beth_of_bells's Xanga

you've got a dangerous obsession, now i'm in need of some protection

Wed, 16 Jul 2008 15:20:43 GMT

so, the other day I got to thinking about the way i interacted with those of the opposite sex when I was in highschool. What set me to thinking about this was the marriage of a former classmate. He never dated in highschool, ever. He was below average looking, but really that doesn't matter so much to girls as guys might think. He just never outright pursued anyone. He did however flirt with me and make me insanely uncomfortable from 7th grade until we graduated.

I wasn't really receptive to any of this, at one point I even said I hated him, which I didn't but he was so damn annoying I couldn't think of anything else to say. But that is just an example of my behavior in highschool. I was completely infatuated with the tens, so much so that I became cripplingly shy and never spoke to them, and I thought any other attention I got was insincere.

Then in my senior year my class went to Florida for a week of partying. He sat across from me on the trip, and at the beginning of the trip I decided that if i was going to spend 17 hours sitting across from someone, then it needn't be an uncomfortable situation. I flirted back, and I realized I liked him a lot, but that was the last week we were ever together. That's what changed my attitude. I realized that if people like you, they will show it, whether it is with flirty teasing, or incessant questions, or sweet actions, and if they show an interest it never hurts to explore that. I wish I had explored it earlier, maybe he wouldn't be married to some milktoast redneck housewife, and maybe I wouldn't be single. Should have, could have, would have. Hindsight really is 20/20.

Monday, July 14, 2008

Mon, 14 Jul 2008 14:26:40 GMT

So this weekend was interesting.

Saturday was my roomie's 21st birthday, so i took off work and went to visit her. I bought her a bottle of jaeger and a bottle of parrot bay coconut rum. So we got kind of shit faced at her party. I say party, but it was really only like five other people. We spent most of the time hanging out in the pool or the hot tub. That's not really the interesting part though. What was interesting was one specific person at this "party."

I won't divulge his name because quite frankly i just don't think it would be wise, considering what I'm going to say about him, so let's just let him be known as K. Two years ago his girlfriend was brutally stabbed to death in her apartment. Because she was a typical white american girl, and beauty queen to boot it made national headlines. Of course the first person accused of her murder was her boyfriend, K. His trial was last fall, and he was found not guilty. Shortly after his trial there was a special on 48 Hours. I watched it because I was interested in the case (my roomie was friends with both of the people involved, and they both attended the same college as myself).

All throughout this entire ordeal I was convinced that he was the one who had done it, it was only logical. Circumstantial evidence was very compelling, but the solid evidence was a little scarce, and the Police department in this town is abysmal. Anyhow, after watching the special I was even more sure that this kid was a murderer. So when he came to the party i didn't know what to expect. My roomie was a little miffed that he came, but not overly. She'd never actually thought he'd done it, but she'd never fully given him the benefit of the doubt so...

After meeting K. and talking to him, and partying with him, I've came to one conclusion. He didn't kill her. I just don't think he has it in him. I'm not saying, "he's so nice" or "he's too gentle" what I'm saying is this: The crime was one of violent passion, something that only a very passionate person could have done, and K just seemed like a dumb kid. Not stupid, just immature and normal. Plus add to that his nonchalant attitude towards relationships in general, and you just don't have the combination for a murderer, not in my opinion. Also, I really think being accused of killing her has screwed him up. He drinks a lot now, and he never did before, and he doesn't like talking about the situation, he doesn't refuse to, but it seems as though it hurts.

Trading Licks

Wed, 09 Jul 2008 17:20:45 GMT

Trust me

it sounds sensuous

but it's not

at all.

It's a disgusting

display

of machismo

put into the most

caveman of terms:

"you hit me

I hit you,

you hit me

i hit you,

you give up,

I win, have bigger cahones."

And you sit there

and watch it

with your khol rimmed eyes

and it's all for you,

even though you think is ridiculous.

you know

they cannot help

the nonstop flow

of testosterone

flowing

from their balls

to their brains

It's what makes them buy

gas guzzling trucks

optimistically dubbed

pussy wagons.

As you sit there

taking in this

display of agression

you wonder

what they'd do

if they knew

you called them

dumb rednecks

behind their backs

and laughed out loud

when anyone mentioned

them getting lucky.

googling myself

Mon, 23 Jun 2008 13:40:29 GMT

So... i googled my real name. First Middle and Last... in quotation marks... and i got 2 hits, and they were both actually me. They were Dean's list announcements. Then i googled my First and Last name in quotation marks and got 8,710 hits, and i'm not sure if any of them were actually me, most were a 96 year old artist from New York (well she was 96 when she died). And finally i googled my first middle and last name without quotes and got 1,010,000 hits... none of which were me..... so.

Then i decided to google my pen name, the one i use on here, Beth S. Yarley, and i got 0 hits. So I guess Beth really doesn't exist at all. When i say, pen name, i mean it in the loosest sense, because I've never actually published anything under it so it's not literally a pen name.

I was bored, and those were the results.... and now anyone who reads this will be bored too... so i guess i've accomplished what i set out to do, and that was to gain company for my miserable self.

Wednesday, June 18, 2008

Wed, 18 Jun 2008 15:29:39 GMT

so.... poetry.... i seem to be an empty vessel. It is really amazing just how creatively draining some jobs can be. I can't even begin to write poetry right now. I have no desire to, no inspiration. Like I said, I'm empty. But I can post a few observations.

Sometimes I forget just how beautiful it is where I live. I take the rolling hills, lush greenery, blue skies, and clear rivers, lakes and streams for granted more often than not, but on some days I just can't ignore it. Two days ago I was driving home from work, and it was dusk, the sun just beginning to set. The few clouds in the sky were glowing orange, purple and pink, and the slanted light put all the trees and rolling hills into complete contrast. It was stunning. On top of all that, I was listening to some sort of classical music because my CD player wouldn't work, and it was the only station I could pick up. It took me by surprise, and i began to understand just why the tourists are drawn to this place.

My Boss is a Nazi... I'm serious... sort of

Sat, 14 Jun 2008 12:25:27 GMT

So, a lot has happened since my last post.

I got a job. If anyone is curious about the title of this post, I will say that I wrote a poem a while back and posted it on here, about a guy i knew. The poem is titled "Tobias." He's a neo-nazi guy, and now i'm working at the supermarket he manages. Oi.

The place isn't just a supermarket though. It is a gas station, deli, electronics store, hardware store, and lumberyard as well. Sort of a mini-walmart type thing. I work in the gas room. It's so frustrating and hectic. This store is one of the few in the state that doesn't require pre-pay, so I'm constantly looking out the window writing down car descriptions and liscence place numbers, all the while rining people's purchases up and letting them pay for their gas. oh yeah, and I also answer the phone occasionally. The fuel room is also the tobacco counter for the entire store, so I'm constantly stocking cigarettes and running around like a chicken with my head cut off. Today was my second day, and they've already stopped training me. I'm all by my lonesome, and so far (this is my lunch break) I think i've had three people drive off without paying for their gas, it amounds to about 150.00 in loss.... sooooooooooooo.... I don't like thisjob, but it's better than nothing.

Saturday, June 14, 2008

Sat, 14 Jun 2008 12:20:11 GMT

so. A few things have changed

Fall into the sky

Tue, 03 Jun 2008 17:45:48 GMT

Today was different
I went to that place.
The one hidden deep in the woods.
I drove and drove down the dirt roads.
and finally found the dead end,
and that hidden trail in the woods.
I walked, ducking under branches
swatting at spiderwebs
and tried to avoid turning my ankle
on rocks hidden in the path.
Finally I reached it.
Who would believe that is was there?
This deep clear pool and roaring waterfall.
It stormed yesterday
and the water was mere feet from the cliff.
I remember when we used to close our eyes
and leap. Our hearts pounding all the way.
Always afraid that this time
we wouldn't make it.
But it's only the first of June,
and for me
the water's far too cold,
so I just sat there
on that rock you carved your name in
and looked up through the branches
at pieces of the sun.
There wasn't a cloud in the sky.
I know people say that
all the time, and it's cliche,
but what they don't say is
just how disconcerting
a clear blue sky can be.
A solid mass of blue
stretching forever
unbroken by wisps of white.
It doesn't seem natural.
It's on cloudless days
that I feel small
like I could just
fall into the sky
and never be seen again.

Monday, June 02, 2008

Mon, 02 Jun 2008 17:31:00 GMT

serious problems:

1) i have a miley cyrus song stuck in my head. It came on the radio, and I didn't switch it off until the first few lines had played. I think I'll regret that for a long time to come.

2) My roomie has no idea her boyfriend is a douche bag.... that's strange because even when people have incontrovertable proof of this, she turns a blind eye.

3)I'm so bored I've contemplated running in place to pass the time.

4)I'm so bored/desperate/horny now that I've actually had some bad thoughts about one of my younger brother's friends (he's only a year younger than me, but his maturity level is below that of a 12 year old i think)

So there you have it, I didn't mention my shitty job, or disgusting family life because well, those are a given. And now i sound like a whiny bitch, so i'll stop right here before it gets any worse.

Inspiration comes unadorned

Mon, 19 May 2008 12:38:06 GMT

Here are a few things I've written since I've been home:

this first one is about a friend of my fathers (although really, being 28, he's closer to my age). He visited the other night. He had been drinking absinth and was a little mouthy.

Tobias
Do you remember
when you were a skinhead?
I sure do.
Seven feet tall, shaven head.
That tattoo on your leg
still burns my retina
that spiderweb
you never said
just exactly what it meant,
but I've always known
what that swastika stood for.
I want to believe
that's not you anymore.
Your hair has grown out
you manage the supermarket on 4th street.
Your face is no longer
a repository of all manner
of bars and spikes,
but I can see it in your eyes,
that hate,
when Alejandro walks by
or when Obama gives a speech.
And I can hear it in your voice,
that strange admiration,
when you talk of Hitler.
You think I'm quiet and shy.
You are imperceptive.
I just have no idea how to respond
to "Hitler was a genius" or
"Ain't no coon ever
gonna run my country."
The next time I shift
uncomfortably in my chair
when you speak to me,
it's because I voted for Obama
and my favorite poet is a Jew.

This is one I just randomly wrote down, it means very little, except my father told me a story of a man who killed himself with Strychnine, and when his neighbor found him in his house, he got his gun and shot him with it, then buried him in the woods, and burned down his house (back in the fifties)... Bizarre.. The man that did that commandeered the dead man's land, and acted like he owned it. Well, everyone in the town knows about this, but when the dead man's granddaughter came around a couple of years ago asking questions, everyone acted ignorant.

Bizzaro World
This little old town's got so many secrets,
but not enough closets for skeletons.
They're buried in the various caves and fields.
Hidden from 4th generations
come to see what happened to great-grandfathers,
come to solve the family mystery.
Honey, no one in this town will tell.
They keep their secrets sewn in their jackets,
and their neighbors' secrets too,
or they muddle it up
with so much folk lore
the truth is indiscernible.
Great-grandfather gets buried by Frank James,
next to the secret stash of Spanish gold.
The truth is, no one knows anything,
and That, they'll keep to themselves.

Last night I was reading Allen Ginsberg, and I felt like righting a Ginsbergesque poem... This is what came out.

Apocalypse of Questions
Is is possible, that the world we see is just that from a caterpillar's P.O.V.?
Could it be that purple Koolaid raining down on cities is only the beginning?
Is it possible that man is descended from apes? King George W makes me think so.
Could it be that now money spent on booze is money well spent?
Is it possible that I'm right when I call you a slut, even though your dick swings to the right when you walk?
Could it be that Angels are flecks of dust and God is dead as Nietzsche once said.
Is it possible for you to listen with one eye open while you've got your ear to the ground?

Here's a Limerick I wrote about my Professor that I've got the worst silly crush on. Will Scots is not is name, but it rhymes exactly with his last name..... sooooo

Ridiculous Infatuation
There once was a girl with the hots
for a teacher named Doctor Will Scots
She didn't know why
he just caught her eye,
and tied her poor heart into knots.

I wrote this when i was pissed, that's all...

I'm crying. Can I Smack You?
I felt like writing,
but now it's gone,
that burst of inspiration
accompanying rage.
I was so pissed,
I screamed.
And don't forget the tears
that always come
when I'm angry
but never come
when I'm sad.
I think maybe
He, my creator,
put me together wrong,
that He was watching
Wheel of Fortune
and got distracted
while installing that
switch in my head
that makes me
cry when I'm angry
and not when I'm sad.
If you see tears
you should probably leave.
You've not hurt my feelings
You've awoken the rage
and it's everything I can do
not to smack you to hell.

About my mother, yet again, but this one is different.

Dr. Justice: Consigned to Hell
As a child, I was misinformed
or so it seemed.
My mother like to explain life
in stilted metaphors.
"This place is hell,"
she once said,
of my doctor's waiting room.
Six months later
sitting on the couch
watching Barnie sing and dance,
I coughed until my throat was raw
and mother felt my head and said,
"We'll go to the doctor tomorrow,
go and tell your father."
Off I went
to find my papa.
I climbed into his lap
and proclaimed,
"Daddy, me and mamma
are gonna go to hell!"
He sat there
flipping through the channels
patted me on the head and mumbled,
"That's nice honey,
now run along."

Vinyl Dreams
I was born
August 1987
yet i was nursed
on the crackle
of Vinyl records
and the scratching
of that needle.
At school
the kindergarten room
teacher played
crackling Bach
and wobbling Mozart
at naptime.
That was 1992.
Apparently school funding
went to something else.
At home,
while mamma cleaned,
the hopping Beatles
danced and spun on the table
and the heart thumping Eagles
played while I made mud pies.
Now, 2008.
The turn-table is gone,
but mamma has got her whole collection
boxed and waiting
for the day she finds
and new scratching needle.

The town that i live in, is having Cemetery Decoration soon, and saturday we cleaned off all the graves. some of the headstones are so tacky. I've never been a fan of fake flowers either... I just hate it all. No one in this town knows the beauty of a clean, fake-flowerless cemetery. Bushes and real flowers would make it so much better....

Decoration
Tacky, Tacky, Tacky!
Pink plastic flowers embedded
in neon green sod,
below heart shaped granite
scored with 1935-1999
and "Rest In peace"
"Always love and evermore."
Small town cemeteries
hurt my eyes
my aesthetic sensibilities
are easily swept aside
by well meaning aunts
with garish purple eyeshadow,
who don't care for my earth tones,
or my fresh callow lilies.

that's all for now... who knows when i'll be back

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