emily d stine : web two.point.o.et

it's tomorrow but i wish it were yesterday

and my breath stinks like gasoline even though i only ate potato chips.
the tears have stopped and all i have left is this gasoline breath.

this kerosene face. gleaming like the night on i-seventy west.
west. west. west. must go west. leave it all in the dust

but it reflects in the rear-view mirror of my dented Honda Civic.
Harry. His name is Harry. Together, Harry & I crunch over memories

crunch, bump, crunch. the dust rises and we do a donut
in the middle of the highway. Yee-HAW! I yell at Harry.

Harry says nothing but i can tell he’s judging me for
my gasoline breath. for my potato chip past.

we keep driving, harry and i & my thoughts wander
to my still-trembling hands. it’s funny because

i have the oddest time remembering what i did.
all i know is that it was brilliant. something tells me harry remembers.

the sky beats down on me like Hiroshima and
i hear screaming in my ears. frantic screaming.

my eyes flash back to the rearview mirror to tomorrow
even though it was yesterday and i wish that Harry would tell me

something about these asphyxiated hours, the gin & tonic time
the screaming gets louder & i turn to Harry, “Harry! is that just me,

or did you hear it too? Did you hear it?!” Harry looks me & nods
motions to the back of the car. I look at him, “What do you mean Harry?

Is this just one of your games? There’s nothing in the trunk! Nothing!”
Harry just sits there motionless, resolute. I babble on like bumblebees

“there’s no way, of course not, there’s nothing back there, you’re
crazy Harry. I should have never trusted you. You’re just mad

about my potato chip past. I know you remember, but not that,
no way.” And all of a sudden, i hear a loud banging noise,

something is ALIVE in the trunk. But what? But what? My hands are still.
Still. Still. Still. My breathing short. The screaming gets louder, the knocking

gets harder. I do another donut to shut it up. But louder, louder, louder.
I pull to a rest stop. Turn off Harry, he folds his arms in satisfaction

and i open the car door. In the silence, the screaming is almost
animal-like, the banging is thumping thumping thumping my heart

inside my chest like it might pOP…I get to the back of the car, Harry
stares at me, eyes menacing. I put the key in the lock, turn it and pull…

» from the silly mind of emily's alter ego emmy appleseed

“ the words, they drip like shadows
from my tongue
sedated, i swallow
a copy of a copy        
a quintessential cliche        
i sit back, clasp @ my chains        
and dream in fireflies
of a world of the whole beautiful

— The first poema I ever wrote on Twitter tentatively titled “Plato’s Poem”

shameless self. promotion

photos compliments of …. http://www.modelmayhem.com/866732

a Jack Handey deep thoughts.esque picture
if it is yellow, is it acceptable to let it mellow?

facetime on facebook:
facade, fixation and the photograph

publishers take heed. it is good.
kinda tastes like chicken. mmm nachos

kinda chuck klosterman/margie mead in style
written at a new york times level

Status updates [creative writing bits] from my Facebook Thesis

Status Update #4: Emily is celebrity.

Everywhere I go, they follow me and I am not even a celebrity. Last week, for instance, I am at “The Vagina Monologues,” and right before the MC introduces the show, two girls three rows in front of me whip out their camera, hold it two feet away from their faces with one arm stretched out, take the picture and quickly check out the result on the mini digital screen before turning the camera off and tuning into the show before them. I imagine this photo popping up in a Facebook photo album, accompanied by the caption, “at the vagina monologues.” You would not have known it from the picture; they would have just looked like two girls with red seat cushions behind them. Capturing the picture as the moment of truth seems to have given it validity here, that and the caption that will likely complement it whenever it makes its way to Facebook.
Another night, I am out at the bar near two very attractive blonde college students who I assume are of age, that, or they have got great fakes. Well, they must seem to know how attractive they are, because they take about fifteen different takes of the same photo, the one I have described before, arm outstretched to take the picture themselves. I wonder if I will be in the background. Sometimes I wonder about the photos I will never see. When someone wants to take a picture with you at a party but then you never become Facebook friends, does that photo ever get posted? Does it get turned into a CIA Databank? Hmm, guess I will never know.

“ She’s got everything she needs.
She’s an artist & she don’t look back.

— bob d

never forget where you came from

it helps you to remember where you are.

1000 followers in 110 days

Emily Dawn Stine now has 1000 followers reading my poetry on twitter. for those of you who say you can't change the world, no offense but i think you're just being lazy. it only took me 110 days to touch 1000 people's lives http: //twitter.com/emilydstine
9 minutes ago · Comment · Like
Richard Hodkinson likes this.
Adam Bossy at 12: 24pm May 8
you should write a poem about how to get 1000 followers in 110 days. i'd read it.
Emily Dawn Stine at 12: 31pm May 8
to get 1000 to follow you in
100 ten days, be passionate & kind.
make poop&fart jokes because they are
always in style & always comic.yle.
sometimes i got frustrated, thought
nobody cared, sometimes i got elated
because people enjoyed the words i shared
find a mentor like @zeitguy who said
"this is uncharted territory em.d.stine
inhabit, plant your emmy appleseed flag
and build your influence twitteristically"
the money isn't much at first you see
but i got BoA to give back all my money
in the end, twitter is very little about cents
followers, or bills, it's about the satisfaction
you get by making someone smile and when
you are down on your guile, it's about
@peadub sharing a link to listen to Jack Black
dance w/ Go Gabba Gabba. but then I would not
be a good AP English grad if i did not end this
diddy w/ a wink and a smile and the ever impt
so what? o well.

a poem i wrote yesterday for painting jake, the painter on university hill

the world disdains upon the creative
they say “get a job … . lowlife,
you bum, you degenerate.”

They crunch their numbers
twiddle their thumbs and at the end
of the day, they slurp whiskey
until their brain goes numb.

But the writers, the painters
poets, artistes, they sip a
little wine because the
world’s already too sweet.

Their souls soft, but their skin
hard as a turtle shell.
for the number-crunchers &
the thumb-twiddlers, they throw
their drinks for they do not
understand what freedom is.

and the poet, the writer
the artist instead, they
frown, they sigh,
and then they take their
paintbrush, their pen

they paint it red.

I am a bit of a playboy bunny

in my younger and more vulnerable years,

I dated some men. But now i think I’ve found one i’ll hang w/ for a while
and it’s not mr. friede, former president! of SAE here in lovely boulder,co

“sometimes i feel lik i don’t have a parnter,

the city i live in the city of angels

lonely as i am together we cry”

…it’s good to cry sometimes. it’s CATHARTIC
which is like going to a Greek Tragedy and seeing

MacBeth which in my opinion,
and i wrote about it in Honors English junior year w/ Mr. Craig, a grad of some small liberal arts school in NY i think„ anyways back at JK Mullen, i wrote this paper arguing,
extremely affectively in my opinion, that Macbeth wasn’t nuts he was just on ANGELDUST or PCP as it’s chemically classified.

Mr. Craig thought i had some decent arguments but gave me an 88.
why cuz sometimes good ideas are marginalized due to a lack of adept perception.

he’s a teacher emily, and a man, which means more than likely he is an
E[xtroverted]
[S}ensing
t/f [thinking or feeling, either one]
J[UDGEMENTAL!!!!]

so even tho this guy = way cool.
he ‘s just a man living in a culture
that constantly EN.FRANCHISES him

good for you.
bad for paper about Macbeth being on angeldust
same story all the time.

facebook thesis in anthropologY?

“you’ve got to be kidding me. you’re supposed to go to indonesia.”
i interlude…dot do t dot

“yea well facebook is a virtual community, a viral social network, a frontier of kinds. i know the language, OMG, what a betch.
dot do t dot
anyways, yea i think i could hack it man… apply the following fill.y.sophers to play w/ me and the new york times..

BORDIEU

putnam, bowling alone, plato, baudrillard, sIMULACRA! cultural capital, performativity, TASTE cultures, carla jones, donna goldstein, kaifa roland, ZORA NEALE HURSTON, the idea of a “photo economy” suggested by my mentor CARLA JONES, who is basically the coolest. PANTOPTICON! foucalt,

new york times

tech CRUNCH!
some london newspapers who’s names i don’t remember.

u.tube.
mike wesch
tom….boellstorff
the original pioneer

HOWARD RHEINGOLD
turkle, lady at berkeley, VANHOUSE

well that’s all

but there were definitely more

oh yea and me, and my friends

and the intellectual garble we would slurp at each other w/ copioius amounts of keystine light. “facebook=social scoreboard” yes Jack, that’s very true

guy at 4th of july 07

“why do i have to post “is” after my name , it’s confiing”

you’re right over.in.volved FACEBook guy, but u got ur way a couple months

just a little bit later

so take a chill pill and relish in the fact that you are a pioneer.

me too.

whoa.

neat.

signing off
[typing out]
emily dawn sitne
chief executive goddess.

so what?

“

Vonnegut Quotes

“I say in speeches that a plausible mission for artists is to make people appreicate being alive at least a little bit. I am then asked if I know any artists who pulled that off. I reply, the Beatles did.”

“We are what we pretend to be, so we must be careful about what we pretend to be.”

“like so many Americans she was trying to construct a life that made sense from things she found in gift shops”

“Alcohol and marijuana, if used in moderation, plus loud usually low-class music, makes stress and boredom infinitely more bearable”

“The champagne was dead. So it goes.”

“All the true things I am about to tell you are shameless lies.”

“Make love when u can. It’s good for you”

— Various KV works, mother night, slaughter-house five, hocus pocus, etc.

you've spattered me in a see of blues [written fall 07]

I row relentless—
the illucid ocean and I
in your salt

   immersed in the blue
water
   color—imprisoned
brush
   with each fluid touch
strokes
   of your brush to the palette.

a black

speck swallowed

in your oceanic impression.

SATORI poem written 3/29/8

I want to change world

I’ve told enough people

fate will do the rest.

In the meantime, I bought

a rosebush today & some

paper to paint on. I think

that will be all i need for a while.