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bspaethe
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Name: Brandi
Country: United States
State: Indiana
Metro: Lafayette
Birthday: 8/1/1985
Gender: Female
Interests: a vast array of movies, music, culture. dancing, conversing, meeting new people. travel, writing, camping. living life to it's potential. communications, literature, playing board games (drunk if necessary...i.e. seven deadly sins)... art, style, sewing. love.
Expertise: writing, jigsaw puzzles, spinning weapons, panera bread, taking at least one year of foreign languages and not retaining much but basic words, making various coffee drinks, photography, expression.
Occupation: Student
Industry: Media
Message: message meEmail: email me
Website: visit my website
Member Since:
9/1/2005
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| The Fatherin the realm of unstable relationships...i've seem to have become a master. the latest? my 42 year old father soon to be twice divorced. apparently my step-mum found it quite alright to skip around behind turned backs and not even offer up an excuse.. let alone an apology. the ball drops a few weeks short of the lovely holiday season. yes, i've had quite a bit of beef with padre for quite some time, but at least the man cares. sure.. he may not be good at handling certain situations but he doesnt deserve to be cheated on. for the first time in my life... his tears were falling upon my shoulders and i was consoling. i dont believe there's ever been a reverse situation here... but thats beside the point. something about this year has brought an onslaught of downfall to family matters (prime-time television series allusion not intended). close friends are breaking apart from their long past due relationship dilemmas. i seem to have filled in for sympathetic and consoling... which... i am happy to do... i just havent found myself submerged in so much of outside issues. i feel somewhat selfish for griping about all of my miniscule problems. my mum thinks it was unfair for ol dad to unleash his burden upon me.. but i didnt mind. it was nice to feel needed. he seriously has taken quite a few leaps in the past few months. i just hope when the step-mum realizes that her fantasy cyber world is coming to an inevitable crashing overload (damn those movie references) and books it to the block button, she doesnt come crawling with apologies scrawled on post-it notes to my father asking to mend the break. you may be asking "only one side of story given?" yet, when it involves cheating on one party...who else is there to blame? i have known the woman as long as he and god be damned if she is ever wrong about anything. she's built this pedestal and has remained atop...tossing down bits and pieces to whoever dares linger below offering a different perspective. there comes a point in time when it is necessary to come down and look at things from the level of others.... because really... irrational decisions hardly ever end in happy means. she's a great woman, i do not mean to shower criticisms because i've had some swell times with her... and regarding chumming it up with bridget jones and popcorn... well i'm happy to hop on the couch. she's been through just as much in the marriage as he... i think everything hasnt quite hit me yet. i wont have three step-brothers anymore... mick wont be my step-brother?? for eleven years now he's pestered me through my pre-pubescent, teenage, and young adulthood years... whats to become of the two sides? will i still keep up with them? i'd like to. its quite heartbreaking in retrospect. when i think of dad and lora, i think of the lake... of a vast amount of topsy-turvy memories..... but most were good. i hope all the best for pop and may the holidays be filled with loving family and not a dwelling list of breakup songs to drill the disposition farther into the ground.
cheers and be merry. | | |
| The Sabrehow does one manage a blemish on the earlobe? its like a sty....
irritated when provoked.. but i simply cannot help it.
the sabre, a means of distraction propped up against the closet
doorframe, was once my love. and i made it known to
thousands. the hilt's tape was wearing in the inside and, like my
earlobe friend, i picked at it. once my nerves had rested, i
started to study the thin sliver of metal making the blade. two
black pieces of electric tape cut it into thirds. "put your hand
there". i hated cheats. this was not mine. mine was
locked in a cabinet being handled by a weak-wristed sophomore who was
learning by each scratch and nick. the worth has
deminished.
this one would do to soothe my aches. i clasped it's finger
grooves with ungloved hands and gave her a good whip making the blade
match my eyeline. a swift lob and spin and i was back on the blue
mat. how i had forgotten the thrill of shiney faces watching with
the intensity that we fed. my form twisted and untwisted and
contorted where it must in the picturesque perfection of how i was
taught. when the end came and teetered off, i stood staring out
smelling the last tinges of adrenaline as they coursed my veins into my
heart and back out into beads of perspiration.
if i knew then what i lie picking at now.... i fear i wouldnt have let go so easy.
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| My First MisterVery Lost in Translation esque yet also much like Ghost World in the
sense of young girl relating to older man. The young and the old alike
can become lonely... they can be removed from the world in the same
ways. Often this is as a result of not having much to relate to the
world. I know this because I am much a mold for said theory. If I were
to choose my fate... I think I would still be on the outside looking
in... makes it easier to be unique. special. to connect with someone
else who shares the same quality. Perhaps they dont exist... my
dreamworld slowly revolving.... and should I find someone with a
dreamworld all their own... how would I fit... how would they fit into
mine? you see... its a matter of character and not of interests... not
of clothing and style and favorite television shows.... you like donna?
wow.. i like hyde. who gives a fuck. if that did it for me... well i'd
surely be swimming in a gaily swarm of options. there arent options...
there are decisions. like tree branches... we form another stem.... or
a stream with another curve... another water-worn bank.
this film
makes me think of how many versions there are of love. it seems that
speaking the word aloud shrivels down to only one meaning. bullshit.
i've never loved anyone in the same way i've loved another. i love my
mum differently than my brother who i love differently than my best
friend... and my ex-loves (if you wish to give them a label). its like
sadness.... anger... any emotion. they are bricks. you wont be able to
find two with the exact same pattern. no animal will fill the void of
your lost pet because their personalities will differ. these are the
building blocks from which we compose our edifice of life. some are
brilliant... leaning... eroded... clean and straight... the outside....
the inside is another matter. traveling through rooms of filing
cabinets. the decor changing with each folder placed nicely in
chronological order. some things are impossible to explain. well...
love is one of them. because you cannot pin a pretty theory to it that
generalizes the population. you cant do it. | | |
| lost among hands and blackberriesone turned into five fast when i opened my eyes and forgot where i had
let myself go. sometimes its only one unfamiliar face.. but all
here were foreign and the faces had familiar names but the bodies were
fresh from some other far away land. fathomed. one took my
hand and changed everything. two hands pressed lovingly against
each cheek while we searched our selves with a new satisfaction that i
had never found. and as i wandered about an old friend was lower
than i had ever seen before and cursed me for even asking. with
complete distress i screamed after him when dragging myself away like
arms holding me away
"fuck you... fuck you... you arent my friend any longer!" i kept
saying his name. i kept screaming. even after he was too far away
to hear me. to him.. it didnt matter. my mother led me to a
clearing...as if in front of a video screen she warned the girls about
to make their peformance and my cousins sat beside... one among the
debuting group. she took the floor with passion. i stood in
awe. i photographed it with my mind until the image fell into my
brother's contorted form. he and his wife smiling beside framed
in their expensive garb... faces sallow and haunting. i turned it
around. mother dear... where are we and why are the stairs creeky
and dangerous hovering underneath two rows of bars in sets for us to
slide them down. the painting at their end was fascinating with a
landscape littered with giant billboards going up an otherwise flawless
hill. the little country home at it's valley had it's own
personal hand-created sign reading "Blackberries" in fancy purple
letters. We took it in. I walked through walls this way
finding myself amongst more eerie yet sometimes beautifully touching
scenes with vast spaces while others remained small and taunting.
i was caught for stealing toward the end when leaving one of my
unfamiliar places. you see we were supposed to place our money in
the box and take our own change out while a courtroom esque box full of
pigs watched distractingly. as they turned away... i grabbed a
wad much too large for my real $2 change. yet, thought better of
it once it gained ground and raced faster toward my purse. my
hand stopped dead and retreated. taking the correct... but the
pig saw me only in the false act. i escaped. i escaped... i
escaped and looked around and my new persective... my familiar.
the real.
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| march of the steaming piles of tree excretion.Crossing the U in the memorial mall, i happened upon a heap of those
horrible shitberries from the infamous purdue shitberry trees. i am not
certain of their actual species, but i do know that the people who
decided to plant them thought only of the lovely flowers they produce
in the spring and not of the horrible scent they give off in the more
frigid months of october and november. god forgive those who step on
them because your shoes will certainly give off that odor for the rest of
the day. unless you do some deep cleaning immediately. this of course
prompted me to write a poem.
How I Loathe the Shitberry Trees
White petals spray an
illuminous splash
May combs her fingers through their
velvet fur
Alas sweet June rakes with
razor nails to remove
remove...remove..
The ground opens wide to consume
When the burning life-force moves
the scalps are bald briefly
Until November infects with blistering
boils that fester and plump
over layers of dead skin
When too full to cling they
break and bring a rain
of puss and mucus fuss
to the sidewalks and the
choking grass
As I pass, my dear feet lick
their aftermath obliviously
taking a wrath- a pestering
aroma of stench enough to
expell even flies
In the grooves of shoes they smirk
and drool- pooling a many
sideward glance
What chance, what purpose
do I owe such a fate?
Inferno trees of uninformed planting hands
care to explain?
a work in progress.
thank you english 250 for losing to my notebook.
yet,
she played Margaret Cho at the end.. which was splendid. A performance
I haven't seen. she likes to talk about vaginas.. more specifically
hers. the reasoning for viewing pleasure is our study of Asian-American
literature. other than Margaret being Asian.. i have no idea how the
video was supposed to help us grasp a deeper understanding of the
current novel we just finished... but, i wasnt complaining. stand-up
comedy + literature class = bien. | | |
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