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Apr. 4th, 2011

cute audrey smoking

This makes me laugh a bit.

Idea for a story. Two writers, living in two chalets on opposite slopes of the valley, observe each other alternately. one of them is accustomed to write in the morning, the other in the afternoon. Mornings and afternoons, the writer who is not writing trains his spyglass on the one who is writing.

One of the two is a productive writer, the other a tormented writer. The tormented writer watches the productive writer filling pages with uniform lines, the manuscript growing in a pile of neat pages. In a little while the book will be finished: certainly a best seller--the tormented writer thinks with a certain contempt but also with envy. He considered the productive writer no more than a clever craftsman, capable of turning out machine-made novels catering to the taste of the public; but he cannot repress a strong feeling of envy for that man who expresses himself with such methodical self-confidence. It is not only envy, it is also admiration, yes, sincere admiration: in the way that man puts all of his energy into writing there is certainly a generosity, a faith in communication, in giving others what others expect of him without creating introverted problems for himself. The tormented writer would give anything if he could resemble the productive writer; he would like to take him as a model; his greatest ambition is to become like him.

The productive writer watches the tormented writer as the latter sits down at his desk, chews his fingernails, scratches himself, tears a page to bits, gets up and goes into the kitchen to fix himself some coffee, then some tea, then camomile, then reads a poem by Holderlin (while it is clear that Holderlin has absolutely nothing to do with what he is writing), copies a page already written and then crosses it all out line by line, telephones the cleaner's (though it was settled that the blue slacks couldn't be ready before Thursday), then writes some notes that will not be useful now but maybe later, then goes to the encyclopedia and looks up Tasmania (though it is obvious that in what he is writing there is no reference to Tasmania), tears up two pages, puts on a Ravel recording. The productive writer has never liked the works of the tormented writer; reading them, he always feels as if he is on the verge of grasping the decisive point, but then it eludes him and he is left with a sensation of uneasiness. But now that he is watching him write, he feels this man is struggling with something obscure, a tangle, a road to be dug leading no one knows where; at times he seems to see the other man walking on a tightrope stretched over the void, and he is overcome with admiration. Not only admiration, also envy; because he feels how limited his own work is, how superficial compared with what the tormented writer is seeking.

On the terrace of a chalet in the bottom of the valley a young woman is sunning herself, reading a book. The two writers observe her with the spyglass. "How enthralled she is! She's holding her breath! How feverishly she turns the pages!" the tormented writer thinks. "Certainly she is reading a novel of great effect, like those of the productive writer!" "How enthralled she is! As if transfigured in meditation, as if she saw a mysterious truth being disclosed!" the productive writer thinks. "Surely she is reading a book rich in hidden meanings, like those of the tormented writer!"

The greatest desire of the tormented writer is to be read the way that young woman is reading. He starts writing a novel as he thinks the productive writer would write it. Meanwhile the greatest desire of the productive writer is to be read the way that young woman is reading; he starts writing a novel as he thinks the tormented writer would write it.

The young woman is approached first by one writer, then by the other. Both tell her they would like her to read the novel they have just finished writing.

The young woman receives the two manuscripts. After a few days she invites the authors to her house, together, to their great surprise. "What kind of joke is this?" She says. "You've given me two copies of the same novel!"

Or else:

The young woman gets the two manuscripts mixed up. She returns to the productive writer the tormented writer's novel in the productive writer's manner, and to the tormented writer the productive writer's novel in the tormented writer's manner. Both, seeing themselves counterfeited, have a violent reaction and rediscover their personal vein.

Or else:

A gust of wind shuffles the two manuscripts. The reader tries to reassemble them. A single novel results, stupendous, which the critics are unable to attribute. It is the novel that both the productive writer and the tormented writer have always dreamed of writing.

Or else:

The young woman had always been a passionate reader of the productive writer and has loathed the tormented writer. Reading the productive writer's new novel, she finds it phony and realizes that everything he wrote was phony; on the other hand, recalling the tormented writer's works, she now finds them splendid and can't wait to read his new novel. But she finds something completely different from what she was expecting, and she sends him to the devil, too.

Or else:

The same, replacing "productive" with "tormented" and "tormented" with "productive."

Or else:

The young woman was a passionate admirer, et cetera, et cetera, of the productive writer and loathed the tormented one. Reading the productive writer's new novel she doesn't notice at all that something has changed; she likes it, without being especially enthusiastic. As for the manuscripte of the tormented writer, she finds it insipid like all the rest of this author's work. She replies to the two writers with a few polite words. Both are convinced that she can't be a very alert reader and they pay no further attention to her.

Or else:

The same, replacing, et cetera.

--Italo Calvino, If on a winter's night a traveller, pgs. 172 to 176.

Jul. 19th, 2010

olivia red dress


I feel as light and windswept as a feather! I dumped Phil yesterday and he was perfectly fine with it and we're still friends. I can't believe it took me this long to dump him. I'm such a fool.

The reason for this dumpage was because I realized when someone awesome (he shall not be named) comes along, I need to be emotionally available. I want someone to do spontaneous things with and play video games and draw pictures. I'm ready for that special someone. I've never felt that before, except with Dan, but... eh let's face it, he was a dick.

Well, this summer has been more than eventful. Layla and I do Leon's runs at 10:30PM in our pajamas. Love it. I've been on two booze cruises (Group of Altos and Collections of Colonies of Bees). Saw Passion Pit, Modest Mouse, and DEVO at Summerfest. Fuck yes. I've started writing a story about personified seven deadly sins who have to save Earth by tempting and manipulating the people in it to keep God interested. I went to House on the Rock with Layla and Amy. That was a fresh hell. Also tried to quit smoking but that's really stupid. I've also started a new comic series in which Layla, Amy and I are the stars.

This is going to be a summer to remember. This weekend is going to be super sweet. CHRISTMAS IN JULY on Saturday at Amy's haus. And then possibly hangover brunch at Brocach's on Sunday. After brunch, I'm going to the garden party of the Milwaukee Public Zoo for Annual Meeting. Commoners aren't allowed to go to such an event, but the security staff is allowed to bring one guest. I haven't been to the zoo since last year. I can wait to see tigers!


Tags: ,

Apr. 6th, 2010

tiffany sleeping

Warmer Weather, Living on my Own, And an end to money trouble for now.

Thank jeziz fopping christ the sun came out and kicked some Pansy ass winter. I was so done with that season. It's nice to walk to work with long johns and a parka.

I got my tax return and I can NOT wait to furnish my new place, which I have to sign for this week! How exciting. Finally Missy and I will no longer be vagabond divas. We'll be home together and have tea time and act like chums. And tap dance. The efficiency is no different from the other slumholes. I don't care. I just want to be alone.

I saw Passion Pit last Saturday. Best show ever! The light show was phenomenal and everyone was tripping balls and the band sounded fantastic.

Also my face is in the window of Front Room Photography! Eek! So sweet.

Hey it's not even Wednesday and this is already the best week ever.

Mar. 16th, 2010

tiffany sleeping

(no subject)

Layla put me in a cart in Target and ran me to the music area. We grabbed Journey: Greatest Hits and some Twilight shirts and left. We then proceeded to make drunken sandwiches and go to MAM After Dark and took pictures. Art asked me for a drink sometime. My new ID works. Street Scene was wicked.

I'm going to miss a house mate!

Feb. 9th, 2010

audrey charm

(no subject)

 Have you ever had a week where everything seemed so right and no amount of shit could bring you down? I'm having this week. Yesterday I went to the Milwaukee Public Museum and relived a bit of my childhood that I loved so much. In that place, my imagination would run wild with all of the animals and fake trees, the cobblestone streets in Old Milwaukee, the hovering skeleton of a humpback whale, the boundary exempt butterflies, and the scary mummies on display. When I was a child, all of that was so real and alive. I lived in each exhibit, as if I was a archeologist or historian. Upon seeing it as an older girl, nothing was as real, but I remembered how things used to be and it made me happy to have those memories. 

Today, there is a snow storm outside but Phil and I went on a date in the Third Ward anyway. We walked down Wisconsin Avenue, as if it was the middle of summer. I was not cold. I did not feel the gusts of wind blowing snow into my face. We walked side by side, unaffected by the horrid weather conditions. We went to dinner at Centraal and we laughed and talked about work and everything we seemed to have missed about the last 24 hours of our lives. 

At this point, I'm not sure if any of it is real. I feel no pain. I see no wrong. I want nothing.

I wish everyone could see that they should depend on no one. We should not worry about any one's pain because we have our own to manage. If everyone were as "selfish," everyone would be accounted for. As Ambrose Bierce said, SELFISHNESS IS AN ADJECTIVE. IT MEANS DEVOID OF CONSIDERING OF THE SELFISHNESS OF OTHERS. And so this is my mission, to take care of myself first and help others if I have the resources.

I am unafraid of tomorrow.

Jan. 24th, 2010

legs dejected

The Apology Post Which Will Be Ignored

Yeah I've been neglecting this LJ thing for a while and for a good reason. I've been busy, blah blah. Too busy playing Rock Band with Abigail and late night beer runs with Layla. I suppose all of the ten-hour shifts don't exactly help my energy levels either. I keep falling asleep when I get home and don't wake up until 8pm and then can't sleep that night. Bah!

I'm also trying to go to the gym more... if only to watch Meet the Kardashians on Bay View Fitness' cable TV. WHAT?!

I found a fantastic website that a friend of mine writes. http://www.enterthejabberwock.com


So what did I do this weekend? I spent over $100 in less than ten minutes (bills and Phil's birthday present, which was two tickets to see Henry Rollins in April), watched Groundhog's Day (I fucking hate all movies and will never truly enjoy one ever again), and finally got whoopie for the first time in two weeks. God, I hate my cockblocking friends... :)

I would like to admit some guilty pleasures at this time.

Avenged Sevenfold
Cooking Mama (Among other pointless $1.99 apps for iPhones)
Cephalopods with mustaches

In fact, my recent enamorement (yes I made that shitty ass word up just now) with cephalopods is so strong that it descends into madness. I want one so bad but I have to wait until I live alone. They're known for crawling out of their tanks and attacking small furry animals, like Pooka. Also, as soon as I get paid, I will be buying a crochet octopus before paying rent. It's that serious.

Phillip's birthday is on Saturday. I got him a Henry Rollins book, the two tickets, and a coupon for two hours of my time to work on his iTunes. There's not much I can do for him. As much as I love him, I'm starting to come to the realization that I'm wasting my time with him and just taking this moment for what it is. I want a real partnership and life long friendship with someone who can teach me something new every day, someone I can respect. For now, I am happy but always available.

I love living with Layla, but I want my own place very much. I want a little efficiency to myself. I want a little desk for my laptop and printer, somewhere I can write by a window. I want curtains around my bed and a clean, hardly used kitchen. Oh, and a bathroom all to myself. And Missy.

How are you guys?

Nov. 24th, 2009

dont worry what people think

The One Year Anniversary That I Thought Would Never Come

I've never had a relationship in my life where I did not cheat on my boyfriend after six months. I was addicted to the thrill of fooling someone and being wanted by two people. This has been my life since my very first relationship.

I kissed a man six months ago while I was with Phil. I pulled away from him and must've looked confused when I pulled away. He said, "What's wrong?" How could I answer him? How do you tell someone that they have not curbed your appetite for self-destruction?

I told him I'd never see him again while I was with Phil. He smirked at me and said, "You'll be back."

Six months later, I have not seen or heard of him. Sometimes I think he was an apparition that existed only to prove to me that I'm in love and no one, no matter how rich or handsome, could pull me away from Phil. We are partners in every sense of the word. The time has gone by so fast.

All of this time, we are a little too silly to be romantic. It's bothered me a bit but... it hasn't seemed to matter. But last Friday, after we were already in bed and ready for sleep, we laid on our stomachs, looking at each other. And for the first time in our relationship, he whispered, "I love you" and it sounded like he truly meant it. I've never detected such sincerity in anyone's voice before. I am so skeptical of what everyone says, but this sounded truly genuine.

We stand together, smoking outside of a food court and look at each other with mischievous glints in our eyes. We dance in his living room to the Clash and Matthew Sweet. He reads Interview with a Vampire to me. We take silly pictures with his polaroid camera.

There isn't a moment with him that isn't extraordinary.

So after a year, I'd like to say I believe in love.

Nov. 22nd, 2009

audrey charm


There was nothing about Friday that disappointed. After work, I went to New Moon at the Rosebud (the only theater that I know that serves alcohol). We sat outside with some of Layla's friends from work (including my best bud Tonya) and minding our own business. There was a line forming behind the other group that was there before us. Anyway, we got accosted by a soccer mom (in front of her kids). She was an uptight bitch. I can see what Phil means about married women getting nuts because after marriage, people don't have sex.

In the opening scene, the title NEW MOON comes up when a moon fades into an eclipse. The whole time, Layla sang the Flash Gordon song. It was funny shit.

Layla bought two pitchers and we split them. Every time Kristen Stewart's eye twitched, or she stuttered, or she gave an exhasperated sigh followed by running her fingers through her hair, we took a drink. I was drunk before the Volturi was even mentioned.

We talked through the whole movie and I think I was too drunk to notice if we were bothering anyone. I do remember proclaiming loudly that the movie was ruining the book for me.

After the movie, Layla and I headed over to MAM After Dark and tried on masks, met a couple of artists, including a photographer who wanted to use us again. The pictures were took should be available in two weeks. I'm excited. I think Layla tried to dip me and I fell back through the white screen behind us. It was funny. He got a picture of our feet in the air.

We also ran into this guy who was cool, but then he introduced us to his REALLY drunk friends and the girl of the group made out with Layla and I. It was gross. She was orange I think.

The next day, I was able to sleep off the drunk. Oh hold on, now I remember Layla peeing outside of Discovery World. Anyway, back to Saturday. Krista and her friend Miranda came over for the night because they were going to see Peaches. It was a fucking weird ass concert. I've never been to one quite like it. It was at Turner Hall, which is an old ass building. Peaches had a vagina strobe light, a massive hair costume (that made her look like cousin It) and a weird baton that made noise. I have no idea. It was so strange. Poor Benji was there by himself so he hung out with us. The concert was sweet. Peaches "walked" on the crowd, which looked dangerous.

Afterwards, Krista proceeded to get REALLY drunk and I had to babysit. Phil was also very drunk and stayed the night to help me out. Krista congratulated him on being with me for a year and he said, "It hasn't been hard. I'm surprised how fast time went." He meant it too. He's been such a sweetheart lately.

In the morning, Miranda had a headache, Krista was barfing and had the hangover of her life, and I was crampy. We tried to remedy that with the Original Pancake House. I was instantly fixed but the poor girls were not. CORNED BEEF HASH. HAAAAAW. mmmmmmm. So they went home. I felt bad. There wasn't much I could do.

So it was a truly fabulous weekend, full of spontaneity. I can't wait to do it again.

Nov. 2nd, 2009

cute audrey smoking

Hometown Degradation

 I hate Stoughton and I never want to go back. I hate how the streets are empty at night and the lack of sound. I hate the clear night sky where you can see all of the cosmos' nakedness. It's perverse. I hate the memories of people who I knew and where I made out with them when I pass by businesses on main street. I hate the fear of running into someone who I never wanted to see again. I hate the smell of my father's car. I hate the angry glances as I smoke a cigarette. I never wanted to take that main street to get somewhere again. 

But I missed Steven. And a small part of me misses my dad because it prevents me from seeing him in person. Everything is awkward. Nothing is the same. There aren't any skyscrapers to protect me from the bitter cold wind. There aren't any benches to sit on where I can catch my breath. There aren't any buses to escape. It is a dangerous oasis from a busy world, the world I belong in. Everyone knows your name. If the people there hate you, they do it in silence. I hate the quiet.

I missed Phil and Layla like I've never missed someone before. I never feel like an adult in Stoughton. I looked upon one of the popular girls from my class as she scanned my travel-size shampoo at the Wal-Mart. I never pitied her until then. When I lived there, I felt like an outsider. Now, I feel like I'm too good for that place.

My dad insisted I come there more often. I told him I would. I don't feel bad about lying because he has lied to me many times.

Oct. 19th, 2009

cute audrey smoking


 So Friday was cool. I hung out with Matt, Ciara, Tylor and Layla. We drank beer and ate tacos and then went to see Where the Wild Things Are. I understand it's a movie made by a visionary and it looks really cool, but if I'm a kid and I want to see a movie, I don't want to be stressed out by monster drama and shit. I hated it.

Saturday was normal. I hung out with Phil. 

Sunday was so amazing. Layla and I went to look at an apartment which is really nice but the rooms are a bit small. :( We also went to see Dane Cook but we got there an hour and a half earlier. We went to get a drink at a tiny bar and accidentally bought three beers for the price of one and talked in a Scottish accent the entire time. It was fun. Dane Cook wasn't that funny but then again, I've never really liked him. We mostly just fucked off and were drunk the whole time. After the show, Layla wanted to wait for him to leave. We saw his SUV take off and she figured he was staying at the Pfister. So we crashed the bar there. The thing is, the Pfister is where everyone who is anyone stays there. The place was beautiful with fine art and gold trim and all the good shit. There was a pianist in the bar and no one was there. Layla and I drew pictures in my notebook. 

So then we went upstairs to Blu, but it was closed at 11pm on a Sunday night. Big surprise. We took pictures of ourselves in the women's bathroom, which is on the tip top floor and you could see all of the lights of Milwaukee. It was beautiful. But... then we were spotted by a maintenance guy and hastily went back down the elevators. As soon as we reached the bottom floor, a security guard was waiting to go up to check out the perpetrators. Which was us. So we evaded him. That was close...

After this, we went to the Highbury to sing kareoke. Phil did NOT want to sing at all but Layla and I did Wanted Dead Or Alive by Bon Jovi. It was funny. We also danced like baffoons on the bar. Phil finally got drunk enough to start lovin' all over me, telling me "I was the one" and other assorted romantic things he would never say if he was sober. He was also very impressed by my harmony with Layla. :) Maybe he was too drunk to tell.

In any case, it was the most fun I've had in a long time and much needed. And Dane Cook had nothing to do with it.

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tiffany sleeping

April 2011




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