Ranty-pants.

this is gonna be a rant so fuck off if you don't want to hear it.

WHAT THE FUCK is this homeless-chic shit about, and why the hell do I find it attractive?

Excuse me society, but when the hell did Walden beards become a must have to work at Urban Outfitters? I saw a guy on campus today, a good looking, young guy who looked totally homeless at first glance. So I look again, and I ask myself "Juliet, is this attractive young man ACTUALLY homeless?" Now it's not impossible that there are homeless people on campus (in fact, I saw one just a few hours ago walking back from the muni....yeah) and the differences between actual derelict and knock off are discreet but noticiable, and they are as follows: one, the ragged looking coat is in fact a peacoat, poised to look careless and casual. Two, clean hands. Un-worked, nail-clipped hands, and three, those trashy looking faded boots he's wearing are actual Doc Martins which I happen to know for a fact sell at $108.00 dollars retail. NICE.

So, cross homeless off the list and accept the fact that this was in fact a very thought out, probably pre-planned outfit arranged to look effortless.

And you made fun of K-Fed.

ON THE ISSUE OF TALKING TO MYSELF:

Fuck off. I'm not going to try to hide this one anymore, anyone who has spent more than a day with me has probably caught me talking to myself. Am I crazy? Maybe, but I highly doubt that talking to myself is the major indicator of that, I believe wholeheartedly that there are TWO types of people who talk to themselves, the clinically insane, and writers.

I think that anyone who is truely a writer talks to themself, because writers think in words and anyone who knows words will tell you that much of writing, and of thinking, is about the way it sounds when you say it. It just happens. Stop looking at me like I'm out of my mind.

Seriously.

AND LAST BEFORE I GO WATCH WEEDS:

People not talking on the muni.

Okay, I get it, a lot of people on the train are fucking weirdos (take, for example, the guy who hugged me in Powell station today...fucker) but for the most part, the people around you are totally ordinary people and if you were with them in some other social situation it would be more than natural to talk to them.

I was on the train tonight with three people my age (all of whom got off at campus with me).

One was a skinny half asian kid with a v neck down halfway to his bellybutton who got on the train at Castro. Nice looking kid, very well dressed, obviously not a homeless guy or a creeper, totally silent. No headphones.

The other kid looked to be maybe 20 at the oldest, sitting on the bench next to me, obviously not homeless, obviously heading back to campus, totally silent, no headphones.

The third was another well dressed kid in a tee shirt and jeans with a skateboard, texting on his phone, (he was super cute, makes me wanna do that thing people do where they put out ad's on craig's list "Looking for skater guy from M train, got off at campus, walks slow, sad eyes.) but he too was totally silent, NO HEADPHONES.

So I'm sitting there, WITH headphones, right in the center of these three boys, all within total speaking distance, all young, totally sane looking kids who probably have a lot in common (since they all go to school together...) and no one is saying anything, it's totally silent. So I took off my headphones and started looking from one kid to another. Got to a point where I was seriously and legitamitely staring (especially at skateboard kid, hi skateboard kid) and waiting for someone, anyone, to say something. Nobody did. Everyone got off together and walked silently in different directions.

What the HELL SFSU?

I understand and am ALL for respecting people's space but why does it have to be so fucking awkward to say hi. I debated fake sneezing to see if anyone would say "bless you" to me, but I have never really practiced fake sneezing and I wasn't sure it would be convincing, and god, THEN who looks like a crazy person.

Ah yes well, problems with no solutions, and all that good stuff. I'm not tired since never sleep, ever. But it's early yet and I don't want to type anymore. I think I'll make some tea and watch Weeds on illegal Japanese sites with Chinese subtitles.

I like the name Silas, I think it's neat.

Night.

Do Better

DO BETTER.

drink.

less.

I forgot how much I HATE small talk when I'm not small talking with you.

I really only care about the little things when you're telling them to me.

who knew?

sorry for all the interruptions.

I think I deleted all my comments.

see you friday shhh.

Once there was a girl who lived in the mirror, in a place where rain rises from the ground and animals speak latin and smoke vanilla cigarettes and everyone talks to themselves, has friends, drinks ink and paper flavored tea. And this girl, she sighed and stared at her reflection, tucked her hair behind her ears and thought about how tragically monotonous her life had become and wished that she could find a place where not everything was made of music.

story of my life...

New Orleans

I'm moving to Louisiana, it's decided.

Festival of Lights, India.

Steady now, move slow.

troy fell, the romans, the greek,

the british empire's left with only a piece

and you and me,

turned out to be

totally separate entities.

and how to you fix childhood

turn from the safety that felt so good

the first love you claimed,

the invention of the wheel,

the flame.

how do you walk away?

you cant put a ship back in a bottle

it took too much time,

it's creation was subtle

nothing forced.

it all starts with splinters

but it ends in divorce

and all these arms that hold me still feel wrong

all the right words to the wrong tune of song

like trying to find a deer in the fog

or your way back home when it doesn't exist anymore

youre a scent that got caught in the breeze

a long distance phone call i still fall into with ease

you on my front porch, don't do this, please.

i made my bed but i need you to put me to sleep.

and im head drunk when i'm up at night

all of my words trying to fit in my mind

or the right way to tell you i cant do it this time.

wait i'm just kidding, everything's fine.

you're a phantom limb i still think i exists

gesturing wildly but making no sense

and still shocking, even now to see

the empty space where you used to be.

okay so it's over, i gave it my best

at the end of the day i can say no regrets

but it changes nothing, all these words i spit out

i still love you like always, nothing feels different now.

but i'll try and forget, you're a season that turned

the red leaves of autumn gone brown in the dirt

a memory fading on a page, what's it worth

we won't be the last to fall, and we weren't the first.