Marenaq 3.

Once, I was smoking a cigarette outside of my house. As I walked to the end of the driveway to throw the butt into the street, I was reminded of Alaska. I am sure many people in Alaska smoke cigarettes. Just to forget the cold; create a blanket of smoke with a lit fag to keep you warm. Not that I had ever been to Alaska. There was just snow everywhere and the houses hugged the street, huddled for warmth. The sun glared against the glossy surface of the snow banks. I’m not sure I have ever read of Alaska but there are movies—Snow Dogs, The Proposal, and Into the Wild. Except this time, in Providence, I see an Alaska with telephone poles carved by the scarred hands of assimilation.

The Crew debates whether The Walking Dead is better than Lost.
I have only watched the first seven episodes of Lost but I have seen every episode of The Walking Dead.. Already the answer is clear.
The Crew decides that the shows are not comparable and I shake my head in disagreement.

Psycho- A Poem

You wanna know what it’s like?
They made my bed.

I got up each morning at seven; check my vitals, piss, eat and go back into my room.
And voila, my bed was made. Like magic or clockwork or other forces that may exist.

In group therapy, nobody spoke until Nora whined so much that our
fragile glass brains would crack.
“I hate my body.”
“I need nicotine patches.”
“The voices tell me to hate you.”
“Psycho. Psycho. Psycho.”

There’s something about crawling into a perfectly made bed.
Pulling back tucked in blankets and sheets offered a sense of routine.
It almost convinces a person that they are normal.

Don’t believe in the bed. If you were normal you would make this bed yourself. Struggling to get the sheets straight, get the blankets smooth, fluff the pillows.

They encouraged us to create art.
Draw, paint, collages.
They scrutinized when I snipped out magazine pages with safety scissors.
They warned me to be careful, with the dull edges not sharp enough to cut paper, never mind my skin.

If you were normal, the blankets, the sheets, the paper bags they give you to keep your belongings in would not be so fucking white.
White is natural. Pure. Hospital sickly.
They want you to be clean.

No.

If you were normal you’d be home with your blue bedding, your yellow towels, beige walls.
If you were normal, the only things you’d put in paper bags are groceries and old newspapers.
Not your toothbrush and clothes and hairbrush.

Family meetings were dreaded by all.
All of us had parental issues.
My father handed me a bible. I cried. Dr. Tarnoff asked if I wanted him to leave.
Julia was the only one who looked forward to seeing her mother.

If you were normal you’d be in school.
You’d be with friends. You’d have a job. Your parents wouldn’t have restricted visiting hours you’d be able to see your younger siblings. You’d be able to use a phone when you want, a computer, a pair of fucking scissors.
You’d be able to wear jewelry. To smile. To hug the people you like, to flirt, to high five your peers.

But we can’t get involved with the world. Can’t use or be or touch.
You and I…we’re just Psycho…
Psycho. Psycho.

Sometimes I'm just too scared to speak up. I hate myself for it.

The Token Valentine's Post

So Valentine's Day is coming up and it's on a Thursday, which means I will be missing out on my first USEFUL Valentine's Day because I will be in class until 8 pm. Which isn't late except it is when both you and your boyfriend have to work in the morning and are generally in bed by 11. It gives us maybe 2 hours to see each other...not enough time for a date. Which doesn't seem to really matter anyway because my boyfriend doesn't seem to actually believe in Valentine's Day.

"Oh it's just so commercialized...oh it does mean anything...oh.oh.oh."

                                                                                                           Whatever buddy.

Honestly, what holiday isn't commercialized? How is Valentine's more commercialized than Christmas when everyone is raging about searching for talking dolls and Zu-Zu Pets? And Christmas is a religious holiday!? You don't see anybody trying to cancel Christmas for its commercialism. Instead there are Christmas stories and movies and TV specials dedicated to educating people that Christmas is not meant to be celebrated for the presents and spending loads of money. They show people "The True Meaning of Christmas," Jesus' birthday, or family time, or giving to the poor.


I do not think it is the commercialism that bothers people. It's the fact that Valentine's Day is a day to celebrate love. People interpret this different ways and lately love has been interpreted as a negative emotion. People do not like to love anymore. Which is a horrible thing because love is the one of the few things that keeps our morality in check. I believe people misinterpret the word and the emotion itself. They see the word as dooming.

I refuse to not celebrate because I am happy being in love with my boyfriend, with my friends, with my family.

The Walking Dead is telling us something.

We are all decaying. Dying.

Wasting away into this being we call a zombie.

The show may call these creatures Walkers,

but because the living is the dying, it is us who are the walking dead. 

Building the Tension

I think he is reading a book about black people.

That's why I don't want to know what the book is and why he is so interested in discussing J-Mic. Sometimes it's hard to tell whether some of the crew member's are racist or not. They joke aggressively about  racial issues and claim to be oppressed as a middle class white boy. Yet at the same time they respect  me and appreciate my company.

Race is a funny thing. I do not see a bit of difference between J-Mic and Mike other than the fact that Mike is not dying.

Today, We Were Found

Tonight we drove to Bristol on our way to West Warwick. We never made it to our destination as we rode through Massachusetts, Barrington, Warren, turning around back towards Providence just before Historical Bristol. Although we were only wasting gas, I was enjoying the ride. I had been granted shotgun for the entire trip and had not taken advantage of my position. I was merely sitting in front in order to avoid sitting next to a certain fellow passenger. Though I was comfortable, I suffered from the driver's habit of rolling down the window while the heat was on. I thought it would just be simpler to turn down the heat. I did not voice this however, as I wished to respect his decisions.
It seems as though I am constantly getting myself lost. consequently, those who are in my company become lost with me. Our lack of direction tonight was my fault completely. In the beginning of the night I had been reliable is directing the crew on our hunts. It was when we left Providence, when I found that I no longer had any sense of location. I wished to be back in my own turf, where I held more dominance. It seems that every time I lose myself, no matter where I am, I can always find a way back to my beautiful city who's only glory is in its potential.