while. I like to travel to my page and look at my octopus girl at the top. So in love with the giant hand that's captured her. He is probably not a giant. She is probably very small.

Here is why I'm updating now. I received an email from the editor of GUD magazine with a forwarded message from Matt Dennison saying that he found his name on my blog and wanted to get in touch. Haha, of course I made a giant fool of myself and expressed my unashamed love stalker style and added him immediately to facebook. Can we say crazy 22-year-old writer girl, anyone? Obsessed fan is easier to say, I guess.

I've only really had two fans who didn't know me first, and they both lost interest pretty quickly. Aw. I don't need fans. I have cats. Plus one of these "fans" started pushing the I-think-you're-attractive angle a little too quickly. I'll stroke your ego if you stroke my-- lol. I should use that line someday. Maybe it'll slut me up and build my rep. Ugh, I try too hard to be clever.

Anyway, what I really wanted to write about here was older men. I've discovered something important (in my forray (spelling? I have no excuse for misspelling online. Only laziness. Which seems like a wonderful excuse at the moment) into the dating world) and that is that even though I'm attracted to older men, I can't trust the older men who are interested in me. It's a catch 22. I am doomed to men my own age. No, I can find a way around it. The Annie Hall paradox line that I'm about to butcher says something about not wanted to be a part of any club that would except him as a member. The way it works here is that if any older man is interested in dating a 22 year old, there must be something wrong with him, and he then becomes undatable. Bah! I guess the secret is to just pursue the good ones relentlessly until they give in. This has been my strategy. I am the perv here, not you. But seriously, the last guy I dated was way older, and the problem was that he thought he was way smarter than I am. I would like to think this is not true (and I'm actually pretty sure I'm correct in this assessment (I'm smart, dammit!)), but either way, he's totally an asshole for suggesting it. Why do I go for assholes? Why can't smart guys be nice? It shouldn't be either/or. Somehow it always seems to be. Omar was brilliant and not an asshole. Omar was really really nice and really really smart. And he had the ability of making me feel not nice and not smart. But this was me, and not him. This gives me hope. Most other people I dated were either/or. Sorry exes. If you're reading this, then I probably don't mean you, lol.

The whole dating thing is a little ridiculous. You are a stranger, but I want you to connect with me on the deepest level. I need you to! And like me. For God's sake, like me. I am a crazy person. I have accepted this, but in accepting it, I hide less. And dating is all about hiding everything. You can't be crazy. No one wants to date a crazy person. I, Alicia Adams, am a crazy person. I have accepted this. Really, I just want someone to love me for all my craziness. Instead of despite it. Haha, in a million years I'll find this person, maybe. And for now I'll romp and roll on my own. Romp romp romp. Watch me gnash my teeth. Are you watching? Some day they'll all be drilled away, and then I'll gum your arm. Love me, I'll say, as the nerve endings circle your wrist.

In Hong Kong!

China update in the form of a letter to Omar (I just copy/pasted my email to save time). Enjoy!


How did you write a message from the plane? Blackberry? Crazy! I just woke up, a little after 6:30 AM July 5th in Hong Kong. In CA right now it's 3:30 PM on July 4th. I guess no fireworks yet. I don't know what time it is where you are or even where you sent the last email from/over. We only spent 3 hours in Korea. I get to cross sleeping-on-the-floor-of-a-Korean-airport off my bucket list. Woot! I am staying on the 34th(?) floor of a huge HK apartment complex with Ice's sister, brother-in-law, and niece. We had dinner with the whole family (which was surprisingly and amazingly delicious), Everyone is really nice. Due to a little mix up we might not be able to go to Tibet, and we're staying here for four days. The problem was the tour, so were thinking of just flying over there and doing our own thing or joing a tour once we get there. Anyway, shopping for today, visiting the giant Buddha tomorrow hopefully.

I want to tell you so much what it's like here in Hong Kong. For one thing, it's humid as shit. Like literal shit, if you were inside it. It's hot and malodorous and wet. It was raining when we got here, but it stopped. From the 34th floor I can see a giant giant crazy huge cemetery, huge apartment complexes, a port, and mountains. A lot of people speak English, so I'm not really feeling any culture shock at all. The city looks and feels different, but it's mostly the little things that catch my attention. Like, in Korea, the gendered bathrooms are designated with stick figures- one regular and one with a triangle skirt.

The main flight over was amazing in itself. I can't wait to share everything with you and have you share your trips with me. I love you! Have fun!

reading

I will be reading here along with many fantastic writers and friends.


ARTMATTERS LONG BEACH
at Tour Des Artistes 2009
Host: Devin O'Neill
Type: Music/Arts - Performance
Network: Global
Date: Saturday, June 13, 2009
Time: 5:00pm - 9:00pm
Location: The Dome Room
Street: 528 E. Broadway
City/Town: Long Beach, CA


DescriptionJoin us as Devin O’Neill hosts series of dynamic and engaging presentations about the role of art in our lives, communities, and social dialog.

After a short introduction we’ll begin with “Art and Community”—a boundary-pushing exploration of the ways art connects people together, covering conversations from a more conventional definition of communal art all the way to the presentation of a boardgame designed around the genocide in former Yugoslavia.

Our second panel, “Art and Social Change,” explores the incisive ways art can deconstruct our politics and penetrate the group mind; highlights include a presentation on art’s inherent fascism.

This will be followed by readings from some of the finest writers of the Long Beach and greater L.A area, and a short interlude of live music during which you’ll have the opportunity to peruse pieces by, and curated by, some of Cal State Long Beach’s most talented students and alumni.

-from the official press release, more details forthcoming.

http://tourdart.com/attractions.html

denver syntax

ms. adams,

wonderful work.

thank you for your submission to syntax.

i greatly enjoyed what i read and would like to include your story for inclusion into this upcoming issue of syntax, due out this week.

you will receive a notification when the issue goes live.

please, submit more work in the future. in the interim, i will investigate vulcan.

best regards,

Jonathan Bitz
Editor
syntax
www.denversyntax.com

Anthologized, yo.

Dear Alicia, thank you for submitting your work to Book by Authors.
We are pleased to inform you that your entry, titled “Watermelons,” has been selected for publication in Book by Authors: North Long Beach Anthology.
The process was truly competitive. Fewer than 30% of entries could be admitted for publication, and we received many outstanding entries. Works were selected by a panel of ten judges including published writers, community leaders and journalists. Judges selected works independently and “blind” (they did not have authors’ names). This attests to the genuine quality of your work.
Book by Authors will be published later this spring and celebrated with a Launch Party and Media Campaign. Stay tuned for your Launch Party invitation.

3- maybe I should stop pretending this is horror

Dear Alicia Adams,

Thank you for sending us "Rooster". I've reviewed the story and decided not to purchase it. It's very well written (I like the dry terseness) but, perhaps, not horrific enough for us. Please consider us in the future, however, as I enjoyed your writing and the evident control you've mustered.

Thanks for submitting, and I hope my comments have been at least a tiny bit helpful.

3- maybe I should stop pretending this is horror

Dear Alicia Adams,

Thank you for sending us "Rooster". I've reviewed the story and decided not to purchase it. It's very well written (I like the dry terseness) but, perhaps, not horrific enough for us. Please consider us in the future, however, as I enjoyed your writing and the evident control you've mustered.

Thanks for submitting, and I hope my comments have been at least a tiny bit helpful.

2

We at Necrotic Tissue received your submission: "Rooster". After
considered review by our editorial staff we have decided not to publish
your story.

Interesting slice of troubled Americana, but not the type of horror we
want to publish. Even with flash fiction, we look for characters that we
can sympathize with and a more developed plot. This is more of a
vignette and lacks the tension we seek.


Please also take a few minutes and log our response time at
www.duotrope.com. We work hard to respond to writers in a timely manner,
which allows them to submit again to another market if not selected for
publication. Reporting response times helps us attract writers and helps
writers make good decisions about where they want to submit.

Please come join us at:

The Haunt, Horror Mall's very own forum
(http://www.horror-mall.com/haunt/NecroticTissue)

MySpace (www.myspace.com/necrotictissuemag)

Stay Awhile

If you haven't read Catherine Hein's chilren's story in the LA Times, I really recommend doing so. It warmed my heart.

Dinosaur comic

Please let me direct your attention to this dinosaur comic! If you're looking at this in the future, then it's the one for April 17th, and it's about euphemisms. It came to me in synchronicity.

I am feeling really incapable. I need to do something to make me feel smart again or like a good person again. Where are my cats? I need cats!

The Death of Beep

Everything as it's meant to be.

Tibet Tibet Tibet

I should take this blog seriously.

Last night I went to Zocalo's John Fante celebration at the Hammer. I saw Fante's kids. Christa talked to them. And everyone flirted with Catherine. Haha.

I decided to go to China, Tibet, and possibly Japan (to see Fadi!) this summer. I'll also be in Washington and Oregon. Omar's going to Lebanon and Egypt. So basically we won't see each other all summer.

Finally, Tyler Dilts is having a reading for his soon-to-be novel, A King of Infinite Space. It's on May 8th, and you all should go. His blog page is listed on the right of my page, so go there for details if you want them now, but I might be posting them later. =)

Magic

The most horrifying and amazing thing just happened. I was sitting here at my computer, reading and updating my facebook status. I'm sitting at the kitchen table. Very close is the bird cage. Thre are two birds in it. One is a finch and one is a rosy bourke parakeet. The finch is named Beep and the bourke is Burt. My mom was vacuuming the seeds out of the cage. I was talking about how great it was the Beep and Burt were friends. I was talking about how much I loved Beep. He's a spunky little thing. As I was watching, Beep got sucked up into the vacuum.

It took a long time to get him out. Blood and dust and feathers. He fell to the ground, motionless. I saw taht his eyes were moving, and I tried to pick him up, but his head neck wouln't hold his head up, and I got scared. My mom picked him up and held him in her hand, cradled there. After a while she had to get back to cleaning. I held him in my room, cradled in my hand. I was crying like a fool, like I always do when an animal is dying in my hands, which has been way too often. The first time it happened, it was our bunny. I was twelve. My mom told me not to cry or I'd scare him. So I felt really bad crying in front of Beep. I calmed myself down. Then I remembered a psychic once telling me that I was a "healer." I know it's superstitious and probably silly, but you do what you can when you can. I've made myself feel better by believing that I can heal myself. I talked to Beep. I told him, "I'm going to try to heal you now." He was so still. I focused my healing energy on him (knowing this sounds crazy), but he was moving a little. Greg came home (step dad), and my mom came into my room to find Beep. He struggled in her hands. He was energetic. We put him in his cage with Burt, and he started flying around. He's sitting next to Burt right now, although he's shaking. He might still die. There's a big cut on his neck, one below his wing. He's shaking and probably has internal damage. But if he's going to die, he'd rather die next to Burt. And while I'm really sad to watch him shake on his perch right now... I feel like this is how he'd want to go.

Violence

I got into Phantom Lips, which is good. Been having body issues over facebook incident. I don't have them all too often, which is good. I've been flaking on my antidepressants because I'm destructive, and I'm remembering what little these-aren't-really-for-anything tears are like. Little stinging things that make me feel like myself. I'm not myself when I don't cry a little, and I NEVER cry on my antidepressants. Not even when I'm really upset about something. I'm writing a story. I'm about nine pages in. It's going to be long. That's what she said.

I've also been nerding out by making just-for-fun power points. If you haven't seen them yet, and you have the technology, drop me a line. Dang, tell me to start taking my pills again. It's like drinking. Like the buzz before drunk and not fun anymore. I should stop writing blogs when I'm tired. What I'm starting to realize is that I don't think the way other people think. I used to think that everyone thought the same things, but nobody talked about them. When I started to talk about them, people would get this weird contorted faces. It's just me. And that's pretty lonely.

Spring Break

Today is the first day of Spring Break. I've been celebrating by moping around in my pajamas and watching Charmed. =/

Today Omar and I are going to watch a movie. We've been really happy lately (except for a rough patch last night that wasn't necessarily his fault but made me sad). Going on a date with Omar is always wonderful- 100% chance of sunny skies.

I've been talking to Catherine lately, and it's so nice. I feel like we have a lot in common even though she's been through so much more than I've been through. Hopefully I'll be seeing her later this week.

Also, big project is a bummer, but working on it with Justine and Chance is less of a bummer. Even though Chance is a curmudgeon. Yeah, I said it. But I am looking forward to having a fun spring break.

Love to my readers.
Alicia

Fish

Edgar Allen Poe looked up at the sky and wondered why it wasn't bright with stars. If the universe is infinite, there should be a point of light for every point of sky.

When I was younger, I thought it was strange to see dead fish floating upside down beneath the surface of the water. I've seen dead fish in ponds and in the ocean. But it always seemed to me that there should be a layer of dead fish covering the surface of the ocean, rotting on top of it. I understand that fish are eaten by other fish. But what about whales? And sharks? When they're not beached on the shore, do they float along the surface of the ocean? Do they become temporary islands?

Dream

My dream involved Omar's house and family, but my disclaimer will be that they were a differenent house and family, so if you are Omar's house or family, please don't be upset.

There was a note on the wall telling Omar (who was not home yet) that it was his decision whether or not to sell the house (for $200,000). At first, for some reason, I was thinking that Omar and I could live in the house while they moved. And then I realized that wasn't the case. In which case I realized he'd be moving away and selling the house for less than a third of its probably cost. I was pretty angry. And then I realized that his family had been treating him like shit anyway- sending him to the hollocaust (which was a place). Let me explain that further. Omar had cancer at the time. They had to pick someone from the family to go, so they picked Omar, and he spend 8 years in a cell (why why why?). And then they were bossing him around as though they hadn't just sent him off to Hitler for 8 years while he had cancer. I was really really mad. So this asian woman called about the house, and I told her the situation. Okay, she was definitely Chinese. I can tell the difference, why pretend I can't? So, she was pretty appauled, but before I could finish the story, Omar came in, so I told her I'd call her back. But the phone number she gave me was half number, half website, so I could never reach her after that. I angrily explained that they wanted to move, and he decided to tell them no. But no one complained or anything, it was just decided, and that was the end of the dream.

Back to homework for me.

GUD magazine

I've been posting really abstract things lately, so let's get concrete. I am posting this because I am procrastinating. I already let myself sleep in an extra three hours, but what's the harm in a wafer-thin blog to top it off?

My poem "Deadman on the Titanic" is going to be published by GUD (pronounced good) magazine. GUD stands for Greatest Uncommon Denominator. It is my first paying publication! =)

And I've always always wanted to get into GUD. It might as well have been Tin House from where I stand or Fairy Tale Review. I am moving up in the world.

That poem is really special to me, actually. It's the first poem I wrote that I felt really good about. I mused over it for quite some time, wrote it, revised it over and over, and the presented it in Gerald Locklin's poetry class. It made the whole class laugh really hard (in an ordinarilly quiet class), and the meanest kid in the class gave me a backhanded compliment. He said, "It was so good. I don't think you understand why it's good, but it was hillarious." Ugh. Thank you for your expertise. I didn't write it randomly, I had all kinds of undertones I hoped to get across, and while I'm glad he got them, he could have been less of a dick about it. Joke's on him. He didn't get into the MFA, and I did. Also, this poem is getting published and paid for, and vindication is nice.

This was supposed to be a happy blog, where did all this hate come from? I'll stop there. Anyway, this poem and I have been through a lot together. And I'm happy to hand it over. I feel very proud.

A letter to Hope

Dear Hope,
After many long years by your side, it's time to say goodbye. It has been fun daydreaming beside you, breathing in your sweet perfume and thinking maybe, maybe. But I'm tired of waiting for all the possibilities you tease me with. Despair, your siamese twin, follows us wherever we go, and even her presence fills me with fear. While you stroke my chest with your hand, she strokes my back with hers. We both knew this love affair was wrong, that this relationship could only end in pain and wasted energy. The Buddha says to let you go, and I must obey. Goodbye Hope. Goodbye Despair. We have some good memories, but it's time for me to move forward.

Alicia

Bury me here, in the silvery mist

I'm feeling much better now. And I feel like maybe I can explain myself. Honestly, I would like to turn myself off, get through school, start my life (because it feels like it's on hold while I'm here), and figure out what's important to me. I wonder how I still don't know.

I read my nonfiction in class today. It was about Mike. I feel bad because Mike's death makes me feel selfish. I'm more concerned with my own death than his. I'm glad it wasn't my brother or Omar or my mom or dad. That's awful really. And he was younger than me. He died at 21, and I am 21. I feel like I can't live my life like I'm young anymore because someone even younger is dead. He got as old as he would ever be. It's not an excuse really. I don't know what I want. I dont' want to be in school. I want to be Ishmael, but I feel like Ahab. I want to go out to sea, and say fuck you land. Fuck you and all your dwellers. Let me be out here, where my family floated through the generations. Let me be here and alive, where everything makes a deep internal sense and all the confusing trivial problems with life can disappear over the horizon. I wish I was a man. It would be so much easier to ride a boat into nowhere if I was a man.

I will content myself with reading Moby-Dick for now. But Jesus Christ, and satan, and Buddha, I am getting on a boat or in a truck or something anything, and I'm getting away from everything and everyone. Let me be a wanderer. Let me leave. Don't keep me here if you don't want me here.

the zen commandments

I think I'm going to write a story about a man whose legs aren't long enough to reach the ground, so he just walks a foot above the ground... but when will I have time for writing in a creative writing program? I've barely had time for this blog.

I've taken my heart out for this. I've set it down next to my computer, so that the blood pool around it is just slightly touching the edge of the keyboard. Drinking last night has helped quite a bit. It altered my body chemistry so that when I woke up this morning I felt pretty good. No hangover. The sky was bright and blue. The flowers blindingly bright. I walked around. I came home. I pet the cat. I ate at Eggs Etc. with Devin. I made changes to my story. I miss my brother. I don't think I could live well without my brother close to me.

I want a condo and a husky. What I've learned about coveting:

The ten commandments are very similar to the rules for any society. If you are going to make a society, it's important that people don't murder each other or steal from each other. But to covet-

If you covet your neighbor's wife, but won't kill or steal, your neighbor is safe. So why not covet? This part is for you. These things I claim to want are only hurting me because I don't have them. They take up your time and energy, only disappoint you, and keep you from enlightenment. But it's so hard not to. That condo, that dog. American dream? The crushes we have, money, time... there's so much. I need to meditate some more and let these things go maybe. We live in a beautiful world, and I have everything I could want. I have a cat, a family that loves me, I'm dating my best friend, I'm in a writing program and I'm doing what I love, I don't even need to work. I am happy. Longing, craving, coveting. Ugh. There's something missing. But maybe that's the way it's supposed to be. I'll be way less strong in two minutes.

My responses aren't due until Monday. Thank the lord. View blog below.

zendo shmabstract

Blech.
Sets the tone, right?

Anyway, it's only blech because of school. I don't want to write my abstract shmabstract, and I definitely don't want to read and post. I'm already a day late on that one. I really dislike my teaching composition class.

Some good news. Who watches the Watchmen? I do. Or I did. Come talk to me about it, and I will defend Rorschach to the end. Also, I am pretty much officially taking Shotokan now. So I can kick your ass, yo.

In other news, Shotokan is really cheap for me to take (about $13 a month because I'm splitting the cost with my dad- super super cheap), but going to my Buddhist temple in general is $90 a month. Ouch. So I'm trying to work something out, and it looks like I might be the new care taker and live at the temple and take care of it. Which would be so amazing I can hardly think about it. Except I couldn't take my cat. =( But he's happier here anyway. I would like to move out again, but it's very expensive, and I have no one to live with. I would still pay rent at the zendo, but very little. There's a bedroom that they don't use, and someone should be around to water plants, etc. We'll see.

Stupid Shmabstract. I think I'll start reading Charles Olsen first. I don't want to be in school anymore. Definitely no PhD for me. I'm burnt out.

I love you.

Alicia

Trent Reznor won't let me fall apart

beside you in time

Valhalla

I used to know a lot about Norse Mythology, and now my references are procured almost solely by The Grim Adventures of Billy and Mandy. Having said that, if Valhalla is portrayed acurately, that's where I want to go. None of that clouds in the sky bullshit. I want a big feast and then a battle and then a feast and then a battle forever and ever. I would use a battle ax and slice through people in huge throngs. Yep. Mmmm... and I could just eat and eat, Lord knows.

Alicia's talking in third person. She must be crazy.

Alicia was happy enough to come home and see that there were three books waiting on the table for her, still wrapped in thick brown postage envelopes. One, to her suprise, was a DVD. She is excited to watch Jesus Christ Vampire Hunter. She also received An Invisible Sign of My Own by Aimee Bender, hardback, a 23 dollar book that she found for 75 cents, and After the Fall by Edward Field. A good day maybe. She's sad to not be going to Disneyland today, even though she was invited, and her boyfriend's going for free. She's happy enough to go to zazenkai training. She will sit for ten hours and think or not think. Preferably not think. Meditation's about not thinking she hopes. She will remember what Gary Snyder said about the dharma being an avocado.

She is sad to be rejected from RipRap. She is sad that the RipRap editor for next year is already decided. She had been hoping since highschool... she tries not to think of that. Maybe she will give up on the MFA and write whatever she wants and not give a flying fuck about anyone. Maybe that will make her feel better. She looks around for her cat, doesn't find him, but sees Sawyer, her mom's white fluffy cat, sitting on the couch, eyes closed. She hears the mail box open and wonders if maybe she has another book or another rejection letter. She's sad that Mike is dead and that her family might have to leave the state in poverty. Poverty sucks, she thinks, and she's sad that it's not more eloquent. She's a writer, dammit.

She checks her mail. Junk. She knows she should probably finish reading Zen Meditation in Plain English. That's a good idea. Buksbazen makes her happy. And if she doesn't read it before tomorrow, she'll feel guilty, and she will be thinking of guilt, and it could possibly ruin everything.

watch

And Nine Inch Nails is quitting? Retiring? What?! No, Trent, no! No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*sob*

Let me find you a video.

Shit! I'll have to post it from my other computer.

Knock knock. Who's there? I eat mop.

I woke up at 4:10 in the afternoon today. I didn't go to sleep particularly late. Maybe midnight. So I got about... sixteen hours of sleep? Not bad. I woke up because I heard my step dad and step brother coming home. I thought they might have been leaving and that it was only seven or eight. Then I heard them get the mail, and I knew. Damn. I slept a long ass time.

I got a book in the mail: new geography of poets. I got a rejection letter from riprap. Figures. I have a lot of reading and homework to do, and I just don't feel like doing it. Ah, but I will. I must. Right?

oh facebook.

Go ahead. Click here.

oh- OH- ACH. There it goes. Good bye, happy feeling. I thought for sure you would last a little longer this time.

Hoppy Potty

I am so so happy right now. I had a really good night. Thank you Aleah and Steffan. =)

Christa, I'm sorry I'm not there for your workshop! That strange number that called you a bunch of times this morning (well, afternoon) was me.

Today

February 16th = Grandpa Bill's death day

I can't believe it's been a year.

I miss you.

Dear Alicia,

While this is quirky and kind of dark, it doesn´t feel like the absurdist and surreal core is strong enough for us and the humor kind of falls flat. Thanks and good luck in future endeavors.


One of many.

On Valentine's Day, I found out that a friend of mine from highschool is dead, and my mom and grandma lost their jobs.

I'm going to go to Mike's grave with a card he will never read and some flowers he will never smell, and tell him I'm sorry that he was younger and still died first.

no no no

I am not as hardcore as I thought I was. I was researching bestiality for a story I was trying to write (a potentially amazing story, if I do say so myself), and a friend's exboyfriend was sending me information, a few of these being clips. And I just don't think I can watch anything like that ever again. I actually feel sick.

dreaming in narrative

I had a really involved dream last night. It was two layers deep. The first layer (or second, depending on how you look at it) was really strange, but the second (or first) was a writing workshop. I was thinking about how this dream that I had had/ was having could be written into a story. This is what writing does to your psyche I guess. I won't go into the actual dream right now. It's hard to put into words. I have three stories that I'm turning in tomorrow. Eek. I'm ready, I think. But my nerves are a little shot.

Cinderedipus

Upon realizing that Prince Charming
Is actually her father, and her children
Half siblings, Cinderella runs to the closet
And pulls out her glass slippers, stabbing
The heels deep into her eyes
Over and over as blood spills down over
Perfect skin, and pieces of eye fall
Onto her dress in small bloody chunks.

The Orange Tree Revisited

It feels so good to sit in the sun. I don't know when I did this last. Jack, the best cat in the whole world, is licking his genitals a few feet away. He came up to me earlier with his giant blue eyes, and I pet him like a cute thing. I included him in my nonfiction, but I'm adding more to it. Right now I have a kind of skeleton. It's an essay about car accidents. It's also kind of about two relationships and about depression and anxiety. It's at that point where it could be good. It's not yet, but it could be. I'm trying to capture what it is that's so terrifying about cars. In my mind, it's obvious. You put yourself in an enviornment where thousands of pounds of metal are hurdling at you from all directions, and you do it every day as part of routine, expecting it to be safe. Maybe I know too many people who have died, or maybe I've just been hit and almost hit too many times to take it for granted. I have to find a way to get all of this across in an essay.

I'm sitting by the orange tree in my backyard. I wrote a poem about it a while ago. In the poem I said that there are ten cats burried beneath it. It's not true. A bunch of them were left at the vet. I don't know what they do with dead cats there. Some of them were taken by the humane society. Leo just disappeared. I like to think that he was just taken by someone who thought he was cute, and that he's being taken care of right now- being fed, playing with kids. My dad and I burried Lilly, my grandmas dachsund, in her backyard. For a long time there was this scandal, and everyone was worried that we'd buried her vertically, as if we didn't have enough sense to lay her flat. She was older than I was, and I'd known her all my life.

This was meant to be a happy blog. And I'm pretty happy right now. I'm sitting in the sun, drinking diet coke, looking around for my cat. Come here, Jack! Ugh, he's disappeared. Sawyer is a big ball of white fluff on my mom's bed. Sparrows are flying down to steal seeds from the parakeets. I've seen Jack jump for those sparrows, but I've never seen him catch one.

Somewhere in the divorce process, my mom's second divorce, our cat ate one of our birds. My mom was really sad, but she pet the cat that was sprawled across her lap. She said she finally understood how God could love all people even when they hurt each other, because she loved the cat and bird, but didn't love the cat any less when it ate the bird.

More (East) Asian than Fadi

Happy New Year! Yesterday I celebrated a late Chinese New Year in China Town with Omar and my dad's side of the family. Happy year of the ox. And that's appropriate, because before celebrating I went to Zen temple for a Jukai ceremony and took vows and learned more about yoking and oxen and zen. Ha. By the way, I'm not longer allowed to talk shit about anyone, so please keep me in check. I have vowed not to, and that is by far the hardest vow to keep. No more shit talking. I am allowed to swear, as I learned from Yoshin. The first experience I had with Yoshin was when someone came late and started talking about how she was sorry she was late and wasn't going to try and make up excuses. Yoshin said, "And thank you to Michelle for not boring us with your fucking excuses."

Badass. He reminds me of my grandpa who died earlier this year. In a lot of ways I'm not sure if I like him, but I sure as shit respect him. I think I'm going to try to write a nonfiction story about my dad and buddhism and all of that greatness. Also, when I go to Buddhist school and graduate, I'll get a cool Buddhist name like Yoshin, whose real name is Bill (which is my late grandfather's name), and I'm planning to add it to my pen name (as it is a legal name addition) in order to increase my googleability. IE: Alicia Masumi Adams or Alicia Soko Adams. Cool, right? Of course I am only sharing my shallow reasons here, but as soon as we find a new temple, I am going to Buddhist school. Woot! Except it's really expensive.

Of course, I wasn't even vegitarian once I left. Here's a list of all the things I ate:

Beef! ah!
Chicken feet
Tiny octupus- with brain, eyes, everything
shrimp

and lots of vegie stuff too, but I'm bad. The chicken feet weren't even all that good. They were okay. But anyway, take that Fadi. Eel? Eel is delicious. Be a man, try some chicken feet.

Anyway, I also vowed not to drink. We'll see how long that lasts. Technically I don't have to follow any of these until I graduate from Buddhist school. Sweet. But Omar, maybe you should at least attempt to drink less, because I totally saw you vow. I saw you! And heard. I'm not shit talking by the way. This doesn't count, does it? Shit! It's hard.

I love zen. I love it. I've been trying to write nonfiction, and all I've got is stupid shit I've done and people who have screwed me over and all of that same old shit shit shit. I'm tired of holding on to these things. I think I'm going to try to reach a little. We'll see.

Repo! The Genetic Opera

It's time for a repo post. Click here for the teaser.

As many of you know already, I have the Repo Fever. The symptoms of Repo Fever include the purchasing and rewatching of Repo! The Genetic Opera with anyone who will watch it will you, going on tour and touching any actor you can touch, getting songs from the movie stuck in your head, and fantasizing about Ogre and the grave robber when you should be reading Composition theory. Mmm mmm Ogre. You might also be planning to get Ogre's tattoo on your own back. You might already have the design ready.

Omar and my dad really liked it. My brother really liked it. Mariana thought it was awful, and it was also called the worst movie of the year by Ebert and Roeper with super thumbs down.

Tyler, in his wonderful way of reviewing movies he hasn't seen, called it The Rocky Horror Picture Show, and he's right. I saw people at the tour that I used to go to Rocky with. So? I like going to Rocky. Yeah, I said it. I like Repo way more. Give me some repo. Repo repo repo. I should give more information, but I don't want to. Check out imdb, wikipedia, youtube. Enter the network. A rock opera about organ reposessions. How could it get any better than that?

You'd think this week would finally be over

So, I feel like my first week is finally over, but it's not. I have to post on beachboard by tomorrow at three. Funny thing is that two of the books I need to read are unavailable at the bookstore, Aida's, or Barnes and Noble or Borders. Strike 1. Strike 2, I haven't been added to the class yet so I'm not on beachboard. I can't read and respond to posts, and I can't post my own. Strike 3, someone didn't pay the electrical bill. I have battery saved up on my laptop, so I sent Dr. Comfort and email. I've been reading by candle light and not eating so that the cold air stays in the fridge. It's way harder reading by candle light than it looks. I can go somewhere, but they I won't get any calls to tell me if people are getting together to read and post, and I got a maybe-you'll-get-that-call message from Kyle.

Blech. So hopefully Dr. Comfort emails me back. Aside from that, things are good. One of my classes is boring, there's one that I don't like the teacher for, there's one that's super interesting that I love love love and is getting less depressing, and then there's this one- really good but seems to be impossible. How many more ways can I be set up to fail? I've written my nonfiction, a draft anyway, really short, and I'm getting nervous about showing it. I have no idea but time for fiction, and my reading is good. Good but hard semester. I feel better about this one than the last one. And I like Zepeda. How about that? He's more invested in the MFA class than he was in the undergrad class, and he had good comments.

This isn't tragedy, it's pathetic- based on pathos.

I was right in thinking my Tragedy class would be awesome, but for some reason I forgot that tragedy is sad. I am really really sad. From "Basic Characteristics of the Tragic" by Karl Jasper:

"I am guilty because I am alive and can continue to live while this is happening."
"Existence is guilt."
"my very existence causes misery."

From "Tragedy, Pure and Simple" by George Steiner

"It is best not to be born, next best to die young."
"men and women's presence on this earth is fundamentally absurd or unwelcome, that our lives are not a gift or a natural unfolding, but a self-punishing anomaly."
"Where there is death there is hope"
"The gods do not only kill us for their sport, as Lear has it: they torture and humiliate us in extremis, when we are totally defeated, when we grovel before them."


So anyway, I was done reading these, getting ready to write my first small paper, when my 16-year-old brother comes in and asks if I'm going anywhere tonight. To me, this means he wants me for something or want to do something with me. No, I'm staying home. "Good, we're having a family meeting in fifteen minutes." He tricked me. "Awww... I wish we could just talk to people individually..." "Not everything's about you, Alicia! God!"

=(

And then my 16-year-old brother started yelling at me, ending the whole thing by saying "Fuck! You can't even-- ugh!" And then he stormed into his room and slammed the door. What just happened?

So my mom comes in, making me feel even more like a child by asking why Michael was yelling. "I don't know..." "Well, he was yelling at you!" "Well I know that..." Explain what happened...

My mom goes and talks to Michael, says family meeting's in fifteen minutes and goes back into her room.

I try to talk to my mom first. "I don't like when my little brother yells at me like a child." "Well, maybe he thinks you deserve to be treated like a child." What the fuck does that mean?

I spent the whole family meeting crying like a child, knowing that it only helped their ability to treat me like one. It turns out everyone's depressed in my family for some reason, but of course the only one crying was me. And I was really really crying. I'm not home all that often, and I try to be as invisible as I can be when I'm here. Right now I'm at home, but no one else is here to see me here. Invisible.

My mom basically said she's really depressed about her job, and she's sorry she's never around. My step brother said he's sad at his other house. My half brother who yelled at me said he was sorry, he didn't know where it came from. And then my step dad... complained about me a lot. He doesn't like it when I go into his room. I didn't even know that. I generally only go in there to talk to my mom, because she hardly goes into the other rooms anymore. He doesn't think I contribute anything to the household. He wants me to think about my career because I publish little stories and poems, but I'm not making any money with them, so how will I make money being a writer? I thought I was going to teach... He knew that... I don't know what else I'm supposed to?

All I could really ask was for the chest of drawers to be moved out of the garage and into my room. So I could have a place to put my clothes, since the closet and the bookshelves are all full of their stuff, and I've been piling all my stuff on the ground.

So by the end of the night I was feeling more than useless. I was feeling that my existence caused suffering in others. La la la. My cat didn't even follow me to bed. And he didn't wake me up in the morning. I just woke up at 2:20, and now I have all this homework and writing to do, that apparently won't get me anywhere. I wish I could live somewhere else, but through a huge scandal I realized that my grandma doesn't want me there. My dad doesn't want me there. I would be a burdon on everyone. And I can't afford to move out right now. I would have to find a place of my own because no one wants to live with me. And I don't even have a job. I don't have religion to fall back on, and I don't really have hope for anything, so all I have is the antidepressant/antianxiety medication that I took when I woke up and the mind numbing savior that is a pile of homework left to do.

This blog is really self indulging. I don't know why I've posted it.

Eggs

I just woke up. Ergo, I have missed the inauguration. I am a terrible American. I woke up to two rejection letters, and I smell awful, so maybe I am a very good American. Living the American dream of sleeping in til 2 anyway. I don't know why I'm so tired, but I've reasoned that I'm catching up on all the sleep that I've missed out on during the first semester of the MFA. Mostly out of anxiety. I get really bad anxiety. I've woken up to vomit in the past. I went to the doctor about the terrible pain I was feeling in my abdomen, pointed to where it was in the front and in the back, and he told me I had gallstones. Of course, that wasn't true. I have anxiety.

But break is nice. I've switched books a million times, and I love all of them. At the moment I'm reading The Story of the Eye which is Bjork's favorite book. It's pretty much a fetish erotica book, so I like it. I only know of a few books like that, and they're all French. And, of course, this one is too. At this point, Simone is flinging eggs in the toilet and peeing on them. It's a very strange book. Of course, I want to write something exactly like it.

So, Obama's the president now. I'm changing the places I want to live after the MFA every day. Now that Fadi might not be in Japan when I graduate, I'm thinking of Prague. There's a program where you take a course up there for six months and then start teaching. I can't remember why I've always wanted to go to Prague, but it's been my number one destination for a while. Ugh, I guess it's time to start the day. I hate this part.

Leo

I had a dream about Leo, one of my cats. He's been missing for a few days. When I woke up I thought he was back, but he's not. I told my mom about it, and she had the same dream.

The Devil Wears Prada

Is a terrible book. I tried to read it before the movie came out, so that I could read something "popular," something that my kind "should" read. The movie was better, but not good either. However, I'm watching it on tv as I type. And what have I learned?

"I try so hard" *whimper*
"Come on, Andy, you are not trying. You are whining."

That's me. What have I been doing? Trying? No, whining. Later on in the same conversation, Nigel tells Andrea, "I could fill your job in five minutes with someone who would actually want it."

How lucky am I to be in the MFA? So lucky. How many people want to murder me to take this spot? A bunch, that's how many. I should be grateful and not whiney. I'm just like that girl I don't like who has everything, uses everyone, and complains about everything. How did I get here? I'm very disappointed.

Disappointments

It turns out the free spanking paddle I got from the Pleasure Chest workshop was actually just a paint stirrer with Pleasure Chest stuff painted on it. Use with water based paint.

I am disallusioned about the MFA. I was talking with Katie and Christa about it last night, and I had to go home I was so depressed about it. That and the burlesque girls kept popping their boobs out at me, and for some reason this was equally as depressing.

Vulcan Issue 2

Vulcan Issue 2.

Vulcan Issue 1

If you haven't seen Vulcan's first issue. Click here.

Waterways: Poetry in the Mainstream

I got Waterways in the mail today- volume 29 #6. I am in the same issue as Michael Hathaway, Paul Tayyar, and Lyn Lifshin. It's official. I'm cool.

The Snake King

The thing about sleeping until 1pm is that it gives you a lot of time for dreams. I got to write up part of Sheila Heti's book proposal (whoo! I'm super cool!) about the collective unconscious and dreams, and one of the sites I looked at said that people dream for 1/6th of their lives. My dreams last night were very strange. BUT- there was a lot of other stuff that I'll skip for the purpose of this blog.

What happened in the bulk of the dream was that I was the romantic obsession of a very powerful man. At some points he was referred to as the snake king, but this wasn't consistent. He was played by Keanu Reeves, and he wore all black. The townspeople were afraid of him. Sometimes he would spin really fast and everything around him would turn to wheat. I think it must have been because the townspeople asked him, but he agreed to disappear for a while. He walked me into the village, holding my hands out to the sides the way you teach a baby how to walk. And as I looked down at my bare feet, I realized that I was shrinking, and getting younger, and by the end of the walk into town, I was a toddler. I was paired up with another toddler who was actually my son. But I didn't know that until later. I knew he was coming back on my 17th birthday. On that day, the townspeople showed me a whole cart of jewelry, and I was supposed to take one piece. But somehow, many of the pieces were lost. People had taken them or they were burried in the sand. And then the snake king came back and turned the town to wheat, but it swirled in black and green. That's the only way I can think of in order to tell the dream linearly. Of course, a lot has been cut out.

Hunger

I ate it all, like I’d never been so hungry in my life
The juices slipped through my fingers and splattered at my feet and
I felt a sharp pain in my stomach
I held my hands up to my mouth for a moment and
I threw up all over my fingers in a fountain of orange chunks

I threw up all over my fingers in a fountain of orange chunks
I held my hands up to my mouth for a moment and
I felt a sharp pain in my stomach
The juices slipped through my fingers and splattered at my feet and
I ate it all, like I’d never been so hungry in my life.

Five Mini Plays with Happy Endings

1.
Linda: Did you know that Cal and Wanda are getting married?
Mark: I did.
Linda: Isn't it wonderful? True love...
Mark: It is. Linda, I've been meaning to ask you.
Linda: Yes, Mark?
Mark: Will you marry me?
Linda: Oh yes! Yes yes yes!

2.
Linda: Did you know that Cal and Wanda are getting married?
Mark: Oh I know. Isn't it awful?
Linda: Absolutely awful. Let's never get married.
Mark: Let's never be so attached that we even look to marriage.
Linda: Let's just be friends!
Mark: You read my mind!
Linda: I'm so happy you're my friend.

3.
Linda: Did you know that Cal and Wanda are getting married?
Mark: Oh I know. Isn't it awful?
Linda: We have to stop them. Let's break them up!
Mark: You take Cal and I'll take Wanda?
Linda: Deal!

4.
Linda: Did you know that Cal and Wanda are getting married?
Mark: Oh I know. Isn't it awful?
Linda: We have to stop them. Let's break them up!
Mark: You take Wanda and I'll take Cal?
Linda: Deal!

5.
Linda: Did you know that Cal and Wanda are getting married?
Mark: I know. Do we have to go?
Linda: No, no. Let's just stay home and watch a martial arts movie marathon.
Mark: Yeah! That's a much better use of our time.
Linda: We'll just send them a gift.
Mark: What should we send? A toaster?
Linda: Yeah, a toaster.

On Japan

Fadi is in Japan teaching. He makes it sound really good except for the snow/rain, temperature, and food. I like Japanese food, so that's one down for me. And as for eating mushy things (which was his main complaint), I am part Taiwanese, and we eat Chinese food all the time. I didn't like Korean food, but that was only because it was all meat. So, while people say "Teach in Korea, there's way more money," I say, "No. I like Japanese food better, and Fadi's there already, so it would be way more fun." I would rather teach in Taiwan than Korea, because Taiwan is one of my countries of origin, but no. Taiwan is not the same anymore. It's a more expensive China at this point. Taiwan is gone. Not that I was ever even acknowledged by my Taiwanese grandfather. The closest I ever got to him was being at his funeral, where I got to see a closed wooden box that his body was most likely inside. Yes, Japan. I could probably take my cat, but I don't think I would. Maybe.

In February, I'm doing zazenkai, which is group meditation. I'm doing a really short session from 5AM to 2PM, but there are much longer sessions. My dad did one that was five days long. The good thing about Japan, also, is that I could go on a spritual journey. In zen you don't even need to know the language. I watched a German movie at my current zen temple called "Enlightenment Guarenteed" about two German brothers who go to Japan for a spiritual journey. And they end up with nothing, and they return with nothing. But they're changed. And it's great. I recommend it to everyone. It's a comedy.

I don't feel right. I have a lot of things going for me and a lot of things I want and can't have. And I just feel out of place. What am I doing? The thing about the MFA is that everyone's competing for the same fucking things. There are a few things I really want to do, and I've always wanted to do them, and of course, everyone else wants the same things. And I want to tell them to just get the fuck away. It's a problem. It's a major problem. I need to calm down. I really do. I don't know if it's ego or if it's just the disappointment of realizing that I'm not the most ambitious person, and that I really have to compete with people who could potentially be my friends. It sucks. It really does.

Toilet diving

I just dropped a very expensive earring into a toilet full of pee. And then I had to reach into the toilet full of pee to retrieve my very expensive earring. Boo! I have washed with lots of soap and water, and now I'm ready for bed. The Unborn sucked ass, but Gary Oldman is in it, so I drooled, naturally. Also, I did my non-fiction editing today. Good news and bad news there, but more on that later. Or if you ask me personally.

A very mini script for a very mini play

Two rooms separated by a doorway. A bathroom stage left with one mirror on the wall. A bedroom on stage right with a stack of books on a shelf. At lights up, Alicia is in the bathroom examining mirror while Omar is in the bedroom looking at a stack of books.

Alicia: God, it must be getting closer to my period. I have all these zits, and I'm so cranky!
Omar: What?
Alicia: (louder) I said it must be getting closer to my period because I have all these zits, and Ive been really cranky!
Omar: You have a lot of ZITS?
Alicia: RAAAAWWWWRRRRR!!!!

I love you Aimee Bender. I love you times a million.

I have ten days to write a short short story that THE Aimee Bender would like for the contest that she is judging and I am submitting to. Oh my goodness. Must write now right now. What should I write about?! So excited!

writer seeking patron

I am sucked into this show Without A Trace. I should really go to bed, but I can't decide what I want to read. I went to a used bookstore and bought four books, then there's the book I'm reading now (Pattern Recognition) and Dog Years, which I just got from Omar. I've already started it, so I'm technically already reading that one too. Obsessed. Jack is lying down by the wall to my left. He looks like a fawn the way he's lying down with his eyes closed and paws curled beneath him. He'll probably come to my bed to sleep beside me when I finally decide it's time for sleep. Rip Rap and Vulcan editing both coming up around the same time. Applying for odd jobs so I can start any kind of savings. Ha. Will write for money. Submitting to contests, but I have this problem where I can't decide what to send so I want to write something new. I've started two stories that I feel really good about. I happen to be a genius, bred from geniuses. I've decided that there's no reason why I can't be a great writer. I can rise from mediocrity. Other people do it all the time, although it is a lot harder these days. I'm thinking of writing a craigslist ad for "Writer seeking patron." Why not? Rich people go on craigslist all the time. It wouldn't hurt to try. Of course, if you are reading this now and would like to be my patron, please respond to this blog, and I will get back to you shortly. I'm very nice. Also, being my patron will probably save your soul. Just a theory, but I think God likes my patrons more than other people. It's like a free pass into heaven.

Speak, I'm listening.

I am so tired. Never have I had so good of a break. Not working definitely helps me feel content with breaks. I used to work full time during winter, spring, and summer vacations, and now I'm not for the first time since high school. Ah. Lie back and relax. It's so nice. I finished The Watchmen and Suckerpunch, David Hernandez's debut. I'm moving on to Pattern Recognition and Steppenwolf, although Omar warns me that I might not like Steppenwolf as much as he's enjoyed it. He's learned enough about my taste through the many books I've disliked that have been his favorites. I'm sorry! So he probably knows. I don't like smug, know-it-all, mightier-than-thou characters, and I don't like long-winded, ranting, go nowhere stories. The second I can tolerate a lot more than the first. I've read books that people rave about and totally hated them for the simple first reason shown. I dislike real people who are like that as well, although I have a few friends that are very self assured, and for some reason I like them fine. I still get annoyed with their egos, and I still let them know, but somehow we're able to get along. There's one girl, though, who I just keep thinking about, and it annoys me every time I think of her. I should really let it go, but that whole idea of entitlement... it's work! It's work and rejection and lots of it. I have been fairly lucky for some reason, though, so maybe I'm not one to talk.

I have not written a word creatively. I've got these mental blueprints summersaulting around in my skull, but I've been feeling too relaxed to stress myself out. I've been doing pilotes and watching SVU and reading, and that's about it. I've barely left my house except to go down to Broadway and Redondo for Reno Room, the library, Aleah and Steffan (number one reason, of course), Open Books (which was appropriately closed), and other shops. I bought a red and black candle that smells like cloves. Or something similar to cloves. In Literary Criticism, someone wrote about artificial flavors and scents as being simulacra, and he said that over Thanksgiving break, his aunt had said that the pumpkin pie candle smelled more like pumpkin pie than actual pumpkin pie. It's quotes like this that spend a lifetime in memory. It's funny how something so obviously artificial can become so organic, stored away in memory right along with first ride on a bike, smell of jasmine on the bush by childhood home.

More dreams, but they're becoming more and more fragmented. Like they should be.