I always forget my own blog- Goal: do not abandon

Hello to the billions of fans I have accrued. Sarcasm.

Sarcasm is so sad, is is not? I find it to be relieving though a bit dragging. I cling to it like a moth to a light. An addict to his bottle and a mother to her child.

Could it be that my generation is regarded as rude, complacent and entitled because we constantly fire off sarcastic retorts? Lacking any ability to hold a conversation with a peer without dropping curse words into every sentence.

We're honestly much worse than sailors. Our ability to hold conversations entirely comprised of the word "fuck" is astounding.

"Fuck you, you fucking bumfuck of a fucker." What in the world do sentences like that even mean? Sure, they are demeaning and bring down the accursed person, but do they really add anything to the world?

No.

They do not.

And yet, every new hip hop/ R&B / rock and roll / pop song that is released drops that lovely rose of a word into at least three lines or so. Next thing we know, Justin Bieber will be rapping along side 50 cent, going on and on about raining on some hoes.

I'm so glad that my generation has such an avid interest in vocabulary. Don't you agree?

Dali ain't got shit on me

Lady Fingers Drip Their Sugar

Falling Like Blood

Onto Pure China Plates

Hypocrisy Marches

Down Old Calvary Road

He Is As Thunder

Butterflies Spring

From His Rumbling Steps

Wisdom Teeth

HOW I HATE BEING A CHIPMUNK

Why do people think surgery is fun?? The pills they give you aren't fun as everyone says, my face hurts, and i've now swollen into a puffy lipped chipmunk. Last night to top it all off- i got zero sleep due to my fear to roll onto my face and being extremely overheated. 

Lee Sober Korschun Shapiro

Lee Sober Korschun Shapiro - How do I relate?

My grandmother, Lee Shapiro, possessed no doubt one of the most extraordinary mind's I've ever heard of. She was a concert pianist, an avid astrologist toward the end of her life, and an incredible artist. Her mind, while clearly directed toward the arts, was an immaculate machine of sorts. 

Throughout my life, i did not realize that my step-grandmother (Marty Korschun) was not my Dad's mother. To me, she was MiMi- held a strong distaste for my own mother and was emotionally iffy with me sometimes. 

One of the last times I went to visit my great-grandparents home in Baltimore, MD, I saw a picture of a beautiful woman with jet black hair and blue-green eyes (just like my father's and my own) staring out of photograph at me. I did not know who she was and asked my parents. "Honey, thats Lee- Daddy's real mommy" 

I was gobsmacked to say the least. I could not recall ever having met my Daddy's "real mommy" as they had referred to her as. 

And so the inquiries begin. Lee has always fascinated me and I am truly going to strive to collect as much information about her as is possible for me, a mere 17 year old. 

Philip Roth: the personal postmodernist?

Phillip Roth: Jewish-American, profound sex theist, and outspoken political observer. His views on such issues as homosexuality, abortion and commitment are enough to disturb even the most unattached reader. 

I'm currently reading The Professor of Desire, the second in the Kepesh series. The first book in the series (there are 3 books in it) is called The Breast. My friend Nick set out to find the shortest Philip Roth book to read for our AP English III assignment, and so he ended up with The Breast. He called me up and asked me what it was about, so naturally being the 21st century teenager that I am I was already on the computer and googled it for him. 

On wikipedia (although I pretend to detest it, its really quite helpful in some situations) it said that in the book, David Kepesh turns into a 155 lb. breast. Yes, literally a breast, like a boob like the female body part. I was originally thinking what on earth? But after reading some of Roth's work its quite obvious that this man was either A. a straight up an alcoholic or strung out on cocaine or B. He has a serious psychological disorder. 

Which led me to think that well, Jackson Pollock was a raving alcoholic, yet I love him because he was an amazing ab ex painter, not a writer. And dont get me wrong, I would be happy to make a living as a writer as well, but the point still stands that many of our world's greatest minds were either alcoholics, drug addicts, or mentally unstable. 

Then the classic question does the brilliance create the madness or does the madness allow them to fully express their brilliance?

Blogspot

Blogspot really irritates me- I keep setting up blogs and then it wont tell me what my blog's address is or which email and password I set it up with, so I'm almost to the point of having to set up a separate email address on gmail just to allow myself to set up a blog.