Song 5: Little Lying Man

(To the tune of Little Lion Man)

Weep for yourself, my man,
You'll never be living here again
Weep, little lying man,
You're not as sly as you were at the start
Caught you steal and caught you lie
Take all the stuff that you have left

Get the hell out of here and don’t come back or I’ll take off your head

But it was not your booze but mine

Oh yes, you stepped quite out of line

You’re really moving out this time

Don’t you touch my beer

Don’t you touch my beer

Tremble for yourself, my man,

You know that I have caught you steal before
Tremble, little lying man,
I’ll be changing the lock upon my door
Your face isn’t wanted in this place,
Your stupid mess has made this home a wreck
Now leave from this house or else spend your days worrying for your neck

But it was not your booze but mine

Oh yes, you stepped quite out of line

You’re really moving out this time

Don’t you touch my beer

But it was not your booze but mine

Oh yes, you stepped quite out of line

You’re really moving out this time

Don’t you touch my beer

Don’t you touch my beer

[harmonizing]

But it was not your booze but mine

Oh yes, you stepped quite out of line

You’re really moving out this time

Don’t you touch my beer

But it was not your booze but mine

Oh yes, you stepped quite out of line

You’re really moving out this time

Don’t you touch my beer

Don’t you touch my beer

Poetry Corner 4

why do you cry like you have not a choice
why are you sad like you’re trying to go fix it
digging so deep like you want your own grave
lay in it, sleep, like I’m forcing you to do it
I don’t know what you’re doing
I don’t know what you’re doing

why is your sky oh so gloomy, my sweet?
pain clouds the sun like you need it to be dark now
was it so bright that it’s too much to bear?
darken the light like you think this will be better
I don’t know what you’re thinking
I don’t know what you’re thinking

why do you cry like you had not a choice
why do you hurt like I gave no chance to fix it
out of your mind you don’t know how to deal
why don’t you find an excuse, it’s what you do now…
you don’t know what you’ve done, dear
you don’t know what you’ve done, dear

Vlog 7: All about me! Yay!

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Apparently people have been commenting on my previous videos. I think this one is my favourite:

Real Things I've Said to Guys

If I had to choose between you and a miniature lap giraffe, I would consider you for a good couple of hours before going with the miniature lap giraffe.

I love your face so much I want to peel it off and wear it as my own.

If you had a van full of candy, I would not hesitate to get in.

You are what magic smells like.

You are more precious to me than the ring was to Gollum.

If you died, I would consider necrophilia.

I think you would taste good, like pineapples and sunshine and despair.

Out all the people I stalk, you are by far the 9th most interesting.

Sometimes I sneak into your house to sniff your pillow.

You look like you are in psychological state of content when you enter Morpheus's realm.

And so Zeus said onto Michelangelo "Ye shall take that marble yonder, the marble of the Gods, and ye shall mold us something spiffy." And so it was that your face came to be.

You look like you would be ok at angry sex.

I think we need to run away together to sing songs and grow oranges and be merry.

I have a voodoo doll of you. I lick its face every Tuesday.

I think of you when I touch my hair.

I wanna be your baby's momma.

Would you like to hear the names I picked out for our children?

I love you like a necrophiliac loves an open casket.

I feel comfortable committing murder for you.

You must be stage 3 syphilis, 'cause I can't get you out of my head.

Everytime you smile, God revives a kitten he killed everytime someone masturbated.

When we're apart, I miss you more than a stormtrooper misses his target.

One of my favourite hobbies is taking pictures of you with my phone when you're not looking and then photoshoping out all of your many, many flaws so you can be just as pretty on the outside.

Short Short-Story 2: Confessions of a Crazy Cat Lady

Meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow meow.

Occupy University

I was reading this article about Occupy Wallstreet (read it) and it inspired me to start my own movement.


It might be too easy to dismiss the Occupy University movement as a first-world problem.

Just because you go to class it doesn’t entitle you to a good grade, some people grumble. Why are you protesting? Why aren’t you studying? What are you doing here? Next you’ll surge onto campus to complain about the decline in the quality of ballpoint pens!

But that would be unfair.

I’ve seen some of these students before – at the rally to bring back Beer Gardens, when we poured beer into our university mugs and cheered.

Now the stakes are higher.

“I did everything I was supposed to do: went to some of the classes, skimmed through the assigned readings, handed in my homework relatively on time. 3 month later I have nothing but a C to show for it,” complains one person while checking her twitter.

“My professor said that if we work hard we can get any grade we want. Well my paper might not have been the best but I told him how hard I work and what a good person I am but I didn't get the grade I wanted. I didn't want… the B-,” writes another.

This is not our fault.

Growing up, we were told: you are unique. You are special. You are brilliant. Apparently professors are unaware of this. "You must rewrite this paper. Go the library, do some research, use correct citation."

Half an hour later, look at us. Paper still not good enough. This is not what it said on the syllabus.

Is it our fault the professors try to talk while we are texting? Is it our fault the university can't recognize our brilliance? Is it our fault our moms are not here to wash our clothes so we don't smell like nachos and too much AXE body spray?

We did what we were told to do.

Now we need someone to tell us what to do next because we can't think for ourselves.

The students of University are mostly twenty-somethings. Most of those I spoke to were in the failing range. Some had a  “marginal pass.” They aren’t rebels without a cause. They’re rebels with a surplus of causes.

“Give me the grade I deserve,” reads one sign, “End the Madness.”

"Legalize marijuana," read another, who might have confused this with the rally two streets down.

If you're looking for a coherent message, you won't get it from these students. Instead of testing us on what you think we should know, a student is saying, test us on what we actually know. When I walk away from the group, one is arguing in favor of no grades, another suggesting that there should be no classes till noon. Some are just plain lost and looking for their next class.

Lucy, a self-described genius, is delighted that the protest is happening. “When I was in elementary I was totally an A+ student,” she says. “We used to get stickers as well. It’s a shame professors are so mean when they mark – it hurts my feelings, makes me feel terrible about myself."

“This whole thing is basically a big discussion, dude,” Andy, the dreadlocked skater of Liberal Arts, tells me. “It’s about getting together a bunch of people who realize that there’s a problem and trying to figure out what the solution is, man.” Easier said than done. The protesters I talk to agree on three things. They are not sure what the point is yet, but would like to find out. The system is broken. And the profs, they feel, are ignoring them.

We are angry that professors pretend they have lives or somewhere to be. Something to do other than help us at a moment's notice. This is about fixing the system, “building a university that caters to the student's needs. That gives us the grades we need to get our degrees,” another protester, Chad, tells me. Or something like that.

Pineapples, sunshine, and despair.

I've sent these emails to a former prof:

Date:	Thu, 24 Mar 2011 5:12 pm
Subject:	Hello!
I am just emailing you to let you know you that if I should ever descend into madness because of too much stress from school work and get put into a mental institution and then ran away after 6 month and decide to go on a killing spree to exact my revenge on the world, I would kill you last. You're welcome.

Date:	Wed, 04 May 2011 7:28 pm
Subject:	memories
I have a lot of fond memories of being in your class. My favourite is when I would completely tune you out and think about unicorns. If unicorns existed, naturally unicorn jousting would exist as well. I think you would have made a fine unicorn jouster. People would come watch your unicorn jousting and say "that guy is a fine unicorn jouster." Of course you wouldn't be the best unicorn jouster so you would still have to keep your day job.

Date:	Sat, 21 May 2011 6:11 pm
Subject:	Cookies also make my day better
It was nice running into you yesterday. The days that I see you always become up to 0.018% better, sometimes. I remember I was really sad once and I thought “You know what would make this day up to 0.018% better, probably? Seeing him.” But I did not see you and my day did not become up to 0.018% better. Don’t worry though, I forgave you. I'd like to think that if we just met randomly we would have become quick friends, like the kind that plan to write a comic book together but never get around to it because they're lazy and procrastinate. When we would get together to congregate you would laugh at my storyline and I would laugh at your attempts of drawing and you would laugh that someone under the age of 70 uses the word "congregate".

Date:	Sun, 12 Jun 2011 4:36 pm
Subject:	brains
Sometimes when I walk on campus in the evenings when it's dark and deserted I like to pretend we all live in a post-apocalyptic world overrun by zombies, every day a fight for survival. I'd like to think I would be able to survive fairly well for a while. Eventually of course I would trip and fall on my face whilst a zombie is chasing me, get bit, and turn into a zombie myself. After I get turned into a zombie I would come find you because I’d like to eat you. I think you would taste good, like pineapples and sunshine and despair. Date:  Tue, 09 Aug 2011 11:14 pm Subject:  Carnivàle I’m currently watching a show about a carnival and it makes me sad that the carnival doesn’t come to town anymore. I mean we have stuff like the circus and Capital Ex but it’s just not the same. There isn’t that aura of strangeness and that sense of wonder that makes you feel like a kid again. Only a carnival can do that. I think it is tragic that people can’t get their cards read and their future foretold, can’t ogle the bearded lady and watch some guy deep-throat a sword, can’t throw rocks at other people’s children who are being too loud...can’t do all of these things in one wonderful, magical place. Tragic. After I find a stable, well paying job with my Arts degree I think I’m going to save up money to revive the carnival. I'm writing you to let you know that if you should ever grow weary of the idleness of a “normal” life, you would be more than welcome to join my carnival. I am positive that you would make a splendid carnie (with a bit of training, of course)! Date:  Wed, 10 Aug 2011 09:36 am Subject:  I want a giraffe Speaking of Capital EX, did you go this year? I did. I ended up with a sunburn and about $97.50 less in my pocket. Basically, ‘twas awesome. There is nothing I love more than going on a good ride. I especially enjoyed the upside down ones. Although it doesn’t really feel like you’re going upside down, it feels like the rest of the world is. It’s not you that’s spinning; it’s everything and everyone else. Funny how our perception can sometimes make it feel like the world revolves around us. The only thing that could have made that day better was giraffes. And maybe if there was less people. I don’t like people.
Date:	Wed, 10 Aug 2011 12:11 pm
Subject:	Raisins are the crocs of the food world
Someone offered me chocolate-covered raisins yesterday. Needless to say, the person and I are no longer friends. I imagine the thought process of the first person to eat a raisin was something along the lines of “Instead of eating this beautiful, delicious fruit that the angels call ‘grape’ in the natural way that God intended it to be eaten, I shall leave it out in the sun to dry up and die. Then I can feast on its carcass like some sort of wild, deranged animal.” Or maybe I am wrong, maybe it was simply “This looks like rat droppings; I think I’ll eat it.” Either way, I shall never understand the rational behind raisins. Nevertheless, I would probably eat a few raisins for you to show that we are friends. Probably.

 He still hasn't asked me out, what am I doing wrong?