Friday, March 30, 2007

A variety of new smells -- some delightful, others regrettable.

I'm going to Philly this weekend. Making much needed amends with a friend I fell out of touch with. As I am only staying there for the weekend, my plans are quite simple. I would like to see the liberty bell, wear my pink dress and plaid shoes, eat a bonified philly cheese-steak sandwich (my personal mecca), sleep late, and offer my kindness the a certain pumpkin eater that I've quite possibly been neglecting. Leaving town always helps me clear my head a bit, and I'm in severe need of a thorough spring cleaning in the attic Kendra.

Some other exciting things in the near future:

* upcoming Jerome Grant deadline
* co-directing a music video
* a brand new bike awaiting my precious backside
* the closeness of days where I can go on walks by my lonesome at night, where wonderful smells such as laundry exhaust, freshly mowed grass, lilacs, gas station hot dogs, and the unpleasant smells of car exhaust, newly laid fertilizer, poo berries (they grow on a tree on 25th and nicollet, im not kidding they smell like poo), and dog shit.
* looking into prospects of moving to New York once again

Wednesday, March 28, 2007

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

It's easy to tread lightly when Luck is on your side.

Tonight, I would like a glass of gin.

I would also like to stay up late playing video games with my dear friend Jake Luck, who is the kind of amazing soul who drops what he's doing to pick you up for a drink on a Monday afternoon when he hears that uneasy quiver of latent sobs in your voice over a 30 second phone call. Thank you Mr. Luck for knowing and saying and doing just exactly what I need to feel better about petty things that turn my world upside down. Thank you for helping me take life a little more lightly from time to time.

The answer to your question last night, is Donkey Kong.

(this is not meant to neglect any of the following people who also tend to my wounds from time to time: KTP, Tristan, Livia, Dusty motherfucking Miller, Earth Mother Rachel, and last but not by any means the least, my Mother Hen Katrina)

Monday, March 26, 2007

Sunday, March 25, 2007


This is the worlds smallest horse. My heart just exploded, it's a miracle I can still type.

A warm stormy Sunday, spent in a coffee shop, writing haiku.

Barf! I know, I know. And the worst part is how overly sentimental these are, but I could not resist (barf again).

Save Your Breath, Reciting The Product Of Other Minds
the educated,
darling there is no spirit
when you watch too close

A Pang
a simple sigh is-
a tender moment for us
gently hold your breath

It's A Simple Thing (which makes me weak)
color shifting eyes
i once declared them magic
hide behind glasses

It Made Me Rather Weary
flighty and careless
your cannon of sentiment
does not interest me

Napping All Day With My Cat By My Side And The Sun In My Eyes
sunday afternoon
yawning is the principle
rest your gaping maw

There's A Nasty Storm A Brewin'
the glory turns dark
the firmament is clouded
our wind blows fiercely

Waiting For Me, Waiting For You
true, i hunt alone
for now and maybe darling
as long as it takes

An Aeroplane Full Of Worry And Regrets
one more for the road
its the things that i chase after
that satisfy me

Feet Heavy and A Mind Inactive (hyperactive)
drink de-caf coffee
i stay calm, not ungrounded
i prefer floating

Friday, March 23, 2007

Keep your hearts in the cosmos where they belong gemini twins; write it down and they will float forever (and ever).

Finding someone to love in your early twenties is fairly incidental. The likelihood of any amount of soul-mateship lasting through the variety of ways two people can fuck up is slim to none. However, finding a creative friend, partner, what-have-you, is a more difficult task. Thusly why it is important to rest aside bitterness and bullshit, roll up your sleeves and make something that will outlast you both in its sincerity.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Bizzare repercussions of a fragile mind snapping momentarily in half.

Yesterday, around 11:00am my brain started its malfunction. By 1:00pm it had totally snapped. Everything tasted like licorish, I told my best friend and co-worker, Tristan. He said to me, You should write a blog about that, that's really nice Kendra. He thought I was being poetic I think.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

rattel and hiss and whisper something ancient

I have to stop my chainsmoking/drinking every night. My wee little ragged heart begs me once or twice a day to be more sensible, with a dull pain right in the center of it. It feels like the little lady is going to give right in for a moment. I'm sure of it now, it's walls and tissues that it is gingerly comprised of are nothing more than rice paper these days. I can hear them rattle and hiss as I breath and beat.

I'm going downstairs to have a cigarette and a cup of coffee before I drive to work. I'm skipping breakfast. Maybe lunch too. Everything repulses me right now.

I am simply not capable of good decisions.

Monday, March 19, 2007


I've been nauseous for days.

Sunday, March 18, 2007

Hit the nail on the head, you cursed little sparrow!

A lovely friend of mine sent me on a mission to find these poems which suit me well at the moment (I'll have you know that that last line was indeed a gaudy pun, as I am wearing sparrows on my cardigan).

Catullus' original poem, with a translation by F.W. Cornish:

Mourn, ye Graces and Loves, and all you whom the Graces love. My lady's sparrow is dead, the sparrow my lady's pet, whom she loved more than her very eyes; for honey-sweet he was, and knew his mistress as well as a girl knows her own mother. Nor would he stir from her lap, but hopping now here, now there, would still chirp to his mistress alone. Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no one returns. But curse upon you, cursed shades of Orcus, which devour all pretty things! My pretty sparrow, you have taken away. Ah, cruel! Ah, poor little bird! All because of you my lady's darling eyes are heavy and red with weeping.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), Passer Mortuus Est:

Death devours all lovely things;
Lesbia with her sparrow
Shares the darkness, -- presently
Every bed is narrow.

Unremembered as old rain
Dries the sheer libation,
And the little petulant hand
Is an annotation.

After all, my erstwhile dear,
My no longer cherished,
Need we say it was not love,
Now that love is perished?

Dorothy Parker (1893-1967), From A Letter From Lesbia:

... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
And let me tend you this advice, my dear:
Take any lover that you will, or may,
Except a poet. All of them are queer.

It's just the same -- a quarrel or a kiss
Is but a tune to play upon his pipe.
He's always hymning that or wailing this;
Myself, I much prefer the business type.

That thing he wrote, the time the sparrow died --
(Oh, most unpleasant -- gloomy, tedious words!)
I called it sweet, and made believe I cried;
The stupid fool! I've always hated birds ...

Friday, March 16, 2007

At least we gave it a shot (and thank you for trying my dear)

Dearest Darling Magic Eyed Word Thief Wonderling,

It is most important that you (and the rest of the interwebdotcom) know how absolutely wonderful you are. Never has one such creature so young and so lovely known himself quite as well as you have managed to my dear. It is no doubt a pity that I did not meet you later in life. The timing was so off off off. There are a few things that of which will not be the same without you: riding around the lake stoned out of my mind on stolen painkillers, unwritten outerspace love stories, overzealous affections with mouthfuls of food, and of course trips to Kowolski's. Oh oh oh, and of course of course all the lovely words we made. I hope you are happy, I will always love you. Kbye.

- The Existential Miracle Enabler

Tuesday, March 13, 2007

13 (Tzameti)

Do yourself a favor, and don't look anything up about this film before you watch it. It is earth shaking if you walk into it blind (speaking from experience, darlings).

Monday, March 12, 2007

The Great Chicago Fire

A photo of its aftermath, for your viewing pleasure.

Friday, March 09, 2007

Have a seat at my messy table, but be assured if you put your things on it, it will break and you will have no table at all.

My lover friend often talks of how he appreciates girls with messy tables. I'm sure this only really makes sense to him. However, seeing that it is his top criteria for dating and we have been dating for quite some time now, I can only assume that I posses this quality. I've been doing some unearthing of such table, and have found it to be, indeed, quite messy. Scattered, littered. But not ugly no, everything that litters this table can be seen as something of class and sophistication. Granted these things might need a bit of interpreting for such a description, but I would say without a doubt that this is true of my table. Now what of the table itself? I see that it is very old, ancient and elaborately carved oak. Something quite possibly Victorian. A stain so dark the wood appears almost black, but not quite losing the grain. On it a cloth made of simple and clean cotton, with large colorful flowers embroidered onto it. Along with the flower in the lower left corner is KGM. A gilded mirror rests, unhinged to the back of the table, against a wall, in desperate need of cleaning. The mirror is in otherwise good condition aside from the smoke stains from hundreds of years of neglect. No matter, one can be seen in it. Not a good visual reference for surgery, though. In front of the mirror is a crow and a lobster, calmly sitting in each others company. Jewelry pours off all edges of the table, glittering obnoxiously. Tiny tiny little birds make nests in all of the beads and bobbles, finding it to be surprisingly comfortable there. They, unfortunately peck and pick at the wood beneath the to calm their nervous little hearts, but the damage is not great, very minor in fact. Two very tall dull colored, coffee stained towers of books sit on the north and east edges of the table, some read others collected. Glass figurines are sporadically found along the surface as well. Jars of paint are spilling, and jars of honey are sticking, cans of cheep beer are leaving rings, and teeth are scattered about the previously mentioned jewelry. Wads of hair and fur lay hidden under the cloth and the front right legs squeaks and wobbles if it is manhandled. An anvil and a kite, a pygmy goat and a little tiny storm cloud. These are a few of the things you might see on my table.

Saturday, March 03, 2007

Science is neat.

This is a photograph of Epinephrine (Adrenalin). Who knew the same shit that causes heart attacks, and makes it possible for old ladies to lift cars to save tiny children, is so dang pretty. Yes indeed, I do believe this is my favorite chemical compound.