Log in

No account? Create an account

November 2011




RSS Atom
Powered by LiveJournal.com

Previous 10

Nov. 4th, 2011



i recently started a tumblr and really do nothing else with my life except update my tumblr. follow me, love me, and appreciate me at http://colettescovich.tumblr.com/

Jun. 7th, 2011


Soul of a Unicorn

In a world filled with adversity, the unicorn
symbolizes all that is pure, gentle and loyal.
She travels to all corners of the earth, with
blankets of flowers springing up wherever
she treads. With a touch of healing and
wholeness in her horn, she weaves a special
magic to influence our hearts to do good by
giving us the desire to help others. And by
so doing, she fills us with joy, helping us to
see the beauty of our planet.

Jun. 3rd, 2011

fading footprints

poverty, letting go and moving on

so, earlier today i was looking in my fridge and my cupboard.  you never realize how little you can live on until you actually do. i don't have a single dollar to my name, and i guess in many other situations that would be horribly stressful, but it's just such a norm in my life that it doesn't even phase me anymore. poverty is my life. when you're poor you begin to be so incredibly thankful and just at peace with what you do have. i don't even think about what i want or don't have anymore. i think i recognize it as a reality that i have other things to focus on. i need my bills paid, my rent straight, and sometimes food in my belly. 

i've thought about some of the things i've had to give up over the years. the hardest, without a doubt, was giving kittery away. words really can't describe the relationship i had with that cat. yeah, i know we've all gone through the pain of losing a pet, but having to give one away is so different than them passing away. i also think about my car and how much more restricted my life is now, and how some friends have completely disregarded me just on that factor alone. i'm not depressed, though. i'm optimistic and truthfully love my life. i see no point in looking at what i've lost and pining over it or throwing myself a pity party. we all have bumps in the road and swerves we aren't prepared for, but it's how you react to those surprises that builds you up. 
i see so many of my friends who just have everything handed to them, and sometimes i wonder if i should be jealous. do i want parents who will just enable me to not be an independent adult? do i need people in my life who won't help me help myself? the answer is, no. i'm so glad that i have the parents i do because they challenge me to make my own way and be independent. despite how little i have, i have far more than i realize at times. i have fabulous, wonderful friends who make my life complete. i live free and open. 
i've seen more and more people looking down on me because i haven't graduated yet, that i can't go out because i can't afford it or that i don't have a car. i'm sure they see me as irresponsible or flighty. it really doesn't matter how i'm viewed by those outside voices, because i know what's true in my own life. i'm a fucking trooper. i am a soul survivor. life has served me some intense curve-balls, but i've caught them and landed (sometimes wobbly) on my feet. i feel that those who disregard or disrespect me are not worth my time. i have never shed a tear for myself and i will never fall into pitying myself. i stand on my own two feet and i will continue to do so. 
i am not a word, i am not a line. i am not a girl that can ever be defined. - nicki minaj

May. 30th, 2011




look at the above. what is somewhat shocking about that image? well, the most shocking part is that mario never actually gets to see this vile visage of pure loathing because these ghosts only attack him when his back is turned. 

that's right. remember playing super mario? there is no foe more foul and more cowardly than the haunted castle ghosts. they're called the boo, and even though i thought of a thousand dad-puns to throw in there i'll refrain. i have been pondering the nature of these assholes for quite some time (about ten minutes) and have found myself assaulted by a myriad of personal questions. what trumps all of these questions is my overwhelming pity for our small italian plumber hero. who only wants to save a princess. 

setting aside my sympathy for mario's endless case of blue balls i gotta wonder about the boo. i mean, they're ghosts, right? what kind of spirits are they? the answer is that they're the most fucking terrifying kind. i know that what i fear most is things i can't see. like what lurks under my bed (shut up, yeah, i'm 23) or what beast is waiting just beyond my sight-line in a dark room. mario approaches these ghosts thinking they are mere apparitions, which would still cause me to shit myself and probably vomit profusely from fear, and the second he passes them they lunge for the attack. if you were not holding your remote control and using mario to waste copious amounts of time he would be absolutely defenseless. 
the only thing the boo do to let their victim know that they're about to attack is let out an awful laugh. imagine you're in a dank, lava-filled castle and this sudden haunting laugh echoes off the walls. each time you turn around to investigate you see the ghost seems to be sleeping. but? has it gotten closer? i could've sworn it was closer to that one lantern over there. mario probably thinks it's just the spooky atmosphere playing tricks on him when really he is being tortured with fear. 
am i alone in saying that i'd cast myself into the lava pool just ahead? it's the fear of the unknown because mario doesn't actually know what the boo will do. if he was able to catch one glance at their razor-sharp teeth he would know, immediately. i am going to fucking die. it doesn't matter what mushroom or fire-breathing flower i have in my reservoir. this hellish, back-from-the-grave creature is going to splash the walls of this castle with my blood. it will be the single-most horrific moment of my life and it will be my last. 
now, this next conjecture i pulled completely out of my ass. but there must have been other visitors to these castles. is it safe to say that any person killed by the boo...becomes one? mario dies and without those extra lives you cheated to get he would be trapped, forever in a castle listening to music with a three beat variation until the madness of it all drove him to begin attacking. he would become the very thing that robbed him of the chance to save is beautiful, luscious and prudent girlfriend peach. the cycle would continue forever until the castle was so over-run with ghosts they'd have to start attacking each other! 
what's the worst thing about the boo? outside of the fact that they're hell-risen poltergeist? they're fucking indestructible. you can't shoot fireballs at them or use your tail to whip them into death. literally all mario can do is run the fuck away. each time knowing that the second he turns his back he'll hear that bone-chilling laugh and that his demise is that much closer. 

atheist rap, motha fucka

atheists live the scientific thug life 
lyrics by colette and chelley

religion debates being explosive like a super nova,
don't need an afterlife cos we roll with dr faust--
gonna live for ever see what the universe is all about. word 

yo, yo, yo i gots carl sagan
we ain't no new age pagans
this shit be all about reason
you watch religion fade like a season
best get yo' mind in check
don't be a fool like glenn beck!

it all in da equation but bitch you on yo knees prayin
we derive in respect to time how we're alive
what drives life wide cross the sky like dust in the starlight

i use the scientific method to answer my questions
forgot the bible's lessons, they were only makin me stressin
gos socrates, hippcrates rollin with my gs--not "sus"
bring dat boy to our meetings you gonna get cut.

i don't need bullets to riddle bitches with holes
'cause my lyrical, factual science takes it's toll
bitch, you on yo knees pleading to the divine
get straight 'cause this ain't no intelligent design

you think this belief stands harder than the earth's crust
that you got some bedrock of god to trust
let me bring a quake. a tsunami of truth to blow you awake.
in this reality--the universe--yo shit's just dust.
all you see is recycled star stuff.
don't stumble into fairytails
cinderella, snow white, aurora
bitches needin' a prince when all she need is independence
from the centuries of lies and cover-ups
all aurora needs is her borealis
charged, collided particles free from bias

intelligence and design only work with my rhymes
i rap dem in time to the atomic beat in my mind--
my mind that's fine-tuned but i ain't well-tempered
so long you keep on preachin at me i get pestered

keep your pamphlets, psalms and communal wine
i drink from the universe's cosmic stein
cut that diet of a prophet's blood and flesh
grow fat on a new threshold; a real gospel truth
bite the apple and chew on true knowledge
shake the branches and start to forage

cos your faith's dust like alderaan
when you see the light of alderban
possibilities emerge from our fractal world--
not fractured. change the world by measure
by measuring you've only increased the mind's ability to see
our terra: geology hurtling through the cosmic sea
our heliocentricity in correspondence to you and me
the singularity to know we're free

don't seek the pearly gates when your time comes to a close
it's fraught to rage against the loss of yo' ego
go gentle into that good night and see a spark like epic prose
terza rima lines of a comedy most divine
it's the comedy of the cosmos and how atoms align
tragedy exists in your delusion
just rid your mind of confusion
live now and not later 'cause the end is an eternal nap
where you become the universe's scraps

cos heavens an assumption not a cold hard deduction
thinking you're deserving of a mother fuckin prize
i'm not wise but i know how to recognize lies that you
try to embrace as your fuel to function
i analyze--cause and effect chain reactions
light refractions off the convex domes of your eyes,
sine waves reverb off the confines of plato's cave
no never mind that shit's imaginary; what's real is i.

May. 15th, 2011



 The Legend Of the Cooter: A Southern-Fried Fable

One day long, long ago Possum called the animals of what is now Citrus County to a meeting on the banks of Lake Tsala Apopka. There was a difficulty to be addressed.

“My friends,” Possum said, nervously flicking his skinny, hairless tail back and forth, “we have a problem. Old Gator has been makin’ a terrible ruckus, and none of us can get a wink of sleep. Somebody needs to go and see what’s wrong.”

“Turtle!” Raccoon exclaimed. “Turtle’s perfect—good at swimmin’, and he’s got a hard shell to protect himself.”

The other animals, fearing Gator’s sharp teeth and sharper hunger, also urged Turtle to go. Too shy to protest, he swam out to the center of the lake. There, he saw Gator—big, green and splashing fiercely. How could he ever confront the beast?

Turtle paddled nearer and was about to ask him what was wrong when, suddenly, Gator lunged at him. He withdrew into his shell just in time to hide from Gator’s crushing jaws. Next, he felt himself being lifted upward, then sinking rapidly.

Turtle peeked out of his shell and saw that he was in the great lizard’s belly. And he saw a sharp spike from a trout’s fin imbedded in the side of Gator’s stomach. Turtle pulled the spike out, and a great roar resounded around him. Then he abruptly tumbled out of Gator’s belly and into the lake.

Gator felt so much better that he returned Turtle to shore on his massive back, promising friendship—and quiet—forever. Turtle’s remarkable bravery received cheers and great praise from all the animals.

“From now on,” Possum said, “we’ll call you ‘Courageous Turtle’.”

“Cooter!” echoed baby Mouse. And that was the name that stuck.

Apr. 13th, 2011


Tribute to Allen Ginsberg

 A Wal-Mart in Florida

What thoughts I have of you tonight, Allen Ginsberg, for I walked
down the sidewalks under toiling palm trees with prickling nausea looking
at the waning flecks of moonlight.

In my humid vigour, and shopping for images, I went into the blue
Wal-Mart, thinking of your breathing poetry!
What bulk jars of mayonnaise and what obscurity! Mothers' shopping
carts bursting with wailing children! Aisles full of sagging breasts! Chipped nail
polish in beauty products, eyes brimmed with bruising-grape purple!
--and you, Jack Kerouac, what were you doing down by the cough syrup?

I saw you, Allen Ginsberg, hobbling past tricycles, humming mantras, poking
through stacks of 2 for 10 DVDs and eyeing the late night stock boys.
You beckoned them: Where are thumb tacks?
Who made these socks? Are you my Angel?
I meandered past bland stacks of soft to sandpaper towels trailing you,
and followed by a loss prevention associate.
We bumped carts, grumbling, catching eyes, looking through thick-rimmed lenses. We strode,
feeling down comforters, tasting popcorn chicken, fogging up the freezer doors,
and never passing the cashier.

Where are you going, Allen Ginsberg? The sliding doors never close.
Which way does your nose point?
(I touch the lint in my pocket and dream of our journey).
Will I wander all night along warm streets, hugged by the sound of bawling frogs?
The sense of your gait matching mine? We’ll both be lonely.
Will we stroll pondering the lost America? Past rows of pastel houses, adorned
with gleaming SUVs to our quiet home with over-grown leaves of grass?
Oh, dear Bodhisattva, tripping hippy, crowded lover, what America did you have when
your eyes drifted upward, a breath rushed through bushels of nose hair
and you vibrated into the earth as sound?

Jan. 22nd, 2011


Writer's Block: Timeless tales

What were your favorite books as a child, and why?

oh my god! i loved reading nancy drew! i read every single one of those goddamn books because, like scooby doo, i really thought there were real ghosties and monsters, but it was just some fuck doing some bullshit. as i look back on those books and consider nancy drew's life it kind of pisses me off. in every single book she gets knocked out and dragged somewhere. okay, so that's a lot of brain damage for one blonde-headed broad to take. plus, the best side character was the huge dyke george! i wanted to see more of that george action! oh and the pleasantly plump bess. didn't nancy have some stupid boyfriend, too? ned? what kind of name is ned? he was probably a homo on the run. what i really loved was that i had some of the older versions of the books that were unbelievably racist! the nancy drew and hardy boy cross-overs were also ace. 

i read every single one of those babysitter's club books. especially the mystery ones. those were so exciting to my young mind. it felt like a really, scary mystery until i read some stephen king not to long after that and my entire ten year old world was shattered. dashed upon the rocks like a million ships lead astray by a mermaid. 

i absolutely loved reading the babysitter's club. i knew all of the characters a long time ago. there was the diabetic bitch named stacy, the artistic stupid asian named claudia and...i think some girl named mary anne, abby, dawn and i can't remember the others. i remember that abby had insanely crippling asthma. they all had their special ailment, didn't they? for the life of me i can't remember the main bitches name, but she was all tomboyish and basically a bossy dyke. whatevs. 

there were two books that stood out in my childhood more than any others, though. i loved "my side of the mountain" by jean craighead george and "before women had wings" by connie may fowler. i remember when my mother had one of her episodes and threw away my copy of "before women had wings" and i was really just torn apart. that book spoke to me and i read it so many times, crying each time i read it. i suppose the abused child in me related to some degree. what i think is really interesting is that i read "before women had wings" while living in italy and then i ended up moving to tampa where the book is set. then i met a teacher, mr. fairweather, who was close friends with the author. at times i wonder if i was meant to read that book when i did and to seek the hope in it.

i'm still so haunted by the truth that mr. fairweather told us about how fowler's life really ended up. that it wasn't the way the book depicted, which is a work of creative non-fiction. part of me thought that i would write some story about my own life and have to sugar coat the truth because it was just so terrible. in actuality, connie may fowler was at her mother's deathbed and her mother just looked at her and said "go to hell". despite the truth or the reality, "before women had wings" is a book that undeniably changed my life. 

on a lighter note, "my side of the mountain" is such a wonderful book. that book was purely escapism for me. i so wanted to just abandon my fucked up family life as a child and run to the mountains in italy. that book gave me the thought that i could really do it! i could just hit-hike to the abruzzi national park and live in the woods. "my side of the mountain" is a book that really instilled in me a sense of adventure. i felt like it would be so easy for me to just strike out on my own and live one with the wilderness. the reality of that situation was that i would definitely be eaten by a bear or mauled by a bobcat. most definitely, i would've died in the intense winters the region had. still, a large part of me really wants to live in the amazon rainforest and just be the wild woman of the jungle. it doesn't sound too bad. i'd just miss mcdonald's. 


 i really have the most insane and irrational sleep patterns. my best bouts of sleep are when i sleep the day away, which is hardly productive. i don't actually feel guilty for sleeping all day because a large part of me feels like i'm a princess who can just laze the day away. it's rather glorious, but i get a lot of shit from my bros about it. i've been dreaming more, too. well, i mean, i've always been dreaming the same, but i'm remembering my dreams far more than i used to. ooh, maybe i'm having a spiritual awakening. 

hahahhaa, bullshit. 

so, right now it's almost 7:30am and i'm still awake, but am considering sleep very seriously. i blame my overactive imagination and endless need to think about everything. oh and the fuckin' internet. i started re-reading the black jewels trilogy which also isn't helping since i always read before i sleep. i love those books so much that i just can't put them down. it's like when i re-read deathly hallows and simply can't put it down. i don't know why i get like this with some books other than that i indulge in the escapism they provide. i desperately want certain orson scott cards books, but don't want to deal with the rape it takes to get to the USF library. i'm mostly worried that when i get there they won't have them and i'll have lost hours of my life traveling there. my fate is the common fate of all. to suffer. 

so, on my days off i sleep all day. on the days that i work i stay up and go to sleep once i've hit 27-30 hours. i need to break this habit not because it bothers me but probably because it's slowly making me crazy. i already have enough issues mulling around in my head that i really don't need to add clinical insanity to the list. perhaps i'll fix it, but until then i'm rather content with sleeping like a bear in hibernation all day. while everyone else is up doing stuff i'm nestled down in my warm bed snoozing the daylight hours away. what isn't beautiful about that? 

still. i pine for orson scott card! he's my new favorite passion and i wanna read more of the enderverse books so i can get even less sleep! you know what's fucked up and hilarious, though? i mostly want the other orson scott card books because it's next to impossible to read the black jewels trilogy while laying down. it's such a huge tome that i have to prop it up on a pillow or on my chest and my arms ache after a while. yep, i'm a lazy bitch! i think i'm off to slumberland now. 

if a certain jerk reads this when the fuck are we ever going to see each other again? i'm about to shred your christmas present. 

Jan. 19th, 2011


why mario always got shafted

"oh mario! you saved me! here are some fireworks." 

peach. we all know her. she's the sultry minx who somehow always got her dumb ass kidnapped by the evil turtle, overlord, reptilian thing bowser. each time she was kidnapped (why? why the fuck was she kidnapped all the time?) mario had to battle unbelievable danger and asshole ghosts just to save her ass. i have to wonder how after the first kidnapping incident peach didn't consider upping her security and she's a goddamn princess. why would a lone italian plumber save her and not some knight? why the fuck would the kingdom trust this random fuck named mario to come save her and not a valiant warrior? 

alright, so mario has to battle awful monsters like turtles, limb-devouring plants that surface from tunnels and travel through odd, terrifying landscapes just to find her. not only does he have to fight his way through these horrible worlds of pain, but even the land itself hates everything mario tries to do. when he's in the desert world the sun gets pissed and attacks him and in the fucking awful underwater bullshit land he has to hold his breath to the point of brain damage. think about having to enter those haunted castles too. where ghosts who seem dormant attack you the moment you turn your back. what fucking cowards, right? imagine having met some girl and you kinda like her and then you find out she's been kidnapped by a spike-covered ganglord and you have to enter haunted buildings filled with fucking lava to save her. what part of this is reasonable? 

so, when mario finally wades through all of the bullshit and reaches the final castle where peach is held he has to battle with bowser. after flinging fireballs at him and just fucking his shit up for what feels like hours you finally kill (or like knock out or put to sleep) bowser. don't be fooled, though bowser will be back because nintendo needs your money. mario is reunited with his love peach who...gives him a nice fireworks show and nothing else. after all this absolute bullshit mario has suffered peach doesn't even have the decency to put out. yeah, this hussy tease won't even let him cop a feel. what kind of prudish cunt activity is that? i know i should be all feminist and shit, but really? no, peach, no. mario went through soooo much suffering. he died multiple times and had to fly using a raccoon tail thing and you can't even let him bust a nut? 

in short, the creators of super mario are cruel, cruel bastards. 

Previous 10