Actually, Alicia

tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-46262274976151588152011-07-30T14:34:53.397-05:00Actually, AliciaActually...we told Alicia this was anonymous. So don't tell her you're reading this. But go ahead and leave comments: we just say they're all from us.Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.comBlogger341100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-61314415957502264512010-08-06T22:22:00.000-05:002010-08-06T22:22:30.925-05:00Barbecue Chips

I sit here. As I sit here I’m thinking. I’m thinking, “I hope my Internet connection doesn’t cut out,” and, “I wish this download would finish sooner,” and, “I wish I had some barbecue chips.” I sit here. As I sit here I’m surfing. I’m stumbling into everyone else’s ‘I miss you!’ s and their ‘I can’t wait to see you!’ s and their ‘Hey, I read your blog the other day...’ s. I sit here. I find

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-7519823480347758752010-08-05T01:48:00.000-05:002010-08-05T01:48:56.056-05:00Independence, Blistered

The cycle is constricted by an outside force. Inner workings flare up in unsuccessful attempts to remain in control. Little victories power this night. Mental breaks accompany mental breakdowns in efforts to keep them from happening again. The past does not fade away during times such as these, instead gaining intensity, snowballing small but ever-present obstacles in ways which the victories

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-44402647483725756052010-08-03T22:08:00.000-05:002010-08-03T22:08:50.327-05:00Independence, Begrudging

Your eyes are saying, "No," and your face is saying, "No," and your whole body is saying, "No." Eventually, your mouth says, "No." I say, "Yes. Fuck you," and nobody moves on.

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-25173331940544384992010-04-15T08:45:00.001-05:002010-04-15T08:45:00.542-05:00Lamp poem

An armchair crashes in the light reborn preceding the lawless beyond the unknown. All who look on shudder. Camera-eyes write in howls, the cyberspace enterprise. Us, language diverging in passes, we stir with inchoate sounds music. Words, dark roads of winged philosophy, birds of narrow lies, wind upward through the mute wood and unchanged grasses. The first emails wait in the shadow writing

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-62532928585147427772010-04-11T18:46:00.000-05:002010-04-11T18:46:07.097-05:00Debrief

I hold in my head a True Vision, but you don't care, so you won't See. You Look for the Conrete meaning in an intolerant world, too constricted to recognize Real conflict. Imaginative exploits bring out of my Mind an Eye- opening rendition of You as I wish you were. Shy wonderings hold us back, back from Us and we couldn't care but We are begging for a release. The lock is ticking away the

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-87162936694970229602010-03-08T01:09:00.000-06:002010-03-08T01:09:13.030-06:00An Ode to Why I'll Still Be Studying Tomorrow

Fuck this solitary addiction, solitaire Confining me to academic heartache With one ace shot. Endless variations, tantalizingly new Configurations still familiar By virtue of the pack Passed down through generations. The rigid formation leaves Little room for creativity, allowing Emptiness to reign in the Mind-numbing, card-thumbing Edge of desolation.

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-4243769733383719772010-02-02T22:47:00.000-06:002010-02-02T22:47:27.859-06:00My friends are doing their homework.

You gain a firm grasp on a cold, lonely reality. The quiet seeps in from all sides, as all the color sneaks out. Drunken promises, that joyous toxin happiness, fade away like blackout memories. Time stops, but life spins out around you. You fall out of orbit, stuck by the wayside. The everyday drags you in at first, but eventually you lose your thirst, your hunger, your desire. You scramble for

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-22536375273195751682010-01-29T06:00:00.001-06:002010-01-29T06:00:03.639-06:00"It's my birthday!!!"

... said the blog. That's right, ol' buddy, ol' pal, ol' readers of mine. It's this blog's first birthday. This means that I am entitled to type about how I and my blog-self have changed in the past year. But that's not gonna happen. Instead, I'm going to babble some more. Stick with me while you can; it usually gets funniest about two-thirds of the way through. So, babbling onward. Now I'm

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-51888003321781153342010-01-28T02:37:00.002-06:002010-01-28T21:37:27.251-06:00Products of sleeping when the sun is up.

Sickness is so goofy. It's two o'clock in the morning. I should definitely be asleep right now. I am not physically capable of anymore sleep. Eight hours' sleep plus an eight hour "nap" with only four hours of consciousness inbetween equals insomnia during normal sleeping time. My laptop is right under my bed. I could for totes be watching this week's White Collar. At the very least, I could be

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-3706257811321890462010-01-17T23:27:00.003-06:002010-01-18T01:14:21.290-06:00Sunday Musings: A poem with no title

I don’t want to spend my whole life getting ready, Dressing the part, Setting the trap, Waiting for someone to take the bait. My hunting style Is not standing by the wayside, Hoping to happen upon something worthwhile, Taking what I can get, And not looking back. Because I would look back, And I would hate what I see, What eventually came along, What I could have, Would have, Should have had all

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-44298202478819411012009-12-28T00:38:00.000-06:002009-12-28T00:38:53.578-06:00Taking Inspiration

I can see you. Yeah, you. But I can't hear you from way over there. You should come closer. I know why you're here. Oh, yeah, I know alright. So, get started. Hop to it. Don't just stand over there, all alone, waiting for me to come and bring you here myself. I can't do it by myself. I can't do this by myself. You should come closer. This isn't the first time, yours, or mine. We've both

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-7078127219437951802009-11-29T22:25:00.000-06:002009-11-29T22:25:04.374-06:00Actually, Alicia is on break

While off at the ever-lovely Knox, I have severely neglected this blog. Mostly, this can be attributed to the fact that I have been neglecting my creative writing as well. Also, I am lazy. Anyhoo, my infinitely adorable suitemate (but not friend) Maddie and I have decided to join forces over the course of our six week-long winter break and joint-blog about it. I'll be baking the heck out of

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-89933852718376251802009-06-18T20:27:00.000-05:002009-06-18T20:27:58.192-05:00Shallow

So poetry is passion, Right? But storytelling takes practice. (Or so I'm told.) Storytelling is an art form, A craft, A way to entertain, Or to make a living. Poetry, On the other hand, Is Instinctual, Primal, A basic Need. Storytelling is in words Always. Poetry is words, too, And also pictures-drawings-sketches, And movement-music-masquerade, And expression-emotion-feeling, But never

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-32440656608792726672009-06-10T16:14:00.000-05:002009-06-10T16:14:29.304-05:00Coupla Haiku (Haikus? Haiki? Hike High in the Mountains?)

Prairie Bobbing in the breeze, Majestic sea of long grass, Midwestern glory (untitled) Timpanis build up, Strings and brass in harmony, Sound epiphany.

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-87091106460750630932009-05-19T21:13:00.000-05:002009-05-19T21:13:19.319-05:00Flakes

At 7:28 on Thursday morning, Agnes had already showered, dressed, and was halfway through her daily bowl of cornflakes with skim milk in the cafeteria two blocks down. Rereading the assigned chapter for her 8 a.m. History of Ancient Civilizations class (to which she always arrived at exactly 7:54), Agnes and her bleak breakfast kept to themselves amidst the shuffling hoards of semiconscious

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-65509510112507955102009-05-07T21:21:00.002-05:002009-05-11T15:30:05.169-05:00Mini-Vacation: Just What the Little Voice In My Head Ordered

I just need somewhere to rant about things. Like, for example, what I ate for dinner tonight. Sounds boring, yes, but stay with me here. There's a story bit to open the whole thing, so bear with me until the mouth-wateringly fantastic description of Chicken Kildare works its way in here. A little background information would probably be a good idea right about no:. My parents are getting our

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-37677670081188881602009-05-06T07:01:00.000-05:002009-05-06T07:01:50.435-05:00What I Did During the AP Stats Test

Dear College Board, How can you take my signature for it that I'm taking this test on this date, but you can't take my word for it that my abridged version of Jean de Florette in the original French contains nothing that will help me with this test? Really, College Board? I know we've been kind of off-and-on for the past three years, but I thought we were closer than that. I remember when we

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-67340936211900707802009-04-16T20:11:00.000-05:002009-04-16T20:11:40.105-05:00Artist Boobs, yes, but nothing original on my part

So, I haven't posted anything in a pretty long time. However, when I was looking for whatnot to do over spring break, I discovered a few blogs I deem to be "of note" and would like to share them with you all. ==>Blog Numero Un: Constantly Risking Absurdity by Mariah Irvin Quote from More Reasons to Say "Yay!" and Another Tease: “Look,” I gestured at myself, “I have artist boobs. There’s no way

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-4867776251699634052009-04-01T20:19:00.002-05:002009-04-01T20:33:26.885-05:00More random questions answered: "Germaphobes! Ha!" and "Damn Ankles"

To Whomever May Actually Be Reading This: I promise I'll have more posts that are not random-question related, but in the meantime, these both have pretty short answers, so I'll give you two of them. Random Question #2: You laughed so hard you can't catch your breath. Stick out your tongue and show us what's funny: There are over 300 different kinds of bacteria on my tongue, and everyone else

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-80676929709627409872009-03-31T18:48:00.000-05:002009-03-31T18:48:43.093-05:00Random answer #1: "The bald frog and his Lilly"

This all started when I was editing my profile when I first joined Blogger (about 7 months before Creative Writing). I've since killed that blog, since it only had three posts when I forgot about it. I noticed the random question at the very bottom and, next to an answer box, instructions to check the small box below the answer bit and then save the profile to generate a new question. Curious, I

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-27164550079983518712009-03-28T11:12:00.002-05:002009-03-28T22:34:41.911-05:00Inciting the Wrath of a Poet

I realize that this goes against my philosophy of "Let your poetry speak for itself: no intros," but I've already started. So there. I included this poem in my rough draft packet of personal poetry, but forgot to type it up in time for the final project. Therefore, I decided to post it here. The title of this post is the title of the poem as well. Enjoy.anger pulsing,taking over,Controlling,even

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-82377299941995055272009-03-24T18:09:00.002-05:002009-03-24T21:38:12.850-05:00What I Did in English Class Today

*NOTE: Each title indicates a new line of thought, meaning that a new stanza is not a new poem. The French one (actually written in French class, which is right after English) is followed by an approximate translation.*This is embarrassingI know you know it:Poetry embarrasses.Showing your bare soul,your views on life, and your dreams,takes more guts than you'd believe.Three Important QuestionsIf

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-48865811829353928372009-03-23T19:56:00.003-05:002009-03-24T16:22:57.331-05:00Can a Poet Lie? Judge for Yourself...

"Poetry is lame.""Poetry is for losers.""You're still in that class?"This blog has low readership,since many friends don't get it.Revel in romance.Love is good for fairy tales,but to last the nightjust give me a romancer,a guy who speaks my language.Haikus aren't poems?I'd like to see you write somethat show your spirit.Tankas are cheatingbecause haikus can't containwhat I need to say?Sometimes,

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-81909264869038001652009-03-22T22:12:00.002-05:002009-03-28T11:39:32.191-05:00If the Jetsons had one, why shouldn't you?

Why not? You're already in the market for a new car, right? Something better for the environment than that rainforest deathtrap of an SUV you're no longer very proud to own? What could be better than a car that gets 500 miles per gallon of regular unleaded gas, not to mention one that flies? The Jetsons had a flying car, you know.What's that? Yes, theirs was a bit more compact than this. But can

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-66756708471611343032009-03-18T19:36:00.002-05:002009-03-28T11:15:37.136-05:00Typewriters shall rule once more

I really miss typewriters. When I was younger, I would always beg my great-aunt to let me use her typewriter for no reason other than that typewriters are awesome.There is really something unique and special about putting a piece of paper in a typewriter, centering it, and letting your thoughts to be poked into inky permanency. I feel this surge of unidentifiable emotion knowing that I cannot

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-88179824792146958822009-03-17T19:07:00.001-05:002009-03-17T19:07:21.403-05:00You can call me...

Reads a Lot and Eats Good Chocolate While She Bakes All Day

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-76690255355583418132009-03-17T18:23:00.006-05:002009-03-17T18:46:23.432-05:00An Ode to What I've Been Trying to Say

I needareaction.Don'tjustlet me go,let me flowinto thehard andunforgivingcurrents andundertowsof a vastand endless oceanunknown.Don't get me wrong.I don't want youto protect mefrom what you thinkI don't know.I just wantareaction,somethingto rememberyou by whenI'm goneandalone.I don't wantyour anger,your sympathy,your pity,your regrets.I don't want youto worry,to obsess,to go crazy.No onelikes

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-946894117965267942009-03-02T21:42:00.002-06:002009-03-02T22:36:40.534-06:00Weather: What a Character

All was calm and dark. After a long day of lab experiments and flight simulation, followed by an even longer night of gossip, peanut butter M&M’s, and severely burnt popcorn, sleep was welcomed with open, if drooping, arms.A young girl lay in a dormitory bed, an odd combination of simultaneously stretched and coiled limbs beneath a single sheet and a homemade fleece blanket. A small electric fan

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-5220612180044364432009-03-02T21:16:00.002-06:002009-03-02T21:36:52.037-06:00First Memory

My earliest memory is blocked by fingers, like when someone takes a picture with their fingertip over the lens. Everything is taller than I am, and everything is an earthy tone of emerald green. I stare down a seemingly endless path, flanked on both sides by dark brown wooden benches. I know they must be full of people, but I cannot see them.I feel someone tap my shoulder, but I don't look to see

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-64705015958564160822009-02-16T21:33:00.001-06:002009-02-16T21:35:51.126-06:00Weather: What a Character (unfinished)

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-35514658109435906152009-02-11T15:00:00.002-06:002009-02-11T15:27:15.904-06:00Second Response to The Child That Books Built

"For me, such words demonstrated the autonomy of stories. In stories, words you never heard spoken nonetheless existed. They had another kind of existence. They acted---upon objects likewise made of words" (Spufford 76).This phrase really stuck out for me while reading more of this memoir. Spufford's narration jumps between being a kid who has just begun reading, and the man he is today whose

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-6157353379377189402009-02-05T18:45:00.002-06:002009-02-11T15:27:34.433-06:00First Response to The Child That Books Built by Francis Spufford

In reading the first two of the five sections of this memoir, I found Spufford's narrative to be almost clinical, but at the same time engagingly descriptive. As he talks about growing up with a kid sister who suffers from cystinosis, the vivid mental pictures the auther creates really drew me in and got me to pay more attention. When he moves on the topic of the Puffin publishing company's

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-37720774549229099042009-01-31T13:23:00.002-06:002009-02-01T20:31:26.454-06:00My Favorite Place: Childhood

My grandma's house is flat, safe, and predictable. There's always cookies, or bars, or pie, less than three days old. There's the rumble of my grandpa's deep, slow voice, unless you hear him snoring away in his favorite reclining chair.When we arrive, and when we leave, my grandma's hugs always feel the same, always smell the same, and she always says the same kinds of things: "You guys be

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4626227497615158815.post-47437914956283823642009-01-29T10:36:00.001-06:002009-01-29T15:50:39.940-06:00Response to The Names: A Memoir by N. Scott Momaday

"In the white light a whirlwind moves far out in the plain, and afterwards there is something like a shadow on the grass, a tremor, nothing. There seems a stillness at noon, but that is an illusion: the landscape rises and falls, ringing."I liked this phrase because it describes a setting in an extremely detailed manner, then strips it all away, as if the author is trying to convince himself of

Aliciahttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17778957363550527515noreply@blogger.com0