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.