tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-16036127441610850942012-01-30T05:10:32.859-05:00brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.comBlogger1181100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-68599973582520651842012-01-26T13:13:00.003-05:002012-01-26T13:25:00.609-05:00thank you to everyone who participated in my package project<br />as of today everything has been mailed<br /><br />i'm leaving for korea in a month i think, thank you<br /><br />i am slowly working on something that will probably end up novella-length<br />it is about a group of young adults and it is written in scenes<br />i also compiled a poetry book and it looks nice i think<br />don't really know what to do with it other than look at it sometimes<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7REzkbLzono/TyGaZt5gMQI/AAAAAAAAAO8/aO9cDR3Pwsg/s1600/GREENGIRL.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 221px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7REzkbLzono/TyGaZt5gMQI/AAAAAAAAAO8/aO9cDR3Pwsg/s320/GREENGIRL.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5702008369835946242" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6859997358252065184?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-31006346796846560482011-12-02T14:43:00.003-05:002011-12-02T15:02:44.766-05:00the holiday season is here.<br /><br />i am doing something i have never done.<br /><br />i have seen it done, though.<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">from now until sometime, if you paypal bwallac2@kent.edu money ($10+) and provide your mailing address, i will mail you a package of handwritten poems, letters, christmas cards, drawings, and/or objects.</span><br /><br />i will take requests.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-glKzuBBIvRI/Ttkuvla-CKI/AAAAAAAAAOA/WdfU0mJCDOc/s1600/Screen%2Bshot%2B2011-12-02%2Bat%2B3.01.09%2BPM.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 244px; height: 184px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-glKzuBBIvRI/Ttkuvla-CKI/AAAAAAAAAOA/WdfU0mJCDOc/s320/Screen%2Bshot%2B2011-12-02%2Bat%2B3.01.09%2BPM.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5681623799938549922" /></a><br />(this is me holding a holiday gourd)<br /><br />i am doing this because my finacial situation is not good. commuting to work requires a lot of gas. paying my monthly student loan bills requires a lot of money. and i need to somehow 'save up' $2000 by february because i am actively trying to improve my life by securing a job teaching english overseas.<br /><br />also, i like to mail packages to people.<br /><br />please let me try to cheer you up with a package.<br /><br />thank you in advance to anyone who helps me out. it would mean a lot to me.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3100634679684656048?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-33520334510310426022011-11-16T20:07:00.002-05:002011-11-16T20:41:29.589-05:00in support of NATIONAL LIVEJOURNAL AWARENESS WEEK i am going to turn this blog post into a list of things that i did today. are you on the edge of your seat? if not, get there.<br /><br />>>>>>><br /><br />woke up on a pull-out couch in my parents' basement at 8:00AM<br /><br />ate a special 100 calorie english muffin that my mother probably bought<br /><br />downed several mugs of coffee<br /><br />took a shower and applied some makeup and put some decent clothes on<br /><br />drove 40 minutes to banana republic factory store for work<br /><br />occupied the fitting room for 6.5 hours, took it upon myself to use the portable scanner to make sure various 'on sale' merchandise was priced correctly, most of it wasn't so i priced them correctly, felt as if i was fixing a small mistake each time i re-stickered a mispriced tag. it either felt like small-scale satisfaction or small-scale punishment, i couldn't really differentiate. either way, it gave me something to do with my hands.<br /><br />drove 40 minutes to my parents' house listening to grunge music<br /><br />called one of the student loan companies. after i give the loan man the information he asked for (personal income, how many other federal/bank loans i have and the amounts owed) he put me on hold, then told me i am eligible to pay a monthly bill of zero dollars. this made me relieved. this made me depressed.<br /><br />my mother yelled at me about having $200 in my bank account. she yelled at me about it yesterday. she yelled at me about in monday too, come to think of it.<br /><br />yelled back at her and then went downstairs and took a xanax<br /><br />pet my cat<br /><br />ate a sugarfree jello cup that my mother probably bought<br /><br />ate a piece of dark chocolate<br /><br />have to wake up at 3AM to go to work tomorrow so i am going to sleep now because i am planning on taking some vyvance and just staying up through the night for the same shift on friday<br /><br />i think i really need to leave this country<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3352033451031042602?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-34225395310355265782011-09-19T21:11:00.000-04:002011-09-19T21:12:06.222-04:00that night i fell asleep petting a black cat<br />when i woke up she wasn’t there anymore<br />when i woke up nothing was there anymore<br />when i woke up i was facedown on a curtain<br />when i woke up i didn’t know where i was<br /><br />when i woke up in that desert dream<br />and all of my water had been taken from me<br />and all of my friends had been taken from me<br />and all of my drugs had been taken from me<br />and all of my love had been taken from me<br /><br />nothing changed because nothing mattered anyway<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3422539531035526578?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-76044900304414997262011-08-11T15:14:00.002-04:002011-08-11T15:41:17.875-04:00- graduated college, tried to move to santa fe, there is not much job opportunity, it is not a good time to job-hunt, suffer-ed/ing a bit of a crisis, moved back to ohio <br /> <br />- got a part-time job at a banana republic factory store <br /> <br />- staying with my former roommate while his current roommate is in china / he's been taking really good care of me and the rest of the semi-homeless women he is housing <br /> <br />- lesson: if you have some friends that you like you should probably never leave them <br /> <br />- lesson: will shortz might sometimes make you feel stupid, but remember that the week always ends and you just have to live through it <br /> <br />- my friend lily just started <a href="http://www.hiphiphooraypress.com/">something</a> that you could submit to <br /> <br />- it's really really shitty not to have any money or an apartment or a future, but it's making me notice more than ever the small (and big) things that other humans do out of kindness, and it's forcing me to allow those small things to remedy bigger problems <br /> <br />- i am turning 24 next week but i think i have been telling people i'm 24 for awhile now<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7604490030441499726?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-23120698362310466172011-07-28T00:58:00.002-04:002011-07-28T01:02:02.222-04:00I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP 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COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<br />I NEVER STOP COMPLAINING<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2312069836231046617?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-52336805574138956552011-07-22T20:35:00.000-04:002011-07-22T20:36:27.824-04:00dropped off a resume at a tourist boutique<br />they sold cowboy boots and moccasins<br />they hired me on the spot<br />went in the next day<br />was led down the street to a different store<br />a jewelry store<br />was told to stand behind the 70% off counter<br />noticed all the original prices were crossed out then inflated<br />realized all of the employees at both stores were related<br />sleazy guy told me to get in the customers’ faces<br />to be really aggressive and sell sell sell<br />told me i should be touching the customers<br />(seemed like a bad/possible illegal selling tactic)<br />noticed some of the jewelry was priced thousands of dollars<br />noticed the jewelry was poorly crafted<br />talked to a 13-year-old employee for awhile<br />said he lived in jordan for a few years<br />he had really good selling skills<br />clocked out for my lunch and didn’t go back<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5233680557413895655?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-5547696627706809652011-07-07T12:23:00.003-04:002011-07-07T12:45:44.575-04:00thrive, mine, thrive<br />suck in the air and disperse it<br />weaker, maybe, but less alone<br />as it once was inside of you<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JS34PcemyLY/ThXiXzIBYyI/AAAAAAAAALs/voMcy2NKuo4/s1600/atticus.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JS34PcemyLY/ThXiXzIBYyI/AAAAAAAAALs/voMcy2NKuo4/s320/atticus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5626652207958024994" /></a><br /><br />mallory whitten took this picture of my cat<br /><br /><br />i was <a href="http://wewhoareabouttodie.com/2011/06/30/we-who-are-about-to-tweet-kilakilakila/">interviewed</a> a few days ago about my <a href="http://twitter.com/kilakilakila">twitter</a> by 'cute-ass literary drug muffin' ani smith.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-554769662770680965?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-86574119336885648042011-06-22T16:23:00.001-04:002011-06-22T16:24:55.894-04:00I think back to when I am sitting on a wood plank in a canoe with Aaron and Nick in the middle of a lake, surrounded by trees, and it’s so green and so bright that I feel the sun turning me into the colors of these hills and this water and the leaves and the grass, slowly re-shaping me, slowly moving my arms gripping a paddle to the left and to the right, over Nick’s head, water dripping quickly just missing the joint he’s rolling. I look to the dock where the others are sitting, enjoying the sun and the company we all will miss when we no longer are here, or anywhere, together, the nagging sense of loss somewhere within all of our thoughtboxes, being pushed back, constantly pushed back into the recesses of our minds, concentrating on the emptying of ourselves and on the buzzing of our skin, purposefully thinking and knowing nothing.<br /><br />Earlier, “I feel like we could be anywhere right now, we could… not be in Ohio, we could be anywhere today.”<br /><br />Everything felt distinctly un-Ohio-like.<br /><br />“Hawaii.”<br /><br />“Any island, really.”<br /><br />“Feels like Vera Cruz.”<br /><br />“The Amazon.”<br /><br />Nick lights the joint, passes it to me. A loud rumbling, coming closer, quickly increasing in intensity until the roaring drowns out the birds, then the insects, then the dip of my paddle into the dark water, then our voices cease and we look to the sky in amazement, two giant tankish greenish-grey military aircraft tearing through the air in a diagonal pattern at such a close level to us that the branches of the trees are thrown into disarray, our eardrums engorged, any thoughts that were being verbalized now forgotten. The planes glide directly over us slowly, but not effortlessly, the machines exerting a tremendous amount of energy, audibly noticeable, and as they pass a real and slightly unsettling feeling clouds over, and then I say “Jesus Christ.”<br /><br />“What… was that.”<br /><br />“Is there a… military base near here?”<br /><br />“I see we’ve been transported to Afghanistan.”<br /><br />“That was so… war-like.”<br /><br />“Anything could happen here, we are cut off, no phone reception or anything, anything could be happening right now, we would be completely unaware.”<br /><br />“I think everything will be okay.”<br /><br />I pass the joint to Aaron, who sets his paddle down; he inhales deeply, once, twice, three times. We giggle a little and we drift slowly toward the decrepit bridge crossing a narrow passing of water. The dogs are following us, they are on the bridge, small pugs with pink tongues exposed in an always-funny manner, and Taylor is walking around the perimeter of the lake, shouting, “HEY… YOU SHOULD BRING THE DOGS BACK WITH YOU ON THE BOAT.”<br /><br />“NO,” Aaron yells back, “ABSOLUTELY NOT.”<br /><br />We drift toward Taylor to pass her the half-smoked joint. She takes it between her fingers, gratefully bringing it to her mouth and then back with her to the dock to share.<br /><br />Aaron hands his paddle to Nick and begins packing the bowl he’s just pulled from his backpack.<br /><br />We continue floating.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8657411933688564804?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-10267215732731074722011-06-12T21:43:00.002-04:002011-06-12T22:12:04.592-04:00I’m standing outside smoking. The bookstore is closed. A group of drunk teenagers congregate near me. They are yelling belligerently.<br /><br />“I hate girls,” says one boy to me. He is 17 and has fluffy hair. “I’ve dated seven or eight girls and they are all the same. Guys aren’t full of bullshit like they are. I seriously hate girls.”<br /><br />I tell him to try dating boys.<br /><br />“Ew, no, I can’t do that,” he says. “No offense, but fuck bitches, get money. That’s how I’m living my life. That’s how I am going to live my life. I’m just saying, money is where it’s at. I hate girls, fuck ‘em. Fuck bitches, get money.”<br /><br />I nod politely. “You should only date prostitutes. You should just pay prostitutes for the rest of your life. I think that would be really good for you.”<br /><br />He laughs loudly, drunkenly, “Like you can date a prostitute!”<br /><br />I slink away.<br /><br />---<br /><br />I’m sitting in the basement of the bookstore, in the “audience,” at a “poetry reading.” There is a low-budget movie being filmed and the director says, “Think about a time when you felt really embarrassed.”<br /><br />The fuck-bitches-get-money boy is sitting directly in front of me and he yells out, “ONCE I HAD MY FINGER IN A GIRL’S ASSHOLE!”<br /><br />“Found by mother masturbating,” the Asian boy sitting next to me says quietly.<br /><br />I have no idea what is going on.<br /><br />I want to fuck and fight at the same time, I think, right now, I feel this hazy desire to, like, be pounded from behind by one of the chill teenagers while maybe punching one of the obnoxious ones in the face repeatedly, maybe the one that keeps assuring me that he’s 22 and has asked me four times now what my major was, yeah. I don’t know. I started my period today and I’ve taken a lot of pills and my brain is still melting, I can feel it, and the heat in the basement doesn’t help.<br /><br />It is long past midnight and the bookstore is closed and I think about stealing books from the bookstore, I think about it every time I walk through to go outside, I look for things to take, I think about how to take them, but I never do. I make ethical decisions now, I have ethics, and my guilt grows every year, though I don’t acknowledge it or even feel it and I’m not sure if I’m actually guilty or if I am just drawn to the word.<br /><br />Walking alone to my car in the dark, empty handed, fingers forming little fists because I’m passing a large drunk white man who is standing stationary there on the sidewalk, I walk fast but not too fast, I’m tough, I am 20, 30, 40 feet away now, I hear I LOVE YOU barked from behind me, walking faster to my car. Pull a rain-soaked ticket out of the driver-side door. It’s illegible. I punch my steering wheel weakly, just a tap, feeling more paranoid than angry, notice every police car, all six of them, waiting. I don’t want to fuck anymore and I don’t want to fight, I just want to be in my bed petting my cat, where I’m not anticipating the sound of sirens, which is such a fucking unreasonable anticipation, because I’m really not guilty of anything tonight.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1026721573273107472?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-55442106150998071862011-05-24T13:09:00.002-04:002011-05-24T13:32:23.237-04:00dear diary,<br /><br />i graduated<br /><br />i'm moving to new mexico in july<br />my primary concern is that the weather won't be shitty often enough<br />also, are there any drug dealers there<br /><br />no longer a student<br />my title is currently "telephone interviewer"<br /><br />mitt romney pays my bills<br />ford pays my bills<br />jc penney pays my bills<br />people who really hate gay people pay my bills<br /><br />no actually i haven't paid my bills in a few months<br /><br />ha!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5544210615099807186?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-77549149202924418192011-04-26T00:17:00.001-04:002011-04-26T00:17:28.870-04:00<p class="MsoNormal">I want to do a performance art piece where my cat and I are enclosed by tall glass walls. I will dance very slowly and Atticus will do whatever he wants to do.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7754914920292441819?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-2765933637710562262011-03-23T02:40:00.002-04:002011-03-23T02:48:52.040-04:00my nails were long for a little while<br />but i bit them all off<br />my house is lit with one lamp<br />my house is empty and i am alone<br />i never want to live in the suburbs<br />because i trust myself<br />i think i really trust myself<br />because in all seriousness,<br />i want to make you cry<br />why am i not your confessional<br />my stomach is full of fingernails<br />why am i not your confessional<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-276593363771056226?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-79533829234618234402011-03-08T23:59:00.002-05:002011-03-11T20:14:55.900-05:00The public seems to believe that sex workers need to be “saved.” And apparently, the only thing that can turn a sex worker in a Good Christian American with Ideals is money. Guess what celebrities often have? Money. The public watches the Sheen media spectacle play out, and they think, “Well, maybe that hooker was getting knocked around. But I’m sure the chance to hang out with a millionaire really brightened up that hooker’s dismal and pathetic life.”<br /><br />EDIT: speaking of sexual violence, please read this <a href="http://therumpus.net/2011/03/the-careless-language-of-sexual-violence/">article</a> by roxane gay, as well as the times article it refers to.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7953382923461823440?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-50437985244329892332011-02-26T17:07:00.002-05:002011-02-26T17:10:38.536-05:00i have never really been<br />excited about the future<br />and i don't know if i<br />really know anyone who is<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5043798524432989233?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-19079830604792726922011-01-23T22:27:00.007-05:002011-01-23T23:07:26.568-05:00<div><div>dave's ESL cafe forums >>> wikipedia page for mongolia >>> ethnic groups in taiwan >>> cities in korea >>> DPRK >>> pyongyang >>> other cities in north korea >>> <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Okryugwan">restaurant</a> in the DPRK >>> wikitravel for <a href="http://wikitravel.org/en/Pyongyang">pyongyang</a> >>> +++</div></div><div><br /></div><div>my body hurts from sitting at this computer all day</div><div><br /></div><div>did you know north korea's second most-populated city, hamhung, exports (and keeps for domestic consumption) methamphetamine? there, meth is called "philopon." 80-90% of the city was destroyed during the korean war.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1907983060479272692?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-35611992746618868742011-01-16T14:43:00.004-05:002011-01-16T15:04:53.916-05:00my boyfriend told me my blog is going downhill<div>he is right</div><div>i've discovered <a href="http://twitter.com/kilakilakila">twitter</a> and i think i'm much better at doing that</div><div><br /></div><div>these are the classes i am taking this semester...</div><div>textiles and apparel in the global economy</div><div>seminar in fashion merchandising</div><div>computer applications</div><div>creative writing</div><div>the female body and western culture</div><div><br /></div><div>i think this year i want to read all of anthony bourdain's books</div><div><br /></div><div>i don't know what else to blog about</div><div><br /></div><div>this is the cat that lives at my parents' house</div><div><br /></div><div><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TTNOXIJQR8I/AAAAAAAAAJc/NkdlDak2PJk/s400/165761_186332058045981_100000075638289_721135_5606446_n.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562876123962951618" /></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3561199274661886874?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-2460745519428942762010-12-08T15:13:00.002-05:002010-12-08T15:17:41.402-05:00<a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/">noah cicero</a> made a <a href="http://snowdeathface.blogspot.com/">new blog collective</a><div><br /></div><div>if you live around the great lakes area email (noah.cicero@gmail.com) to contribute because y'know we all share the same shit-culture or something, whatever</div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://snowdeathface.blogspot.com/2010/12/task-at-hand.html">i made a post there</a></div><div><br /></div><div>yeah man</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-246074551942894276?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-15653848963767076732010-11-28T18:08:00.003-05:002010-11-28T18:12:13.726-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TPLhDVtSpdI/AAAAAAAAAJA/Bn4bEDe43sU/s1600/Photo%2Bon%2B2010-10-12%2Bat%2B23.46%2B%25232.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TPLhDVtSpdI/AAAAAAAAAJA/Bn4bEDe43sU/s400/Photo%2Bon%2B2010-10-12%2Bat%2B23.46%2B%25232.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5544741538729469394" /></a><br /><div><br /></div><div>no heat in my house</div><div>no skeet in my blouse</div><div>what?</div><div>i said you are a caterpillar</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1565384896376707673?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-72794887019345157092010-11-16T16:21:00.002-05:002010-11-16T16:29:41.386-05:00i lay in bed and watch law and order SVU<div>between episodes i hear my roommate watching sex and the city in his room</div><div>he's been watching sex and the city for days</div><div>unsure if he wants my shitty company so i stay under the covers</div><div>i stay and i stay and i stay!</div><div>just watched a paranoid schizophrenic man reunite with his young son</div><div>i cried so hard, so dumb</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7279488701934515709?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-66678801928687604342010-11-09T13:15:00.004-05:002010-11-09T13:39:25.970-05:00i went to chicago for four days to do drugs and look at art<div>when i came back my cat looked like he had gotten the shit beaten out of him<div>upon closer inspection i realized that he did in fact get the shit beaten out of him</div><div>there is a cut between his eye and his nose, a gash between his eye and his ear that was bloody, and large chunks of his fur are matted on my roommate's carpet</div><div>i put some soap and water on a flat cotton ball and cleaned his injury, then i sprayed bactine on a flat cotton ball and patted his forehead</div><div>it's okay to put bactine on a cat, right</div><div>i think i kind of felt like my cat this weekend</div></div><div>i am not going to elaborate on that because it might be sad</div><div>that's my story for the day</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6667880192868760434?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-65767858982915222212010-11-02T13:38:00.004-04:002010-11-03T12:46:30.021-04:00<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i went to the coffee place in the downtown area of your town.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i stood in line behind two elderly women.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">several minutes later two more elderly women walked in front of me as if i didn't exist and took their place in line.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i stepped backward a few feet to give them room and didn't argue because they probably didn't even notice i was there and i don't blame them for that; that kind of thing happens often, the invisibility thing.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">five minutes later one woman turned around and looked at me.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">she kept saying "jesus mary and joseph" and doing the the sign of the cross with her hand and i kept thinking "that's not how it goes, old women are insane."</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">she touched my shoulder and said "patience… i am here with my cousin. she was 15 minutes late. i keep having to remember 'patience.'"</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i laughed politely.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i worried i smelled like cigarette smoke and that i was offending people.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">they finally finished ordering and the woman turned to us again and whispered "now i have to stay here and play cards with her for two hours. jesus mary and joseph."</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i smiled and said "good luck."</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i ordered a coffee and a muffin.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i sat down and read a short book and it took me 30 minutes because it was only 50 pages long and felt bad.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i thought it would take up more time.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i thought it would take up the time that i wished would disappear.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">but it didn't so i left and came back to your house.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">the democratic party won't stop calling your house and i want to answer the phone and tell them to chill the fuck out but i know i won't.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i don't want them to think badly of your household.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">your roommate came home early and said that she voted and i didn't know what to say back to her because i didn't vote and don't plan on voting because i am not motivated enough to drive two hours to do that so i felt bad.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i think your roommate thinks i am retarded.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">that's okay.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i do too.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i really don't know what to say to anyone but you and sometimes even that is a struggle.</p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6576785898291522221?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-71397709347064879572010-10-30T12:19:00.002-04:002010-10-30T12:23:47.469-04:00wrote another article for <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2010/north-korea-documentaries-a-state-of-mind/">thought catalog</a> about north korea<div><br /></div><div>it's halloween and i'm gonna be a bird</div><div>squeeeee</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7139770934706487957?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-55899658071877282982010-10-15T14:56:00.003-04:002010-10-15T15:01:02.081-04:00don't dwell, don't dwell<div>yer house is burning, i won't tell</div><div>if yer lover asked you to kill them, would you?</div><div>if not, yer not in love</div><div><br /></div><div>-----</div><div><br /></div><div>the nervous breakdown published my <a href="http://www.thenervousbreakdown.com/bwallace/2010/10/espanol/">POEM</a>.</div><div><br /></div><div>thought catalog published my <a href="http://thoughtcatalog.com/2010/fashion-trends-for-fall-and-winter-2010/">VERY IMPORTANT FASHION ARTICLE</a>.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5589965807187728298?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-37685904827499125852010-10-03T14:09:00.002-04:002010-10-03T14:21:04.077-04:00<div>the rain wouldn't commit today so i pissed myself</div><div>while the fashion girls watched</div><div>i wish you would fuck some confidence into me</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3768590482749912585?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-51009727136819458892010-09-30T22:54:00.001-04:002010-10-01T09:23:17.838-04:00<p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">today i woke up and immediately remembered i had no responsibilities and then felt miserable and alone</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">so i drove to target and bought an "indoor/outdoor utility mat"</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i brought it home and laid it on my hardwood floor</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i sprinkled the little carpet square with catnip</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i watched my cat play on the catnip carpet for what seemed like an hour</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">i eventually fell asleep and when i woke up, it was nighttime</p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica">another day had passed and i felt relieved</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5100972713681945889?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-36104987572516132692010-09-23T14:49:00.002-04:002010-09-23T15:13:06.415-04:00when you went downstairs to the bathroom<div>i laid on my side and made up spanish-sounding words in my mind</div><div>and whispered "entreyagado" to myself quietly</div><div>i knew the word didn't exist but it sounded nice</div><div>it kept me occupied while you were shitting</div><div>"entre ya godot" ...</div><div>i had no spine to kiss</div><div><br /></div><div>[edit: entregado means 'to be dedicated to/selfless,' what d'ya know]</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3610498757251613269?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-62802068310230993462010-09-13T01:55:00.003-04:002010-09-13T21:19:23.556-04:00i read tao lin's novel, <i><a href="http://richardyates.info/">richard yates</a></i>.<div><br /><div>it is well-written and easy to read.</div><div><br /></div><div>it is a novel of arguments between two people. it is very much about one human (haley joel osment) trying to establish dominance over another human (dakota fanning.)</div><div><br /></div><div>it was comparable to watching the most dominant cat in my house try to establish dominance over the most submissive cat in my house. there is no struggle. just low-pitched and consistent growling, the smaller cat backed into a corner that never comes, forced to shit where it eats (if it's allowed to eat at all.)</div><div><br /></div></div><div>you wait for the dominant one to lose interest in the stare-down, realize that they both are the same species, that they both piss in litter boxes and like to play with ribbon. but it never happens. haley joel osment seems determined to keep dakota fanning miserable, and dakota fanning seems determined to keep dakota fanning miserable.</div><div><br /></div><div><i>richard yates</i> is a real quiet shitshow. i felt glad that i read it.</div><div><br /></div><div>-----</div><div><br /></div><div>i also read a poetry chapbook, <i><a href="http://thinktankforhumanbeingsingeneral.tumblr.com/">think tank for human beings in general</a></i>. it's split between jordan castro and richard wehrenberg jr.</div><div><br /></div><div>they put together the poems a year ago.</div><div><br /></div><div>the reoccurring themes in jordan's poems seemed to be the internet, feeling sad, and wanting to fix the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>the reoccurring themes in richard's poems seemed to be romance, transformation, and wanting to fix the world.</div><div><br /></div><div>i like those themes so i liked the chapbook.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6280206831023099346?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-46091190821950715162010-09-12T13:29:00.005-04:002010-09-16T18:30:56.284-04:00there was a thing in kent ohio called dit fest that happened on friday and saturday.<div><br /></div><div><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 284px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TI0dMDTB3DI/AAAAAAAAAI4/4Xh5tKHOWPQ/s320/ditfest.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5516097211479481394" /><br /><div><br /><div>i worked on friday so i missed some things. <a href="http://smokingonanemptystomach.blogspot.com/">jordan castro</a>, <a href="http://malloryannwhitten.tumblr.com/">mallory whitten</a>, <a href="http://www.impersonalelectroniccommunication.com/">sam pink</a>, and <a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/">noah cicero</a> came into the store i was working at. everyone was on adderall and looked really excited. i didn't take any adderall because i had spent the morning vomiting for some reason. sam pink <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/malloryannwhitten/4993506997/#">ate a dead bug</a> from the windowsill. they left. i didn't see sam pink read. after work i found them. we listened to <a href="http://simperingfool.blogspot.com/">richard wehrenberg</a> read. he had a very good stage presence. <a href="http://tomhankssuperfan.blogspot.com/">megan boyle</a> met us there. we walked back to my house and got really drunk. everyone seemed really fucked up. at one point jordan asked my gay roommate, aaron, what he thought about the word "faggot." it was amusing. jordan ordered pizza and while we were eating it aaron pointed out that it looked like everyone was eating cartoon pizza. it was true. the pizza was very cartoon-like.</div><div><br /></div><div>everyone slept on the floor of my living room or on noah's air mattress. i felt bad for not having more couches or pillows or something. no one complained, though. everyone was very polite.</div><div><br /></div><div>saturday noah, megan, sam, and i got breakfast and went to a bookstore. we looked for a koran to burn but couldn't find one. jordan and mallory went to pick up <a href="http://heheheheheheheeheheheehehe.com/">tao lin</a> from the airport. we met at my house and took different pills and sometimes talked. <a href="http://b4hc.tumblr.com/">shannon neale</a> came to my house and we had some drinks. time went by and people did things and then jordan read at the festival. he was nervous and read a poem about his penis and everyone seemed to like it (the poem.) noah read a poem in a very aggressive manner. he seemed to be humping the microphone stand for a while and i thought it was funny. tao read from his book. there was a band who decided to set up before he read which i thought was rude. there was a strange young man who kept following tao and noah around the festival. he seemed to always be two inches behind tao. i thought it was funny.</div><div><br /></div><div>everyone was really nice. it felt good to be nervous and quiet in a group of nervous and quiet people; different. it was a good weekend.</div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-4609119082195071516?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-91449006307799273202010-09-05T15:21:00.004-04:002010-09-05T15:32:32.917-04:00sometimes i look at you<div>and know you are sad and nervous</div><div>sometimes i will sit on your stomach</div><div>and say "are you okay, you look wild right now"</div><div>i've never been good at calming people down, i guess</div><div>i can buy you something tasty with my food stamps if you'd like</div><div><br /></div><div>---</div><div><br /></div><div>amphibi.us published another <a href="http://amphibi.us/all/and-jesus-then-said/">poem</a> of mine</div><div><br /></div><div>started actually using my <a href="http://twitter.com/kilakilakila">twitter</a></div><div><br /></div><div>don't know what else...</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-9144900630779927320?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-13103584485765060402010-08-27T16:46:00.011-04:002010-08-29T15:58:57.739-04:00passing a semi,<br />texting you "in my car, listening to peacebone, grinning"<br />my grin feels a little maniacal<br />because i'm thinking<br />"my best days are behind me"<br />or were they my worst days?<br />i can't remember, but<br />they were probably my most-<span style="font-style:italic;">something</span> days<br />staring blankly at the car in front of me,<br />thinking "poetic mileage"<br />i notice i'm no longer grinning<br />just feeling like a cunt alone with my fragmented thoughts<br /><br />---<div><br /><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/THq75kxoMdI/AAAAAAAAAIw/KBbdCEtpzko/s320/Photo+5.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5510923691839992274" /><br /><div><br />currently i am sitting behind a desk at my new "internship" at a vintage store. it is apparently a cashiering internship masking as a fashion internship. when i work i am running the store alone. i can play any music i want and play on the internet so i think i will be okay.<div><div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/malloryannwhitten">mallory whitten</a> took this <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/malloryannwhitten/4924512807/">picture</a> of a very majestic-looking atticus.</div><div><br />i liked this informative little <a href="http://www.autostraddle.com/read-a-fcking-book-ten-lesbian-bisexual-poets-34457/">list,</a> especially this haiku, by <a href="http://www.staceyannchin.com/v2/index.html">stacyann chin</a>.<br /><br /><span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;">Faggot Haiku</span></span></span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#333333;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:arial;"><br /><br />Faggots reach into<br />their own asses we are not<br />afraid of our shit</span></span></span></div></div></div></div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1310358448576506040?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-73405345506687324852010-08-21T18:10:00.006-04:002010-08-21T18:54:21.747-04:00birthdays are all no-please-don't<br />and grasping-for-conversation<br />which is why i generally<br />avoid discussing mine<br />but they post a birthday list<br />in the break-room at work<br />so my manager said<br />"what do you have planned for your birthday"<br />i replied "maybe eating ice cream with my boyfriend"<br />he said "are you kidding me"<br />and i felt stupid<br /><br />---<br /><br /><a href="http://amphibi.us/all/thousands-of-tiny-black-ants/">amphibi.us</a> published one of my poems, and will publish another one soon.<br /><br />you can buy 50 chicken nuggets at mcdonald's for $9.99.<br /><br />there is a festival coming up in kent called <a href="http://simperingfool.blogspot.com/2010/08/dit-fest-four.html">dit fest</a> that looks promising.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7340534550668732485?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-81789111043109072712010-08-16T13:31:00.007-04:002010-08-18T16:09:37.733-04:00i have a friend<br />who kisses my forehead<br />and pulls my fingers<br />from my mouth<br />and asks me questions<br />and only speaks of herself<br />when she feels it necessary<br />and although<br />i shrug nervously<br />in response to<br />"tell me everything about the last two weeks"<br />and<br />"are you completely straight now"<br />and <br />"what do you think of this"<br />i feel so overwhelmed<br />knowing that i am missed when i am gone<br />that i cry a little<br /><br />---<br /><br />i got back from vacation a few days ago. connecticut was rainy and our tents were flooded. i liked boston. <a href="http://www.google.com/search?client=safari&rls=en&q=ellen+kennedy&ie=UTF-8&oe=UTF-8">ellen kennedy</a> brought us to bookstores and bars and stuff. she is incredibly nice. maine is really pretty and full of wealthy people. noah cicero uploaded some <a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/2010/08/back-from-vacation.html">pictures</a>.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TGuUKa0rvRI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/5JVR4KOqYnw/s1600/wallacecampout.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TGuUKa0rvRI/AAAAAAAAAIQ/5JVR4KOqYnw/s320/wallacecampout.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5506657876110458130" /></a><br /><br />this is me, noah, my brother, and his girlfriend doing shots at my family campout.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8178911104310907271?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-6859394616926268682010-07-25T23:40:00.009-04:002010-07-26T16:19:31.985-04:00guilt is not a word<br />in their vocabulary<br />though it is in yours<br />i will correct me if i am wrong<br />estimating the extent<br />of your indifference<br />grasping the pages<br />of inability, fists<br />with the grip of an infant<br />your ambitions being mixed<br />in the cement truck<br />you are following behind<br />will you ever not be a child<br /><br />-----<br /><br />here are some things you should read or look at if you want... <a href="http://jacksnjillforeverforeverjillnjacks.blogspot.com/2010/07/1827.html">this</a> and <a href="http://idonothavepenisenvy.blogspot.com/2010/07/make-believe-love-making.html">this</a> and <a href="http://work.fourteensquarefeet.com/">this</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-685939461692626868?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-81380490029107120502010-07-09T02:25:00.003-04:002010-07-11T19:59:45.712-04:00the humidity allows the<br />shitty thoughts to emerge<br />providing themes like<br />paranoia or<br />possessiveness or<br />anger or<br />envy and<br />it's as uncomfortable<br />as the heavy air<br /><br />-----<br /><br />in other news...<br /><br />i've changed my email address. <span style="font-weight:bold;">brittanyjwallace@gmail.com</span>. send me emails when you are bored or lonely? i also created a <a href="http://brittanywallace.tumblr.com/">tumblr</a>. oh, and um, a <a href="http://www.formspring.me/kilakilakila">formspring</a> too.<br /><br />i have a poem <a href="http://pollyputthekettleonzine.blogspot.com/2010/06/move-slowly-frighten-no-one.html">here</a>.<br /><br /><a href="http://www.hannahmiet.com/">hannah miet</a> has finished <a href="http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/Hannahmiet/hello-absurd-world-a-book-of-5-minute-poems">a nice video</a> in promotion for her upcoming poetry book.<br /><br />(in these difficult economic times) i need to come up with $700 within the next few weeks. any ideas? i have a job and not many possessions to pawn. looked into selling my panties but the whole setup seems like a whole lot of work with little payoff.<br /><br />i'm going to try to stop compulsively watching the l word and staring at the <a href="http://www.dump.fm/">dump.fm</a> homepage. it's stupid and depressing. instead i will try to blog more. (shout-out 2 you, tim.)<br /><br />and don't forget, if you live in an area with a high concentration of feral cats, <a href="http://advantage.petparents.com/index.cfm">flea season</a> is upon us again.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TDa7d7oytwI/AAAAAAAAAIE/-P8E2fl9moc/s1600/Photo+on+2010-07-07+at+14.55+%232.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/TDa7d7oytwI/AAAAAAAAAIE/-P8E2fl9moc/s320/Photo+on+2010-07-07+at+14.55+%232.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5491782918524286722" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8138049002910712050?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-20012460439709488232010-06-16T02:27:00.003-04:002010-06-16T02:58:36.508-04:00i occupy everything on my own<br />and think that it must be nice<br />to have a best friend because<br />it feels bad to walk to the bar alone<br />but with these nights of sobriety<br />come paranoia<br />and i don't lock my doors<br />alone naked in my bed,<br />in my house, and<br />it's never bothered me before<br />but now with these nightly dreams<br />of being held in places,<br />against my will, surrounded by explosives<br />i guess i fear an intruder,<br />abstractly<br />but i don't want to stop sleeping<br />because i know exactly<br />what i will do<br />when i awake<br />i will drive to the coffee shop<br />in the next town over<br />to avoid having to speak to anyone i know<br />which feels depressing and embarrassing<br />but not nearly as severe as when i<br />walk away from a conversation,<br />i guess<br />i deserve<br />not<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2001246043970948823?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-47195205856261285692010-06-04T02:29:00.007-04:002010-06-04T02:51:01.563-04:00you know it's really nice to be in love and everything but what kind of sucks is that everything else is even shittier than before in comparison<br /><br />when we were up at 5am that one night on adderall and you guys said "she's not really good at anything in particular" i wanted to curl up in a ball and transform into another species because i'm on the same motherfucking boat she's on, the boat with no concrete plan<br /><br />i work at a phone center asking people to take voter opinion polls and it's great i get paid to sit and read but i've never talked that much so when my shift is nearing its end my throat is raw and it hurts to speak<br /><br />sometimes i think of what <a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/">someone</a> said to me, something like "to be a good writer you must be willing to embarrass yourself." i am not going to claim that that is exactly what was said but i think about it a lot<br /><br />do you ever sit in a room full of people and think "they all know something i don't know" because i do every goddamned time<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-4719520585626128569?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-92200759691263748922010-05-18T14:42:00.005-04:002010-05-21T14:18:20.042-04:00i would sit in my chalk-kitchen<br />while my mother watched from the window<br />nail-biting and thinking about<br />god-knows what<br />the driveway was damaged by the elements so<br />the bedroom was built<br />around tiny cement stones and<br />i was careful not to allow<br />any cracks to interrupt my living room<br />the chalk would build walls until<br />there was no chalk left, my<br />small fingers scraping against cement<br />i would sit happily in my perfect chalk-house<br />until i was forced indoors<br />or until the rain erased any proof<br />that my perfect chalk-house existed at all<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S_LfyDcSj0I/AAAAAAAAAH0/lChmdGmGOc0/s1600/tumblr_l27zhqujCN1qbtju5o1_r3_500.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S_LfyDcSj0I/AAAAAAAAAH0/lChmdGmGOc0/s320/tumblr_l27zhqujCN1qbtju5o1_r3_500.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5472682548218990402" /></a><br /><a href="http://popserial.tumblr.com">pop serial</a> is a huge-ass magazine, the first-born child of <a href="http://asyourecognizeyourtransience.blogspot.com/2010/05/interview-with-stephen-tully-dierks.html/">stephen dierks</a>, who is currently pasting the above poster all over chicago i guess. go <a href="http://www.mediafire.com/?hdykh1d1tmt">here</a> to download the pdf. many great things are inside.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-9220075969126374892?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-74099569022860399072010-05-09T23:38:00.002-04:002010-05-10T01:21:12.890-04:00i saw a homeless black man on a bicycle<br />he waved and then i waved as i passed by<br />i saw a white man dressed as a cowboy<br />staring into the window of the bank downtown<br />i saw a car dealership with a sign reading<br />"ford crushes the competition"<br />and in the grass, perched atop two crushed cars,<br />there was a large pickup truck, looking proud<br />i saw glenn beck on the cover of forbes magazine<br />in the bathroom of my parents' house<br />and i watched as a baby seal was devoured by hyenas<br />as part of some mother's day special on television<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7409956902286039907?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-15104469860967615082010-05-07T15:53:00.003-04:002010-05-07T16:06:32.043-04:00<object width="400" height="240"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/FdhnOyCIboE&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/FdhnOyCIboE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="400" height="240"></embed></object><br /><br />i got a 100% on my seven-page john galliano paper. so did everyone else. my professor didn't bother to read them. fashion.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S-RwCHL5JYI/AAAAAAAAAHs/WZEymmiscCA/s1600/INSURGENT.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 359px; height: 269px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S-RwCHL5JYI/AAAAAAAAAHs/WZEymmiscCA/s400/INSURGENT.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5468619029125604738" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1510446986096761508?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-52263712644834330542010-05-01T21:00:00.000-04:002010-05-01T21:12:41.074-04:00you see i don't know what to say but to<br />giggle and tug on your hair in the <br />restaurant the car or the bedroom so<br />please just try to bear with me here<br /><br />-----<br /><br /><object width="400" height="240"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/miIQ9yialIQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/miIQ9yialIQ&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="400" height="240"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5226371264483433054?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-58993085401672254402010-04-16T21:33:00.013-04:002010-04-17T01:20:15.188-04:00every man wants to be john galliano<br />every woman wants to be john galliano's best friend<br />every john galliano wants to be woman's best friend<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kW54sE8oI/AAAAAAAAAHM/jZalnbTHfpE/s1600/john_galliano-princess.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 245px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kW54sE8oI/AAAAAAAAAHM/jZalnbTHfpE/s320/john_galliano-princess.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460921206889050754" /></a><br /><br />john galliano's real name is juan carlos antonio cocaine galliano guillén<br />juan galliano was born in gibraltar and had beautiful eyebrows straight out of the womb<br />john galliano just wants to have a good fucking time<br />no one else wants to have a good fucking time<br />alexander mcqueen wanted to have a good fucking time but he wore cargo shorts and look what happened to him<br />john galliano would never wear cargo shorts unless they were made in crushed velvet with ruffled hems<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kY6NkyQgI/AAAAAAAAAHk/z8rseYtuwCg/s1600/john_galliano_dior2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kY6NkyQgI/AAAAAAAAAHk/z8rseYtuwCg/s400/john_galliano_dior2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460923411518865922" /></a><br /><br />i heard if you touch john galliano's mustache you immediately lose 30 pounds and have 12 consecutive orgasms<br />some people who 'just don't understand fashion' think that john galliano is a freakshow<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kYsLoqnOI/AAAAAAAAAHc/6NO-H-vinFI/s1600/freak-show.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 267px; height: 400px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kYsLoqnOI/AAAAAAAAAHc/6NO-H-vinFI/s400/freak-show.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460923170480102626" /></a><br /><br />john galliano understands that 'fashion is art' and that 'art is a circus' and that 'fashion is a circus'<br />john galliano is a beautiful creature<br />sometimes the world doesn't understand beautiful creatures<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kWxeVBsYI/AAAAAAAAAHE/-NxtGcH6YQE/s1600/John+Galliano.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S8kWxeVBsYI/AAAAAAAAAHE/-NxtGcH6YQE/s320/John+Galliano.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5460921062374093186" /></a><br /><br />i love you, john galliano<br /><br />"i'm not an artist. maybe an artist with a small a."<br />--john galliano<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5899308540167225440?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-14620773889346177172010-04-14T11:26:00.003-04:002010-04-14T11:45:37.188-04:00Olivia put a load of laundry into the washing machine, then poured herself some juice and flipped through a Newsweek magazine that was lying on the coffee table.<br /><br />Teresa worked at a nursing home, caring for elderly nuns. She said she enjoyed her job because the nuns were funny. Teresa had always had a very Catholic sense of humor, a result of her sad childhood, overbearing Italian parents, and a strange sense of entitlement. Olivia suspected that the free magazines, gifts from the nuns, and the endless amount of complaining that could be done with the old women also were perks.<br /><br />There was never Newsweek magazine in the house when Olivia was growing up.<br /><br />Finally done with work, Teresa arrived through the side door. She walked into the living room without saying anything to her daughter.<br /><br />"Hi," Olivia said.<br /><br />"Hi. Ugh, Olivia, you smell like cigarette smoke. I would give you a hug but I would smell like a bar for days. You really should go take a shower."<br /><br />Olivia groaned at this predictable display of affection. This was the first thing her mother said to her every time they saw each other. "I took a shower last night."<br /><br />Teresa turned on the television. She told her daughter things she had heard about grade school friends. ("Your old friend Nick, he got a DUI last week. 90 days in jail.") Olivia couldn't care less about her mother's gossip. She let her mother speak though, it obviously thrilled her to share the information. Olivia didn't bother to tell her mother that they only give you 3 days of jail time for your first DUI offense. She knew it would only lead to an argument anyway.<br /><br />---<br /><br />i've got a reflective poem <a href="http://newwavevomit.com/newwavevomit.com/2nd.html"><span style="font-weight:bold;">here</span></a> and a dangerous poem <a href="http://www.madswirl.com/content/poetryforum.html"><span style="font-weight:bold;">here</span></a>.<br /><br />currently i'm working on a series of stories, that i hope aren't terribly boring. above is a small excerpt from one.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1462077388934617717?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-84654955714048239572010-04-04T23:47:00.006-04:002010-04-05T19:49:24.309-04:00genevieve is watching "the view" in the living room. it's kind of <span style="font-style:italic;">her</span> room. no one spends much time in there, including herself, except to watch her shows. in retrospect, the all-white sofa seemed a little stuffy. although she recently bought some ceramic sculptures, which really spiced up the decor.<br /><br />her husband shuffles by, through the kitchen. he stops and pokes his purplish-red face into the living room.<br /><br />"genny, you know what rush limbaugh says about the view?"<br /><br />"what, dale."<br /><br />"they're a bunch of bimbos! a bunch of bedwetting liberal bimbos!"<br /><br />"shut up, dale."<br /><br />"that joy behar, she's not even italian. she's a jew!"<br /><br />"dale, she's italian. joy behar is italian. get outta here."<br /><br />dale chuckles and shuffles out to the garage and turns his black and white television on. the channel hasn't changed from fox news in years. he opens the fridge for a beer and thinks about what to do with his day. he's got a lot of work to do on the yard and on the pond, but first he's going to finish fixing up the tractor he's been working on. he's going to make quite a profit selling this one, he thinks.<br /><br /><br />-----<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S7lelTqDojI/AAAAAAAAAGE/qbVb6ma5HE0/s1600/atticus1.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S7lelTqDojI/AAAAAAAAAGE/qbVb6ma5HE0/s320/atticus1.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456496418560909874" /></a><br /><br />do you love me?<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S7lelua9PcI/AAAAAAAAAGM/YOJVwhAwEnc/s1600/atticus2.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S7lelua9PcI/AAAAAAAAAGM/YOJVwhAwEnc/s320/atticus2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456496425745333698" /></a><br /><br />tell me you love me!<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S7lelyL4WVI/AAAAAAAAAGU/FzTQq9ivUxQ/s1600/atticus.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S7lelyL4WVI/AAAAAAAAAGU/FzTQq9ivUxQ/s320/atticus.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5456496426755840338" /></a><br /><br />don't talk to me.<br /><br />(photo credit - the wonderful <a href="http://zombiesonthebrain.blogspot.com/">sam dee.</a>)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8465495571404823957?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-84860662478815577302010-03-26T13:26:00.002-04:002010-03-26T13:31:24.496-04:00for most people, ranting<br />and fighting and yelling<br />and texting and bitching<br />about other people is some kind<br />of passive-aggressive self-expression<br /><br />our self-expression comes<br />in the form of glances to someone<br />across the room, in the form of<br />panic attacks and hyperventilation,<br />in the form of complete social avoidance<br /><br />because<br /><br />only in isolation do you realize<br />that anger is a reactionary emotion<br />and only in isolation do you realize<br />that to entirely understand your emotions<br />you must sit still with them for days<br /><br />and with no interruption<br />with no other voice to validate or mock you<br />with no other head to nod or shake at you<br />you might realize<br />that you are a selfish narcissistic motherfucker<br />with a deeply-rooted superiority complex<br /><br />that discovery might frighten and depress you<br />let it<br />because sadness is anger with empathy<br />and the angry know no empathy<br />they only know anger<br /><br />if i truly understand my anger<br />i can avoid projecting it onto others<br />and if i truly understand my sadness<br />then i have reason enough <br />to emerge from the quiet <br />and make some eye contact<br /><br />and that is enough for me<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8486066247881557730?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-87930403704679668072010-03-22T15:34:00.008-04:002010-03-22T16:43:47.566-04:001) i would like the internet to know that <a href="http://smokingonanemptystomach.blogspot.com/">jordan castro</a> is a very nice person. i <a href="http://smokingonanemptystomach.blogspot.com/2010/01/review-meeting-noah-cicero-brittany.html">meet with him</a> occasionally for coffee because he lives nearby. sometimes he brings his nice friend <a href="http://malloryannwhitten.tumblr.com/">mallory</a>. he plans on attending college where i am currently attending college. when i first encountered his online presence, <a href="http://noceilings.wtfpwm.com/?page=10&menu=yes">i was not impressed</a>. however, i have grown to appreciate him. if i had not previously known his age, i would not have assumed he was 17 based on speaking with him.<br /><br />2) luna negra, the kent state university literary magazine, is now available for free all over campus. you can also <a href="http://issuu.com/lunanegra/docs/spring2010theartaroundyou">read it online</a>. the spring 2010 issue includes poems, stories, and photography by lots of people, including <a href="http://chittygangbang.blogspot.com/">jackie fahmy</a>, <a href="http://thisanjali.blogspot.com/">thisanjali gangoda</a>, <a href="http://squidparts.blogspot.com/">sarah spinelli</a>, <a href="http://missteenohio.blogspot.com/">brianna ries</a>, <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/jeffhazelden">jeff hazelden</a>, <a href="http://wnderful.blogspot.com/">alexis carek</a>, <a href="http://simperingfool.blogspot.com/">richard wehrenberg jr.</a>, and more.<br /><br />3) also, <a href="http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1575695/">the human war</a> needs your <a href="http://humanwarmovie.blogspot.com/2010/03/funding-latest-news.html">help</a>. making a movie is expensive.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S6fQ-NDc15I/AAAAAAAAAF8/QFQW7LygtUU/s1600-h/noahcicerotoasterstrudel.png"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 224px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S6fQ-NDc15I/AAAAAAAAAF8/QFQW7LygtUU/s320/noahcicerotoasterstrudel.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5451555641029875602" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8793040370467966807?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com23tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-52666182568658431442010-03-18T10:42:00.007-04:002010-03-18T11:39:42.502-04:00"That was the best caviar this side of the Antarctica," my friend says.<br />We parade single file, all twelve of us, across the bridge. The sky is overcast but it's only the early afternoon, so it could get better. Unless, of course, it gets worse.<br />We slowly creep past the Freemason house, with the collective demeanor of paranoid lunatics.<br />"WAIT!" I hear someone yell.<br />We spin around to see our two boys go, they are past the open front gate, climbing the giant tree in the front yard of the goddamned Freemason house, limbs flailing, cackling like madmen!<br />The rest of us shriek and dance around in circles on the sidewalk, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle.<br />A woman emerges outside through the front door to retrieve her child from the porch. She glares at us angrily. We didn't notice the children in the front yard. We didn't notice the powder-blue "IT'S A BOY" balloons decorating the fence, though, either.<br />Lucky for us there are no laws today, the policemen went on strike hours ago, they wanted Escalades for cruisers and the state refused, and so today there will be no repercussions for our actions.<br />Our boys jump from the tree and I lead us across the street, shadowboxing the fog-monsters threatening our good time.<br />"Can we check the status of the cemetery real quick, maybe?" I hear someone giggle from behind.<br />A friend scurries up beside me and says with a terrified expression, "What if we all see our names on the headstones? What if the Illuminati has just cursed us?"<br />"We will throw a party, we will revolt!" I laugh.<br />"We will haunt the shit out of them and learn all of their secret magic tricks!" someone adds from behind.<br />"Stop it guys, my great-grandfather was a Freemason!" someone declares.<br />Cries ring out, "WE HAVE BEEN INFILTRATED! THERE IS A MASON AMONG US!"<br />We drift around the cemetery but only within several yards of the entrance.<br />My friend points out my surname on a tombstone, and I run at her kicking the air a foot away from her stomach. We begin doing cartwheels, laughing hysterically.<br />Today death is a myth.<br />The parade continues into the park. A festival, people everywhere, people with easels, people with children, people selling paintings, people walking dogs.<br />We break apart, in small groups or alone, some to the train tracks, some to the woods, some to the river. I choose the tracks.<br />I sit on the bridge and watch the trees as my friends fashion a get-well-soon card out of soggy paper, soil, and human blood. I dig markers from my bag and sign my name.<br />"Don't scare me like that! I love you." I sign.<br />You really have to be careful with that jimsonweed, you know, nature can be cruel. It can send you straight into a psychotic episode, then into a blackout, which will either send you straight to the ER or into the ground.<br />Two hours pass and our small group meanders back to the gathering.<br />Our missing cohorts are traveling from all different directions, compelled by the setting sun and fading greenness.<br />We all sit down cross-legged, eyes fixed forward on the people dressed in medieval clothing. They are throwing knives and swords into trees, what a show!<br />"Fuck-You-Bob paints some crazy shit."<br />"Not as crazy as the rash I had on my arm for 10 minutes that completely disappeared."<br />"That was just your Freemason great-grandfather, cursing you with the Freemason rash."<br />"Let's go bring this card to them before Alaska secedes and fucks up Canada."<br />We leave the park as the sun is setting, no longer green but now covered in soil.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S6JBku16bnI/AAAAAAAAAF0/jXfoGmC5B0s/s1600-h/7517_702585071954_23329547_40778816_6771902_n.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S6JBku16bnI/AAAAAAAAAF0/jXfoGmC5B0s/s320/7517_702585071954_23329547_40778816_6771902_n.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5449990598376975986" /></a><br /><br />ready 4 school 2 be over so i can chill on lakes with beers and shit.<br /><br />also, "<a href="http://foreveryyear.blogspot.com/2010/03/1543-co-brittany-wallace.html">the scientific revolution</a>" via 1543 is now up at <span style="font-style:italic;">for every year.</span><br /><br />edit: that story i just posted makes no fucking sense because two years ago nothing made any fucking sense and i am going to stop writing for a while and just read because i am contributing to the problem of "littering the internet" with stupid shit and not reading enough and i think i should be reading at least 10x as much as i write and i don't think i'm doing that at all and i am feeling guilt oh jesus christ oh jesus christ oh jesus christ<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5266618256865843144?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-13845635052165891432010-03-14T23:40:00.007-04:002010-03-15T00:25:29.939-04:00today i read <span style="font-style:italic;">the insurgent</span> by <a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/">noah cicero</a>. i read it within several hours, alone in my bed, in silence.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S521Zqtj7OI/AAAAAAAAAFs/rSaUJrqYM_Q/s1600-h/theinsurgentnoahcicero.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 184px; height: 288px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S521Zqtj7OI/AAAAAAAAAFs/rSaUJrqYM_Q/s400/theinsurgentnoahcicero.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5448710576754912482" /></a><br /><br />after i finished reading it i felt like i had been hit by a train, but slowly and lovingly, as if the train was just trying to brush my hair, but instead made me vomit raw fucking emotion.<br /><br />if that didn't make any sense, i am trying to say that the book was really good. really really good.<br /><br />if you have $14 chilling in your bank account it is a very good and respectable decision to buy <span style="font-style:italic;">the insurgent.</span><br /><br /><a href="http://www.blatt.cz/noah_cicero_insurgent.php">PURCHASE IT HERE</a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1384563505216589143?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-61796396348770656502010-03-07T18:35:00.003-05:002010-03-07T18:44:01.024-05:00my manager links the<br />rope across my lane<br />CLOSED<br />"i will see you in fifteen," he says<br />i walk slowly to my car<br />i sit in defeated silence<br />silently smoking my cigarette<br />no radio no cell phone conversations<br />once i loudly made sex noises<br />only to amuse myself<br />alone in my car on my break,<br />pornographic, windows down,<br />watching the poor overweight families<br />leave and return to the parking lot<br />but not today<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6179639634877065650?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com11tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-22311349616675524742010-03-04T14:19:00.003-05:002010-03-04T14:40:55.819-05:00i had never been to a strip club. now i am going to a strip club without any allies and i am not counting my boyfriend as an ally because i envision him consoling a crying stripper as i politely drink alone amongst a room full of lonely middle-aged men. <br /><br />we are driving home from dinner and i am fighting back tears because i realize i cannot mentally and emotionally handle any simple social experience and that there is a possibility i may never learn how. i am constantly overwhelmed by uncertainty regarding how to behave, and by fear that i will somehow humiliate myself.<br /><br />we are sitting on his couch in his living room, 30 minutes before we must leave for the strip club.<br /><br />i am staring at the ceiling and shaking.<br /><br />he says "oh, brittany. are you worried? we don't need to go."<br /><br />i quietly say "it's okay, i am going to do this, i am going to grow as a person."<br /><br />"do you want me to explain to you exactly what to expect?"<br /><br />"yes, please."<br /><br />he draws me a map of the place, beginning where we park our car. he draws an X. i ask what the X means.<br /><br />"that is where we will kiss before we enter the strip joint."<br /><br />i smile. "fuck. i need a xanax, or something."<br /><br />"do you want vicodin?"<br /><br />"YES."<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S5AMtGl71CI/AAAAAAAAAFk/SWlIX493Rtc/s1600-h/powwow.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 267px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S5AMtGl71CI/AAAAAAAAAFk/SWlIX493Rtc/s400/powwow.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5444865918494299170" /></a><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2231134961667552474?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-36899748736422185222010-02-24T14:29:00.005-05:002010-02-24T14:43:57.476-05:00i am sorry i remember<br />when they were coming for me<br />and all i could hear<br />was the bellowing<br />of the world<br />against my skull<br />and the world outside of me<br />felt like thousands of tiny black ants<br />fighting endlessly<br />over the crumbs of a muffin<br />and sounded like the footsteps<br />of thousands of tiny black ants<br />moving over and under one another<br />the crushing of legs<br />amplified 600 times<br />through a megaphone<br />in each of my ears<br />and the world won't quit<br />for me, no<br />the world quits for no one<br />only jesus, when he comes<br />for my high school best friend<br />and i am not jesus<br />no, i am saving no one<br />by stomping and kicking on sidewalks<br />and feeding the deafening black ants.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S4WA5LFhWHI/AAAAAAAAAFU/JskvQiswrwU/s1600-h/tumblr_kxpxqxoLKn1qzgyxho1_400.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 294px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S4WA5LFhWHI/AAAAAAAAAFU/JskvQiswrwU/s320/tumblr_kxpxqxoLKn1qzgyxho1_400.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5441897444463958130" /></a><br />(taken from <a href="http://b4hc.tumblr.com/">shannon</a>.)<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3689974873642218522?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-70553489774165321212010-02-18T11:23:00.005-05:002010-02-19T15:59:31.211-05:00i am afraid to go outside<br />the icicles are melting<br />and falling, crashing loudly<br />and if i go outside<br />i will surely be impaled<br />winter icicle death in february<br />i should probably continue<br />camping out here in my bedroom<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S31qYp9huCI/AAAAAAAAAFM/6OR5qId0Pn0/s1600-h/yakuza-small.jpg"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 311px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/S31qYp9huCI/AAAAAAAAAFM/6OR5qId0Pn0/s320/yakuza-small.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5439620896746747938" /></a><br /><a href="http://stasiab.wordpress.com/">(stasia burrington)</a><br /><br />when i found this illustration i thought "that is me and my grey coat. kind of. 'secret badass.' i like that."<br /><br /><object width="400" height="245"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/KHd5jvXlmyE&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/KHd5jvXlmyE&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7055348977416532121?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-25784050311076540732010-02-17T09:35:00.007-05:002010-02-17T12:37:52.340-05:00i am taking a class called "personal selling and sales management." in other words, a business class.<br /><br />one day we take a short, vague questionnaire to reveal our individual "communication styles."<br /><br />as i had predicted, i am a "reflective." meaning, low dominance and low sociability. meaning, we don't enjoy excessive attention. meaning, we would prefer to observe and listen than to speak.<br /><br />i was one of five in a class of 50. in other words, a business class.<br /><br />the professor continues the exercise by telling us to begin a conversation with a stranger in the class.<br /><br />i say hello to the girl sitting next to me. we tell each other what our majors are. she is sitting near three friends, so she goes back to talking to them. i know no one, so i sit pretending to do something.<br /><br />the professor begins circling the room yelling "EVERYONE NEEDS TO BE ENGAGED IN CONVERSATION."<br /><br />now, i'm thinking, this is just outrageous. i feel anxious. i understand what he is trying to do, condition us to effectively bullshit with other human beings, but jesus christ. 45 of the students there already know how to do that.<br /><br />i realize that the majority of my friends are emotives, and that both of the people that i live with are emotives, despite the professor insisting that we surround ourselves with people of the same communication style. emotive indicates high dominance and high sociability. emotives, directives, and supportives all have the ability to become high-functioning, highly successful members of society. the professional world values dominance. even writers and artists who are highly dominant and social seem to be more "successful."<br /><br />if you are a reflective, well, you had better change something, otherwise you are just fucked.<br /><br />(when i shared this with <a href="http://noah-cicero.blogspot.com/">noah</a>, he looked at me and said, "oh, brittany." when i shared this with <a href="http://disquietblog.blogspot.com/">tim</a>, he said, "sadistic fucking professor. he probably has 'power lunches' every day with people that he thinks are his friends.")<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2578405031107654073?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-6395099330196423662010-02-15T23:32:00.002-05:002010-02-15T23:35:33.380-05:00take me with water<br />and i will dissolve<br />travel through<br />your body<br />brushing<br />your organs<br />with my liquid<br />eyelashes<br />you will piss me out in the shower<br />i will become human<br />you will wash me clean<br />as i tell you<br />with big eyes<br />the things i had seen<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-639509933019642366?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-15401059714870220702010-02-11T20:07:00.001-05:002010-02-11T20:09:12.193-05:00conocer es morir<br />y conozco nada<br />tan continúo<br />llevo mi peso<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1540105971487022070?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-43164064748768865012010-02-10T12:16:00.001-05:002010-02-10T14:31:08.540-05:00two cats stare at me <br />as i pack my cigarettes<br />one looks at me with suspicion<br />and the other with curiosity<br />i feel paranoid,<br />and light a cigarette,<br />and bite my nails between drags.<br />by the time i am done <br />with every fingernail<br />on my right hand<br />my coffee is no longer hot<br />and i say, out loud to myself,<br />"fuck."<br /><br />i drink the contents of the mug<br />with frightening quickness<br />feeling proud, my hands are not shaking<br />my roommate has hung a hand-written sign<br />above a chair in our living room<br />it reads "the great literacy couch of knowledge"<br />i stare at it for several minutes<br />hear myself say "fuck" out loud, again, why?<br />and begin on the nails of my left hand, now shaking<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-4316406474876886501?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-53143681497906727852010-02-05T12:00:00.001-05:002010-02-05T12:08:00.077-05:00i am a cactus<br />my body has grown<br />strong through evolution<br />thank you,<br />history's dirt<br />i may feed you<br />dragon fruit<br />if you are patient<br />with me<br />however, i may be <br />of the genus echinopsis<br />meaning,<br />i may grow a spectacular<br />flower one evening<br />but it will die the next morning<br />i am sorry<br />still keep me?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5314368149790672785?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-38510486507317925422010-02-02T00:40:00.001-05:002010-02-02T00:44:14.072-05:00my face feels hot<br />if i could blush<br />i would blush<br />instead my stomach<br />moves into my mouth<br />sometimes my organs<br />relocate just to make<br />my life more difficult<br />so i lose the ability<br />to speak, grinning<br />i run my tongue<br />across my teeth<br />oh, stomach acid<br />it tastes just like<br />my words usually do<br />kiss me<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3851048650731792542?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-66009634211868983242010-02-01T16:15:00.000-05:002010-02-01T16:16:33.013-05:00every piece of pavement<br />every vehicle, every pair off shoes<br />stained white with salt<br />death death death death death<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6600963421186898324?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-63103104453710293832010-01-30T17:38:00.003-05:002010-01-30T17:58:22.555-05:00sarah san made a nice video of footage from the 2008-2009 slut hut era. watching this made me feel nostalgic for easy days, for failed shotgunning-a-beer tutorials, for spending little to no time at my actual apartment, for sleeping in a closet next to a bike for a month, for group mullets with hair wraps, for hungover breakfasts at the diner that doesn't exist anymore.<br /><br />but the friendship still remains. these people are my family.<br /><br /><object width="480" height="295"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/5f8F0iMkZc4&hl=en_US&fs=1&"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/5f8F0iMkZc4&hl=en_US&fs=1&" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="295"></embed></object><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6310310445371029383?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-42037941609051353362010-01-29T16:25:00.004-05:002010-01-29T16:43:17.665-05:00on the highway,<br />in the fast lane,<br />i cry when i see someone<br />furiously gaining on me<br />in my rearview mirror<br />remembering when<br />you said "you're a<br />right-lane driver?<br />me too, i feel safer there."<br /><br />on the highway,<br />i cry again when i pass<br />state patrol issuing a fine<br />fucking stupid hat!<br />my vague sadness is a<br />tinfoil replica of the <br />state officer's hat,<br />i'm alive<br /><br />i think about reaching<br />for my seatbelt<br />but i merge into the<br />right-hand lane and<br />forget about it<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-4203794160905135336?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-38890064449331072662010-01-25T15:41:00.004-05:002010-01-25T16:20:12.449-05:00i listen to my professor discuss the cyclical nature of fashion trends and my mind wanders<br />every time she or someone else mentions the recession's effect on "the season's colors" i want to set fire to the building<br />when my professor asks "what events do you think will affect the trends this year" and someone responds "haiti" i want to set fire to the building<br />in business class no i do not want to read quotes from "seven habits of highly effective people" on your powerpoint<br />because i will never be a highly effective person<br />prospective clients will surely know this by the sight of my sad fingernails and i will always be unsure of my words<br />i will never successfully sell laptops to best buy or dresses to barneys, fuck<br />i keep thinking of what my 12 year old cousin typed for the favorite books section of his facebook profile:<br />"books are gay."<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3889006444933107266?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-69291883655600805032010-01-15T18:54:00.000-05:002010-01-15T18:55:14.720-05:00when you make<br />that face<br />at me, with<br />your eyes<br />squinted, looking<br />ferocious, baring<br />your teeth,<br />my lungs<br />repel each other<br />like the negatives<br />of two magnets<br />so i inhale<br />and growl<br />with the most positive<br />of intentions<br /><br /><br />also, disenthralled issue four is out, they put my poem in it, <a href="http://disenthrallme.wordpress.com/issues/issue-4/">HERE</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6929188365560080503?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-38530839835907245022010-01-10T14:16:00.006-05:002010-01-10T15:44:24.117-05:00it is sometime in the early afternoon, and i am at a dive bar in youngstown with friends. this dive bar is nice because it has tables and chairs. we sit at one, silently understanding one another’s goal for the afternoon: get drunk. i stare across the table at A; i haven’t seen his face in weeks. i forget why, and am overcome with a feeling of sleepiness. my gaze drifts diagonally to T as she says “A, tell us of your adventures!” i remember then that A has been gone on a cross-country roadtrip to scatter J’s ashes across the pacific. he just now arrived back home.<br /><br />A, with exhaustion in his voice, says “so we were driving to see J, and we found him…” he begins a story, and my mind wanders away, then my vision follows. my eyes settle on the figure sitting next to A. my heartbeat quickens as i immediately realize it’s J. there he is, sitting quietly, behind his beer. he doesn’t say a word. he picks up his glass and swallows, all without a noise. my eyes widen and i’m overcome with a sense of lucid excitement. he’s here! they found him, he’s here!<br /><br />i glance back at A and he’s finished with his story. but when i avert my eyes back, J is no longer there. i sigh.<br /><br />my life suddenly feels like a long sequence of glances and concentrated vision and weak eye contact. my body feels heavy and i am weighed down by the rocks suspended from my eyelids. i can’t see them, but i know they are there, struggling to defeat me. i won’t let them win, i think. and i can’t drink anymore. i have to drive to N’s house. he will be home soon, and i should be there. i cannot be excessively drunk.<br /><br />i finish my beer, stand up, and say goodbye to my six friends at the table. i move away and politely set my empty can on the bar. an old acquaintance from a class is sitting on a barstool. he tells me that a girl we knew died in a car accident the day before. i had only met her several times, at parties, so my relationship with her was hazy at best. still, i couldn’t help but feel taken aback.<br /><br />“that’s terrible,” i say, and give him a hug. i walk to my car and pass two girls crying on the steps. what a strange afternoon, i think to myself. and why are all of my friends at a bar in youngstown? why are they not in kent?<br /><br />i drive to N’s house. as i step out of my car i take time to survey his house. it looks different than before. the second story attic, where we sleep, jets upward into the sky, forming an acute angle. there are no walls there, only window screening wrapped around support beams. why are there no walls? why didn’t i realize this before? i grow increasingly concerned with my discovery. no wonder it’s been so unbearably cold up there! there are no walls!<br /><br />i slowly walk inside and sit down at the kitchen table. i keep my coat on. i light a cigarette and wait for my boyfriend to arrive home.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3853083983590724502?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-16307188550950382722010-01-08T15:47:00.001-05:002010-01-08T19:50:44.408-05:00i bury my face into my cat’s neck<br />and say “i know you are just waiting<br />for me to die so you can eat me.<br />that is okay. as soon as my<br />heartbeat stops, you have my permission.”<br />he meows. my cat loves me.<br /><br /><br />ALSO:<br />ana c. published my poem "i want a life filled with expiration dates" <a href="http://anikainpink.com/anikainpink.com/4.html">HERE</a>.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1630718855095038272?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-54292661534472779152010-01-03T19:54:00.005-05:002010-01-03T20:17:52.320-05:00<div style="text-align: left;"><i><br /></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>customer #57 - male, early thirties:</b></div><div> "do you speak any foreign languages?"</div><div> "oh not really, just some spanish." i look at the ground, when conversations begin like this at work, they do not generally end comfortably.</div><div> "well have you ever played tetherball?"</div><div><br /></div><div><b>customer #133 - poor middle-aged female</b><i>:</i></div><div> she attracts my attention by laughing hysterically at anything anyone around her says. she is standing in line alone. she is not shopping with anyone.</div><div> "reese witherspoon lives on a farm."</div><div> "what's that?"</div><div> "reese witherspoon lives on a farm! you probably don't know who that is."</div><div> "the actress?"</div><div> "yes! reese witherspoon! she lives on a farm with goats and chickens, and her husband is leaving her! he probably just can't stand the farm anymore!"</div><div> i smile politely.</div><div> she laughs hysterically.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5429266153447277915?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-21503698783122620942009-12-31T02:50:00.003-05:002009-12-31T14:28:28.281-05:00<p class="MsoNormal">outside it is ten degrees fahrenheit<br />inside it is two in the morning<br />we finish the wine and become restless<br />and decide to build a snowman<br />but the snow is not malleable<br />so we walk through the woods<br />and i lead you to this stupid<br />abandoned watertower platform<br />because i like having a destination<br />a train is passing and i move to it<br />and soon i realize i am just getting us lost<br />in the woods, freezing, without a phone<br />but there is a river,<br /><span class="Apple-tab-span" style="white-space:pre"> </span>there is always something<br />the river leads us to a factory<br />which leads us to a street,<br />and concrete is concrete, easy enough.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2150369878312262094?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-77396947531672007342009-12-26T16:50:00.004-05:002009-12-26T17:02:58.505-05:00sometimes i feel as if i am everything around me, with the exception of this body that i inhabit- because i suppose this body is is mine and i am not merely a floating brain; i will never be just a floating brain. for example, sometimes my brain will jump between couch cushions and i will look at the human body perched upon me, and observe this being's strange behavior with my couch-eyes. as if my couch-brain and table-brain and cat-brain are all spectators of my real human brain. this makes me think, am i developing some sort of complex? a psychological complex in which i will always have an audience of myself?<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7739694753167200734?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-43954706725355412742009-12-23T01:18:00.003-05:002009-12-23T01:35:21.695-05:00<p class="MsoNormal"></p><p class="MsoNormal">i took a nap today and<br />half-dreamt about following<br />a trail made of lettuce leaves<br />through an empty house.<br />i woke up and had<br />someone there to tell about it.</p><p></p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-4395470672535541274?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-23168053173108726722009-12-17T13:13:00.001-05:002009-12-17T13:19:56.689-05:00<p class="MsoNormal">two thousand and nine<br />shit everywhere<br />i recoiled into a ball<br />gaining velocity<br />rolling toward twenty ten<br />if i give you a hug<br />i am nonverbally communicating<br />“congratulations, friend<br />i am proud you have made it<br />a year can be a very long time.”</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2316805317310872672?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-67204914244344527332009-12-14T17:00:00.001-05:002009-12-14T17:02:25.767-05:00<p class="MsoNormal">alienation<br />feels like a tunnel<br />between<br />my face<br />and yours,<br />and all of those<br />surrounding us,<br />a complex tunnel system<br />sustained by years<br />of hesitation</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6720491424434452733?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-23199051558012561542009-12-14T03:02:00.000-05:002009-12-14T03:04:21.347-05:00<p class="MsoNormal">“people need validation. people want emotional validation, sexual validation, intellectual validation, they need to be told they are beautiful and talented and important and special. i don’t want that; i don’t need my existence to be validated, at least in that manner. it only makes me feel uncomfortable.”</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2319905155801256154?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-50933134779970771912009-12-09T16:31:00.002-05:002009-12-09T16:37:47.870-05:00my poetry collection is now up and available to read at pangur ban party.<div><br /></div><div><a href="http://www.pangurbanparty.com/">check it out.</a></div><div><br /></div><div>also, read through the rest of the wonderful e-books featured there. you won't be disappointed.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5093313477997077191?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-86849534536390902792009-12-04T14:46:00.004-05:002009-12-05T08:54:02.321-05:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/SxlnkMpljsI/AAAAAAAAADc/xMHDKjZBvw4/s1600-h/whispers.jpg"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_aUkrqb_lQvk/SxlnkMpljsI/AAAAAAAAADc/xMHDKjZBvw4/s320/whispers.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5411470298830966466" /></a><br />if you would like a copy in the mail, paypal $2+ to bwallac2@kent.edu<div><br /></div><div>i would give them out for free, but jackie and sarah put time and money into putting it together.</div><div><br /></div><div>it looks nice. nicer than this camera-phone picture gives it credit for.</div><div><br /></div><div>whispers features poetry and prose by:</div><div>jackie fahmy</div><div>sarah spinelli</div><div>sam ditamaso</div><div>brittany wallace</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8684953453639090279?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-31064329828077232712009-12-03T19:53:00.004-05:002009-12-03T19:58:32.099-05:00i swear to you<div>if i ever meet god</div><div>i am going to infest his mansion with fleas</div><div>and say "joke's on you now, bitch."</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3106432982807723271?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-53409915746025593992009-12-01T21:55:00.002-05:002009-12-01T22:07:40.121-05:00i step out of the shower<div>arch my spine backwards until </div><div>my head is two feet from the ground</div><div>regain upright position, look around the bathroom,</div><div>and think "there is nothing i want more right now</div><div>than to gouge my eyes out with that pink toothbrush."</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5340991574602559399?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-73554859731453574042009-12-01T20:45:00.002-05:002009-12-01T21:15:28.114-05:00<p class="MsoNormal">when i was a child, i was obsessed<br />with the feeling of being dizzy<br />my mother would be elsewhere<br />in the kitchen or the basement<br />and i would monopolize the living room<br />just to spin around<br />and around<br />and around<br />and around<br />throwing my wild-haired head<br />to the left and the right<br />repeating the words "i'm dizzy!"<br />and punching the guilty air<br />with my skinny arms<br />to keep the momentum<br />there's probably something to be said<br />about those who seek out the dizziness<br />but i'm not going to say it<br />i'm going to be positive today</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7355485973145357404?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-77308178779407936502009-11-23T06:31:00.003-05:002009-11-23T06:39:03.319-05:00<p class="MsoNormal">customer: were you playing in the leaves today?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">me: what?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">customer: you have some leaves in your hair.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">i lift my hands to my head and close my eyes and violently shake my hair around. my wild behavior surprises me. i pull out little twigs and leaf remnants. tiny recollections of the previous night form in my mind.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">me: oh, wow. those are from last night. thank you for making me aware of them.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">customer: um, the soup. i thought they were two for a dollar. fifty cents each, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">i walk to my manager. she isn’t really an official manager, just a bitter middle-aged cashier who has worked at grocery stores for too long. i pat my head the entirety of the short walk; the customer has made me nervous about my on-the-job appearance. she is sitting in the office. she is a predictable creature, generally doing one of three things. sitting in the office, grocery shopping for herself on the clock, or going to the bathroom.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">manager: there are only some of the soups on sale.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">me: you mean, the cream-of-something soups. right? celery, mushroom, those ones, no?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">i think i see my manager nod.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">i apologize to my customer as i give him the news. vegetable alphabet soup does not qualify for the nine-cent discount.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">he grabs his soup and says he’ll be right back.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">he arrives at my register with cream-of-something after a transaction-void process that my manager seems pained by.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">customer: uh, so, you must have had fun last night. it was a good night?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">me: yeah. my friends threw leaves at me. they are funny.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">“i know how this happened,” i think. i can follow this cause-effect relationship. before work, i put on the same sweatshirt i was wearing last night. i had gone outside to collect carts, and i put my hood on. i crane my neck around to look in my sweatshirt hood. yes, correct, there are still leaf particles there.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">mystery solved.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">i’ve thought about this for far too long.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">is my brain slowing down? am i just hungover? what just happened? panic sets in, and i’m unsure of it’s origins.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">it’s winter, i think. i feel it coming. it’s just the winter. settle the fuck down.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7730817877940793650?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-12223923197137476272009-11-09T12:35:00.002-05:002009-11-09T12:41:04.089-05:00i have a poem featured in wtfpwm; you can view it <a href="http://www.wtfpwm.com/issue.php?issue=1">here.</a><div><br /></div><div>i am very worried that i will not get my loan for school this semester.</div><div>i don't know why. i hate finances.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-1222392319713747627?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-33997335869114516112009-11-02T18:25:00.004-05:002009-11-02T18:59:54.514-05:00today i had a conversation with a friend about getting married and having babies. i see wonderful things for her future because she is good at cooking and monogamy and writing and looking good and lots of other things. but i don't know how to do anything! how am i ever going to be a good wife and a good mother?<div><br /></div><div>of course, things would be a little different. i want to adopt a baby, and i want them to hit the genetic lottery, with big brains and big talents. and we would have a cat rather than a dog. and probably an apartment rather than a big house with yards and fences. and i want my husband (or wife?) to help me do the dishes and vacuum the house, because i did the dishes today and i was reminded that there are not many things i hate more. i will learn about wine and food pairings and let my child drink wine with dinner and teach them everything i know about everything important, like wine. i want to talk about interesting animal facts every morning over breakfast with my future family.</div><div><br /></div><div>but i'm bad at stability, because i am a leo. i throw my arms into the air after every brash decision i make. i am king of the jungle! i am all talk!</div><div><br /></div><div>if i were a lion i would always be in the middle of the pride.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3399733586911451611?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-52377338755347990852009-10-27T02:04:00.004-04:002009-10-27T13:01:00.709-04:00<p class="MsoNormal">“the neighbors are throwing out a couch- we need a couch, guys. let’s go grab that couch,” said stella. she was right, we could use another couch. but i was late to work. i put out my cigarette and stomped down the stairs. there were other people there to help her, anyway.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">when i got home i noticed the new couch. “looks good,” i thought. i realized that my cat, cactus, didn’t greet me when i arrived. i looked in, on, and around everything in the house. nowhere. i felt nervous, but i had places to be. i was going on a date, a real date.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">i put on a dress for my belated birthday dinner. i was taken to a fancy restaurant with murals on the ceilings and a very long wine list. miki and i had a nice conversation over different kinds of pasta and eggplant and red wine. we talked about our future aspirations, “what could-have-been,” and various apprehensions. although i enjoyed the company, i felt a little unsettled. i didn’t know if it was the conversation or the disappearance of cactus. probably a combination of both. here i was, with someone who liked me and thought i was genuinely interesting, and i was a bundle of nerves. always a bundle of nerves.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">i stared out the car window for most of the ride home. i always feel strange when people buy me things. “i don’t want to trick anyone,” i thought, “especially not miki.” i wanted to say out loud, right then, that i wasn’t interesting, that i was just neurotic, because everyone knows that interesting people don’t worry about being interesting. they are busy doing other things.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">once i was home, i put cat food around the exterior perimeter of my house, got drunk, and curled up on the couch. i felt a particular anxiousness, the same anxiousness i felt when i was pulled over after smoking a lot of weed and told to sit in the back of the cruiser. but like the policewoman, cactus was just trying to frighten me. with the sunrise came a meow at the door. cactus was there on the porch, with a skunk. they were enjoying their breakfast together.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">you see, bad luck is passed from couch to cat to cat to couch. a couch moves in, a cat runs out. a cat runs in, and the fleas hop a ride, and the couches are consequently infested. you think you put out a cigarette but then a cat knocks over your ashtray, setting a couch on fire. it’s an endless cycle. it seems like the state of your cats and your couches are directly related to the state of your mental well-being. if you have a flea crisis, or a couch-on-fire crisis, or a lost cat crisis, and these things happen endlessly, your life is one big chaotic mess.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">that’s why it’s bad luck when your cat escapes while you are moving furniture in. it’s just awful awful luck! perhaps if you let your cat run in and out of your house a few more times, you can reverse the bad luck you would undoubtedly have. i wouldn’t know though, because it’s too late for me. i had to grow up. i had to buy flea bombs and vacuum and put the ashtrays on the table.</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5237733875534799085?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-69083677356638755692009-10-26T18:15:00.005-04:002009-10-26T18:24:17.206-04:00<p class="MsoNormal">close your eyes and think about what you are doing to yourself and everyone around you.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">now open your eyes and continue doing what you are doing because you are hurting no one but yourself, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">but the drinks are all you have, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">but the drinks and the college education are all you have, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">but the drinks and the college education and the stolen wireless internet are all you have, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">but the drinks and the college education and the stolen wireless internet and the car your parents bought for you are all you have, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">but the drinks and the college education and the stolen wireless internet and the car your parents bought for you and the inebriated admiration of the masses are all you have, right?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">and this youth! so temporary and fleeting! treating everyone around you as creatures, that also, are so temporary! and fleeting! it’s exhausting, isn’t it? so fucking exhausting!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">oh, i’m so exhausted just THINKING about it!</p> <p class="MsoNormal">say, can you grab me one too?</p><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6908367735663875569?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-62259545069769680692009-10-21T17:13:00.002-04:002009-10-21T17:22:12.698-04:00i've got vegetables under my wings<br />and bonfires contained in my brain<br />(and my brain is terribly flammable)<br />and i am ready to fight<br />when i remove the burrs from my coat<br />and toss them toward you and they stick<br />it will be done, it will be over<br />i will drop the vegetables<br />and drag my bonfires home<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6225954506976968069?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-89479590948038852872009-10-19T13:59:00.001-04:002009-10-19T14:01:21.524-04:00i want to jump from under my covers<br />without doubt or apprehension<br />and run to where you are,<br />and you will drop the pencil and<br />the cigarette from your hands<br />and i will tackle you<br />and you will kiss my forehead<br />and i will play with your hair<br />and you will cry and say nothing<br />because there is no use <br />in discussing what has been lost<br />when so little has been found<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8947959094803885287?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-90045176117658571862009-10-19T13:56:00.001-04:002009-10-19T13:56:38.444-04:00all of those poets and intellectuals<br />dead and relevant and addicted to opiates<br />damn you all, i say,<br />because i just felt invasive<br />in a house i hoped you wouldn't come home to<br />and as i walked by your room<br />i glanced past the doorway<br />to a mess that didn't exist the last time i woke up in your bed<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-9004517611765857186?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-83934198008061707292009-10-14T13:56:00.002-04:002009-10-14T13:59:15.356-04:00i am not afraid of spiders but i am afraid of fleas<br />i am not afraid of spiders but i AM afraid of fleas<br />please appease me and flee fleas,<br />just appease me and flee!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8393419800806170729?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-76119155749337481652009-10-08T16:40:00.002-04:002009-10-08T16:43:57.074-04:00the O in the word CAUTION,<br />printed across the yellow ribbon<br />is yelling "do not trample this grass,<br />it is still in it's most important formative stage!"<br />and we yell back in unison,<br />"evolve, baby blades,<br />learn to sustain our body weight!"<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7611915574933748165?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-85896506638484532062009-10-07T14:52:00.002-04:002009-10-07T15:04:28.613-04:00at the bar, we discussed narcissism, it’s effect on interpersonal relationships, and the “afterlife.” sometimes people surprise me with their rationality and brute honesty. the general consensus was that relationships, of any kind, are beneficial to each individual, and that is why we maintain them. on a grander scale, all relationships are null and void. temporary. people also work, primarily for themselves, and perhaps to financially provide for individuals whose relationships are beneficial for that party. work and social relationships are two of the most important things to we humans. but really, what importance do these things hold? we let work and relationships monopolize our time, occupy our thoughts, and spiral us into depression, but why? is it because we are terrified of our own death? is it because we hold onto the idea that somehow we can “live on” in our work and in our relationships? because our work eventually fades and our direct effect on the living also fades after a generation or two. after we die, the best we can hope for is that a tree or a plant can use the nutrients from our bodies, via soil, thus bearing something that will be used to sustain animals and living human beings.<br /><br />i really hope i can feed a tree one day.<br /><br />i really hope this tree will function as shelter for stray cats one day.<br /><br />this makes me feel okay.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8589650663848453206?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-5457118566314956222009-10-05T13:45:00.001-04:002009-10-05T13:47:58.827-04:00ghosts bleed air, i think.<br />so we are always inhaling ghost blood.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-545711856631495622?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-84013068487980544712009-10-02T21:08:00.006-04:002009-10-03T13:22:12.482-04:00i shift my body weight, carefully<br />from my right to my left<br />while tapping my foot, carefully,<br />from my left foot, to the right<br />and i notice, oh so carefully<br />the lights, the primary colors,<br />and green! also green!<br />i so suddenly realize<br />i’m wasted; i’m so gone<br /><br />and i am conscious for five hours longer,<br />i have something that many others do not<br />something i really should not be proud of<br />but i appreciate it, at least i am tough<br />see guys, i am tough! like cacti!<br />i passed by your porch and<br />did not say a word.<br />i have nothing else to prove to you-<br />i have nothing else to prove to anyone!<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-8401306848798054471?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-20186524594630756972009-10-02T21:01:00.002-04:002009-10-03T13:22:35.156-04:00sometimes ing calls to me<br />“lady, come sleep in my bed”<br />sometimes i oblige<br />and bring him things<br />and sleep next to him<br />or, maybe, lie awake next to him<br />sometimes i let him convince me<br />through simply being<br />to go under the sheets<br />i guess i don’t think that much about it.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2018652459463075697?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-37281286932974951142009-09-29T15:44:00.002-04:002009-10-03T13:21:37.892-04:00you see, if something is everything<br />and everything is nothing<br />than nothing must be something<br />these theories of viewing the world<br />reverse themselves and contradict<br />themselves and nullify themselves<br />and they’re the only theories<br />that any make sense, you see<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3728128693297495114?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-58085624700736684572009-09-22T02:06:00.002-04:002009-10-03T13:21:09.303-04:00the last time he was at my house<br />or in my car; we bought beer<br />it’s just that i keep thinking of him,<br />when i sit cross-legged in my bed late at night<br />and everyone knows that when you’re awake<br />at four o’clock in the morning,<br />you will surely experience extreme depression<br />and you will surely tire of reading<br />and you will surely resort to the computer<br />and something on the internet will surely make you cry<br />that is why people fall asleep at decent hours<br />that is why i like to sleep alone<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5808562470073668457?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-67355694402478350842009-09-18T02:48:00.003-04:002009-09-18T03:00:59.219-04:00i feel my worldview changing<div>i feel myself becoming more negative</div><div>negative and crazy and impulsive</div><div>my mind keeps repeatedly clanging</div><div>"this shift will be temporary"</div><div>yet i glare at my peers</div><div>with resentful rolling eyes</div><div>simultaneously realizing</div><div>the aching similarities</div><div>amongst my bedsheets,</div><div>ian curtis, empty bookshelves,</div><div>and greek pottery.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-6735569440247835084?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-38499245973650886382009-09-15T22:57:00.003-04:002009-09-19T02:58:19.878-04:00yesterday<br />i was late to class<br />my keys and my car<br />were not where i left them the previous night<br />i was forced to do a project<br />with miserable-looking sorority girls<br />i got two parking tickets<br />after i got my second ticket i cried<br />i realized i was lied to about important deadlines<br />i watched a strange pornographic french film<br />it made me laugh several times because i was delirious<br />from not getting nearly enough sleep<br />i drank a lot of coffee and sat in my bed and continued to not sleep<br /><br />today<br />i was screamed at by a man in a suit<br />i was exiting out of the library entrance<br />YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY<br />YOU ARE GOING THE WRONG WAY<br />there was plenty of room for two cars<br />when you don’t get any sleep mistakes are easy to make<br />i yelled I KNOW<br />he yelled at me more WRONG WAY WRONG WAY<br />i wish i had time to scream to him this poem<br />i coughed so much and so hard in class<br />that i involuntarily began to cry<br />i ate my first meal at nine in the evening<br />i think i may have consumed it within five minutes<br />i printed off 25 pages of text at the library<br />some pages didn’t print and the ones that did were not aligned<br />i told the man working that i couldn’t afford to pay twice<br />the printer is at fault here, i said<br />he walked away.<br /><br />there needs to be an end to these days.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3849924597365088638?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-77091966696423320612009-09-15T22:20:00.001-04:002009-09-15T22:23:49.634-04:00“sorry i missed your call.<br />i think i was on my bike.”<br />said the text message from my dad<br />i called him while i was smoking outside of the library<br />i never really like to talk on the phone<br />but when i’m in a strange place<br />or even a familiar place, feeling strange<br />sometimes i feel as if i need to be on the phone<br />so no one will bother me<br />and if i am smoking a cigarette<br /><em>and</em> doing something with my phone<br />i will look very busy<br />and i can really avoid being spoken to.<br />that is why i called my dad.<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-7709196669642332061?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-2357250004318854862009-09-14T02:18:00.002-04:002009-09-14T02:22:41.866-04:00scream as loud as you can<div>you are in the woods these branches will not scream back</div><div>scream, SCREAM, i say!</div><div>the cacophony of voice meeting bark</div><div>made human ears bleed and tree ears bleed</div><div>creating a small creek</div><div>dusted with porcelain fragments</div><div>that at one time composed something</div><div>whole and important</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-235725000431885486?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-34562136300372735432009-09-11T15:27:00.002-04:002009-09-11T15:35:10.894-04:00someone please turn me inside out<br />expose my organs for several hours<br />so i can study the condition of my heart and lungs<br />i am certain-<br />i would learn more in those several hours<br />than i have in the last several years<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-3456213630037273543?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-54051287355127388702009-08-30T15:13:00.001-04:002009-08-30T15:15:06.935-04:00i was wrong<div>there is no matchbox car</div><div>only doors slamming<br />i keep hearing them slam it won’t stop<br />you were one of the good ones, john.<br />you were one of the good ones.</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-5405128735512738870?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1603612744161085094.post-28551833053139428472009-08-28T17:49:00.001-04:002009-08-28T17:51:37.091-04:00eating sour candy until<div>my tongue no longer</div><div>feels like my own</div><div><br /></div><div>drinking cheap wine until</div><div>my body no longer</div><div>feels like my own</div><div><br /></div><div>there has got to be something</div><div>good on the way</div><div>something small and promising</div><div>like a matchbox car</div><div>wheeled in my direction</div><div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/1603612744161085094-2855183305313942847?l=kilakilakila.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>brittany wallacehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08789156109926069495noreply@blogger.com2