Ode to a Building at Six a.m.

Industrial carpet,
greets me,
in shades of every neutral tone.
Firm and unyielding,
a friend.

These plain white walls,
vaulted ceilings,
that contented hum
of the air control.

The far off vibrations
of brass
and bass
the alien spaceships
that glare

An empty place,
Full of me.

If I strain my ear,
Remembered noises reverberate.

High heels and bootclad feet,
Crowds that jostle for their seats
(in a dignified manner of course)

Curled hair, crisp shoes
The growing crescendo

Sweeping bows,
the bright blood of flowers
on the ground.

I lay embracing,
Industrial carpet
and remembering.

Happy Endings, 150 yen

So I quit smoking.

Haha.

Sometimes I am so grateful that I am fantastic at arguments.
Cake really said something wise in the "Love You Madly" song.

I don't want to wonder, if this a plunder, I don't want to worry if we're going to stay together till we die.

Maybe it's better to just focus on what you will do today. Who knows when I'll die? I could get in some car wreck or my heart could give out. Maybe the soup pot at work will electrocute me. So in conclusion, fret not, it just ruins things. So, my love made love with a beluga whale. But it all turned out okay and that's what matters. Seriously.
But I really should quit smoking my delicious vanilla sweet dreams. I think my lungs are giving. out.

And you know what? You're fat.

But so am I.

Goddamn swingers.

Why do I set myself up for these trainwrecks?

The very worst part of it all, I still want to call. I think when someone treats me like a complete douchebag, I just want them so much more. It's really sick.

SO other news, I am a failure in most aspects of my life. I work so hard at my stupid dead-end job and all I receive are criticisms. I scrape the doorjamb clean, clean under the ice maker, and it's never enough. If I didn't love living so decadently, I'd walk right out.

Radiohead is so beautiful. It makes my ears dance.
Mr. Yellow is dead in the water. I'm no closer to becoming a musical sensation.
I wish with all of my being that I was a better person.

Alas, it was not meant to be.

Fumes

With a swift flick of a thumb,
I set the eye to burning slowly away at its own flesh.
The water-spotted windows rolled partially down,
Familiar tunes drifting lazily in and out and around,
Plumes of sweet smelling grey rise slow and twist into columns,
Fingers go numb, body gets fishy,
And the relief of it!
My mind like a bright balloon, up up up into azure sky,
For one moment, the swamp of responsibility,
The neverending mire of flies and gnats gnawing vicious,
Gone.
I know,
My poor alveoli, charred and crumbling,
I know,
Destruction, damnation, cancer and carcinogens.
Smokes weaves its way out the window,
My breath mingles with clean sky,
I smile and snuff out its life.

Misery makes bad company.

I wasn't sure what I wanted to write about, just that I wanted to write something. I think that I've begun the slow road to madness. It's not as glamorous and interesting as I used to imagine. Sylvia Plath, that Girl, Interrupted book, The Snake Pit, and One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest were always my favorites.
Now I'm not so sure. It's one thing to enjoy how strange the perspective of a crazy is...It's another entirely to experience the loneliness and self hatred that lead to these trains of thought.
It's just one of those life lessons.
Or maybe life's cruel jokes.
Once you get there, "it fucking sucks." (I'm just quoting my mother, another madwoman in my family.)
I could have had bliss and love for years and years. I let some ridiculous idea fester in my head; and it branched off and grew into a sickness that I finally succumbed to. I made the love of my life let me go. I tortured him for weeks and weeks before he finally said, "Goodbye, I love you."
Maybe it was for the best. A nutcase like myself should spare others from my company.
They don't realize that. They only see my "lovely" exterior. They only notice that I'm fun, witty, and quirky.
And I am. Even in the depths of depression I can summon up remarks that make people smile.
But I'm not stable. I can't be trusted. One minute life is going swimmingly, the next I've become convinced that I need to wreck it to make things interesting.
Oh well.
Things are interesting I guess.
(And the picture I put up is just something freakish I found on the internet. Who would dress their child up like that?)

There's good in everyone right?

Maybe not.

Two Years

Yesterday was my two year anniversary. Goodbye Nick Lowery.

Peaches and Cream

This majestic creature is possibly the best friend I have. She looks vicious in this photo; but that is only a facet of her splendid personality.
Personality?
How self important are human beings anyways? Person-ality.
I'm sorry, I'm always going off on these tangents. Peaches is the love of my life. I grabbed her out of a box near my local Safeway about ten years ago. She has followed me to three different houses. We finally ended up on Birch Avenue with my Dad. She has grown into a plump middle aged cat, I've turned into a beastly teenage-adult. She curls up by my feet every night and we sleep in my bed, the island amidst the hurricane of clothing and garbage that litters the rest of my room.
The very best thing about Peaches?

She loves me because she's ignorant of just how much of a fuck-up I am sometimes. She'll never hurt my feelings, maybe just my epidermis with her razor talons.

Mexico

I got out my father's Nikon yesterday and took some photographs of my friends in Little Mexico. Miguel gave me his phone number in a dirty back alley near the fiery foods festival.





Rae and I were attending a concert in a beer garden...well we sat in some dirt patch outside the fence of the beer garden. She is pictured to your left.
I called her trying to get her to go in on a Winco Italian Sub with me, I ended up driving to Pasco to watch a Christian rap/rock band through a chain-link fence.
Life always keeps us on our toes I suppose. It makes things interesting.

Later that same day I returned to Mexico to take Senior pictures for my friend. He was mortified by the sheer number of onlookers, Mexican families came out to stare at us. I dragged him through decaying streets bellowing out orders and forcing him to change shirts in public. I think he had a good time?


"Oh Yeah, Okay, Okay wait, OhMyGod Blake!" Was something I could not stop singing yesterday. Rilo Kiley lights my candle.

Spice Cake

I am no chef.
With one exception, sweet food. It's the only kind of food that I eat.
My friend Alec is also probably destined to be a victim of diabetes. One day we decided to make a cooking show.

We cook lovely things from scratch, blueberry scones, coffee cake, cookies, and most recently Spice Cake.
The cake was a great triumph. It looked visually appealing, the frosting and strawberries were delicious, the batter became a moist sweet cake. Except...we made it for a friend who had journeyed over to Vermont and was due to return that day. He didn't come.
The poor cake was sentenced to a stint in the fridge wrapped in plastic. When we finally sliced into it it was hard and the frosting was halfway frozen. The strawberry juice mixed with the sugar topping and turned into slimy sticky goop.
Our friend didn't try it.
Nonetheless, we had a good time.

Maybe we should actually film next time?

Hello

Does anyone ever remember the names of people they meet once at a party?
The whole pleasant introduction ritual baffles me for this very reason. I hear a name, "Georgia, Sampson, Edna.." and immediately forget it along with the obligatory remark that is always attached.
"Edna is an avid golfer."
That said: Hello, my name is Ariel Collins.
I'll be discussing thoughts, feelings, music, people, objects of my desire, etc... Currently I am longing for this wheelchair I found at Goodwill for twenty-two dollars. I would use it to trick strangers by feigning retardation. I would also coast along slight inclines in it.
(I decided that a hill would be terrifying in a wheelchair.)
I recorded a song recently, but my boyfriend said it sucked so I deleted it. I'm far too sensitive I guess. Someday when I'm famous my band(Mr.Yellow) will dedicate a mean song to him.
I still have silly dreams because they haven't been trampled to death yet. I believe that I can become a traveling author/musician/painter.
I'm in love with my best friend. Which may not be a good thing.
I will be sure to post pictures with frequency so my imaginary readers won't get bored...
Mostly I want to be happy. (You should all go listen to Jenny Lewis sing Happy.)