Calla's Seventy-First Post

I haven't written a post in a super long time but then Jamie made a post and it was rambly and it had a picture so it was similar enough to my own craziness to inspire me to write a new post. Know what's dumb? hypocrisy. I am starting a series of visual art pieces entitled "artistic critiques of hypocrisy." I'm gonna scan them all into a computer and make another Lulu book like I did for my poetry book. http://www.lulu.com/content/1514999 There's a link to it. I made a facebook group when I made it called "Calla Self published a book, you should buy it." I think that's how it was. With the typo and all. . . But all these people joined and none of them bought it. Probably because not so many people like poetry.

I can't figure out how to comment on or follow Jamie's blog. http://jamieoksenhorn.blogspot.com/ There's a link in case you were curious.

Oh, so back to the books: I will post the cover of Poems here as a guest cat cause I drew a cat on it. I doodled it in a boring class one time during my Junior year and then drew it big and made aliens too for a cover. You will see. It has a cute kitty.

I cannot tell you about the hypocrisy project as you are expected to buy my book when it is self-published. But I can just tell you this: there will probably be a lot about animal abuse. (Like you didn't know that already.)

I went to Arizona and it was hot.

That's all for now. This is short because it is a "getting back in the swing of the thing" post. I wrote "swing of the thing" instead of "swing of things" so that the rhyme would be more precise.

GUEST CAT VII This is a visual approximation of the Fuff cause I didn't have Mama yet. . . otherwise it would be a visual approximation of both of them. I already explained it above.

also this is blurry if you make it bigger cause I had to rip it off of Lulu cause I can't find it on my computer and will have to re-scan it in and do a "do-over" guest cat.

Love,
Calla and her kitties

Calla's Sixty-Eighth Post

These are the Exquisite Corpse poems Tabby and I made. We did every other word w/o knowing what the other person wrote. Also, I am eating an Easter cookie. I made them yesterday and now I am fat because I ate like 7 today. They are really super good and really super fattening because they are butter cookies (fake butter) with frosting on them. . . and the primary ingredient in the frosting is crisco. So, now I am fat. And it is weird cause I made them shaped like animals and I always think everything that has a face is alive (even though in my head I know this is not true) but I still enjoy eating the cookies. I will put pictures of them up soon.

So here are the poems.

They do not have names.

And also, they get better as they go.

Buttocks happily melt a short tube.
Noses blankly jump blistered fig blossoms.
The frame absolutely trembled gruesome wild flowers.
Peanut butter tentically tickles lily like belt buckles.

(That one is not so good, we were just getting the hang of it. . these next ones are better)

A speckeled stomach postively censed a crunchy tumolt and bones.
Cunning rings sleepily bewilder the drenched squirrels and the lover.
The streaked chauffeur necissarily licks a broken Calla and stilts.
A farcical ribbon frankly scratches a vigourous glass and command.

(They still get better.)

The cute apples ran.
A silver sodomy clearly resorted to an orange pluto and euchatist.
A final tongue asks;
the slippery offense passionately brought around long lips and body.

The blessed forest hopes;
broad life prayfully gives anachronistic Mondays and substantives.
The whimsical cathedral waits.
Interlaced scabs meanly color a monochrome freedom and jewel.

A perfumed Autumn studies
piercing chimes lawlessly corresponding to the fierce whip of a nightmare and undersides.
An origami example sleeps.
Purple fear subserviently escapes the blatent hands of the analyses and souls.

(This next one got bad again because Tabby messed it up. He did the wrong words for half the lines and then had to make up new ones on the spot to fit his parts of speech.)

The painted blind constructs saw into half chasms.
The darkest of choices prophecies freckles into the sun.
The dark, trembling river forgets the premoridal dark bloom.
The least likley of oracles purges bread between text.

(The first line of that is actually good. . . That is the one Tabby did NOT screwed up.)

(This is the last one.)

Yellowing pillowed fingers blown above the slim clouds.
The most alive of secrets climaxes words onto crates.
A white delerious locamotive spoke from mythical skin.
The weakest of berries througs the Lord through summer.

I am not spell checking.

Here is your inanimate objects I think is alive.



This is from not this past Easter but the one before that. . .so TWO Easters ago. Tabby and I always get each other Easter Baskets. That green bunny is named Mint Car. I ate that maple syrup bunny which was maybe a little bit mean. Last Easter Tabby got me a chocolate bunny and I ate that too. It was dark chocolate cause I don't abuse cows.

Love,
Calla and her kitties (And Tabby helped)

I am not spell checking today.

Calla's Thirty-Fourth Post pt. 2

I forgot also to mention that the first year of my blog was modeled after The Christian Year by John Keble. Each Sunday of the year said book provides the reader with a devotional poem. My blog works quite nicely when paired with this book. Each Sunday you can read a poem and then read a blog post from 2008. It will be exhilarating; I promise.

Calla's Thirteenth Post

I don't have anything in particular about which I want to freak out today, and I'm asking myself how is that even possible. If you have learned anything about me thus far from my posts it should probably be that I am easily overly excitable. We (Tabby and myself) are currently listening to mewithoutYou, and if you are unfortunate enough to have never heard them, you should QUICKLY, I repeat QUICKLY, go find some. Oh me oh my they make me want to cry (haha, I like that phrase from yesterday!) in a good, grand, great way. Aaron Weiss is in a league of his own (ok, Joanna Newsom can join him) as far as lyricists are concerned. Probably ("probably," remember that) my favorite song is A Glass Can Only Spill What it Contains. You should look for the lyrics and read them.

Also, I am a bit (just a bit) in love with Aaron Weiss in that I am too nervous ever to talk to him if I see him before shows and instead I just giggle compulsively and jump up and down a bit. (See, the overly excitable thing kicks in.) Also, I sometimes accidentally obsess about what a good human being he is and then I feel guilty for idolizing him because I know this would make him uncomfortable. But really I admire him, and feel guilty a lot that he seems like a more environmentally friendly, less materialistic person than I am. (I often crave new shoes and I like to own movies and books even though I can borrow books for free from the library and Tabby has a netflix account for movies)

One time I made an impromptu list of my sins intermingled into some poetry/prayer bit. The shoes were on that list. . . I don't know if I felt guilty about the movies and books that given day. But right now I do. I also feel bad that Macs are made in China and I encouraged Tabby to buy a new one (One that would play Spore he oh-s0-desired, you see.) so I could have his old one which is this one. I will try to find the list and prayer/poem.

I found it, I found the list of sins. Would you like to see what led up to the list, or only the list, or neither? I will write them both. They will be in two different colors. If you do not want to read the thoughts leading up, you should skip the orangish color. If you do not want to read the list you should skip the bluish color. If you do not want to read either you should skip both of those colors!! (Which are complimentary colors, by the way.) Also, this was written in February when I was still planning on studying human rights law. Now I study nonprofit management. So, that is that. . . Also, I cannot make the spacing be how I want it exactly, so this is not really exactly what I wrote; only it is the words to what I wrote. . . Not the wholeness of it though, when spacing is considered.

The message of the virgins and the lamp and the oil-
You must know when to stop saving others and focus on yourself
Do not be so foolish as to attempt to save the lost and let you both
become the damned.

Where is the line?
Where is the breaking point?

When is it time for selfishness and pride?

Christ remaining in remote
regions to hide himself from throngs in need.
The monks who retreat to unworldly places.
In it, not of it, no–– out of it
in safety.
That man who built the pillar to live life away
from lust and greed
And I, shielding myself from the life of a lawyer
before it even begins to be past.

Is this justified?
Where the virgin justified?
Was Christ himself, the god and man,
righteous in his resolutions when they involved his sanity -
his ability to breathe alone in peace with the father-
Leaving the crowds to fend for themselves-
Like when you discover your favorite artist was in town
just yesterday - only much worse.

Seeking cures for cancers, diseases and doubts -
he flees to the neighboring town
sinless.

This is the purpose. Blameless
Sacrifice. The unblotted lamb-
And if he can do so much than
sure we are justified at saving
ourselves the same way?
Where is the line?
Where is the break?

This is my list of sins

• I walk by homeless begging people too lazy to give them my change.
• I get frustrated by the minds of children when they cannot grasp the concept of calm.
• I doubt my God-given abilities daily, hourly, each breath.
• I curse my body in vanity- My functioning, necessary body.
• I bought 2 umbrellas made in China and purchased cat food from Petco.
• I have no patience for the dumb or the vain though I am dumb and vain myself.
• I crave shoes and will gladly waste money on them
• I take birth control which may poison fish and also use draino sometimes.
• I complain about my privileged life each chance I encounter
• I waste my time, I waste my brains. I waste artistic talent.
• I become 'holier than thou' when I consider the presidential candidates and average citizens of this nation.
• I own too much
• I cry to much
• I don't allow for self-pity, which is counterproductive.
• I don't trust. I find fault. I find wavering impulses inside my veins to call Christ a sinner for not doing more --

And I know this is
unreasonable

Because it could not have been achieved
without a stainless
sacrifice.

So where it the line?
Where is the point of departure?

P.S. I don't pray Daily and often insult your mother.

That is a weird thing to post here. But I am doing it because pretty much whatever pops into my head is what I type or put onto this thing. It's rather amusing to do things that way, I would say so myself.

Sometimes I do insult the Virgin Mary. . . I don't have a reason for doing it beyond that I don't understand the Catholic perception of her, and I take that fact out on her, herself. . . which is not nice. Sorry Mary.

Love,
Calla and MEOWS

(Also, I made on Tabby's Spore in the creature creator a creature called a Buttermow. If you are playing spore you should look for him/her. S/he is cute cute cute!)