ANGAKKUQ // CARDINAL // ANGAKOK

Follow the fun.

dustingamble — Mon, 10 Jan 2011 01:45:42 +0000

the terror of love and my
shower curtain stains.

there’s a big stir there’s a stir stirring.

Counting Eggs and Making Calls.

dustingamble — Tue, 30 Nov 2010 05:13:40 +0000

I begin to have trouble around the fourth day. I clench my fists and eat far too many apples. I cannot help myself and laugh at the terrible green dresses your mother keeps in her closet. I want to buy your father a drink.

“Just so is my soul like a river that loves you. It is still at times and reflects your image deeply and calmly.” – Soren Kierkegaard

Currently Listening To: The conversation of the people next to me in my left ear, Joy Division in my right.

Skool.

dustingamble — Thu, 04 Nov 2010 17:52:02 +0000

Next semester’s fun will include the following classes:

Monday/Wednesday/Friday
9:40 Mark Twain
10:45 Latin II
12:55 Ethnolinguistics
2:00 History of Anthropological Theory

Tuesday/Thursday
9:30 Environmental Archaeology

Needless to say, I’m pretty excited about all of these classes.

Breakfast

dustingamble — Tue, 21 Sep 2010 16:11:01 +0000

take the butter that you
place on your toast and, instead,
dip in your fingers, each.

Idem Sterco Antiquum

dustingamble — Sat, 04 Sep 2010 03:37:43 +0000

“The whole story of man and woman is an immense and subtly constructed intrigue, or it is a trick calculated to destroy man as a spirit.”

I’m beginning to feel the weight of it all: the quiet nights, movies piled up on the edge of the television; a collection of bottles placed neatly beside the chair. Even the cool air from an open window can’t remove the stain of coffee from the air. I flip the egg and butter the toast. Chew-chew-swallow. Drink.

Regine

dustingamble — Mon, 02 Aug 2010 05:29:01 +0000

“Still, anxiety in itself is not beautiful; it is so only when one sees at the same time the energy that overcomes it.” – Soren Kierkegaard

This intense overwhelming fills my lungs. Once completed by the breath of another, I willingly choose and act out a collection of colors. Blues, grays, reds. I depend my solitude on the contents of a bottle, which, staring back at me, lingers on my breath and fills the room like smoke.

The inside of my little red book of incomplete sentences, which has now graduated to. Wait. Pay no mind to that. Anyways, it reads..

“Nox et hiems longaeque viae, saevique dolores
Mollibus his castris, et labor onmis inest.”

(Night, storm, long journeys, cruel pains
All kinds of pains are in this dainty camp.)

Because who wants to write when they’re overcome with joy amongst the company of friends?

Currently Re-reading: The Seducer’s Diary
Currently Listening To: A.A. Bondy – Lover’s Waltz

Supergigantic Hugely

dustingamble — Wed, 14 Jul 2010 16:17:47 +0000

I am a time traveler. I don’t think or plan or go on dates. There used to be a time when I felt better. My eyes didn’t tire and my skin was soft (my skin was definitely soft).

I’m going to start writing longer and bigger and supergigantic hugely.

Being sad is Selfish

dustingamble — Thu, 25 Feb 2010 03:24:19 +0000

I can’t imagine you’d come back to me for any good reasons.

But hey, remember when I used to curl up on the floor of my shower and let the water pour over my body? I would cry and cry and cry. Wah wah wah.

I can’t deny the hurt in my head any more than I can deny happiness in my toes. Sometimes it really is about feeling sad.

$$$

dustingamble — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 21:59:16 +0000

There is a second between one and three. Twotwo. Follow with your eyes, flex and spit…

A man wants a candybar. Do you buy it for him? Do you give it to him? Do you settle for the satisfaction of buying someone a candybar or do you eat your money? Spit it all up. Violently.

Hors d’oeuvres.

dustingamble — Tue, 09 Feb 2010 01:04:15 +0000

Hunger fits and fills the bottom of my stomach. She wraps her piano-player fingers around my waist and pulls me closer. This is familiar.

It’s not the fingers or the soft touches on my hipbones that I object to. It’s the whispers in my ear, those little questions that cause me to forget about myself and focus on the interests of others. I start to think, “Maybe I’m just a piece of shrimp on a plastic tray, now eat me.”