http://brookeworm.tumblr.com/

I'm opening up a booth in a handmade store.
This is my facebook.
This is my tumblr.
I should start posting here more. :/

I wish I had money so I could go here.

I have to go. Right now.

ASHLYN DON'T FORGET TO WRITE A POEM ABOUT HOW UGLY ROSES ARE. I'M SERIOUS. DON'T FORGET. THEY'RE SO UGLY.

I got fired from Michael's. I'm a nanny now. I'm going to college soon. Hopefully by January. I don't know where. There aren't many places for girls like me.

My book is getting sold. Which is beyond epic and completely unexpected.

I'm drained and lazy and overwhelmed but I can see that changing soon.

Life might start to make some sense up in here (up in here).

Places you can find me when I'm not here (as I am usually not):

http://myhattiesburg.com

http://brookeworm.tumblr.com

facebook

formspring

4chan

I want to write for you. And paint. And poem. I will. I will, I will.

I have to go outside.

lol @ people who deserve things.

btw. click the unicorn. a lot.

Dear blog,

I cheated on you. almost every day. with Tumblr.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry.

I'll post some more for you.

--Ashlyn

“

We could spend afternoons like spies,
we could melt off our fingerprints—
not even the people we promised to write
will recognize us.

Once we start diving deeper,
they told you not to jump in—
the shock of the cold could eat you
alive, the salt water nipping behind your
kneecaps, you’d go into shock

(it’s different here).

But we’ll be safer.
here hiding away, I’m glad we
kept our heads down in the train station
when the badges came in with night sticks—
I’m glad that little girl turned in her seat
“Mommy, the cops are here.”

——-

I met a deer at the four way stop
near your mothers house,
got out and spoke with him a while
he chewed on my busted headlights—
tied his antlers to my head:
“You look like you belong out here.”

and for a while I stayed there
laying next to him on the ground

“What do you think about the stars?
The mothers at the grocery store,
the fathers seeding harlots?
What do you think about being alive?”

And when he did not answer
I lay there next to him—
pretending we bore the same scars.

I watched the sun dance, back and forth
across the sky
noticed time was moving again.

I felt the weight of antlers on my skull and smiled—
winced as a tear fell over my lips,
“I’m sorry.”

And I swore I saw that old corpse move,
turn to face me—
“You will quit wasting your life
you will live it lovely.”

A shy smile broke over my face
and the doctors checked me—
wondered still at the girl with
antlers on her head. They called me
crazy. They called me young. They
called me stupid. They sent me home.

And you were waiting there.
You were there, with a worried face,
with a heavy heart, scared.
“We’ve got to get out of here
and start living.”

I baked bread for supper,
I packed our lives in bags,
boxes, baskets—
held them in my arms.

So we went out, took a train to an island
where we had new names,
we called our mothers on the internet
to say we were alive—
we were still young children!

flowers still bloomed there and it was still like
home, only lovely

and again the darkness came, some people
of the island mistook it for night time—
they did not know of the things that followed me.

I ran my finger tips against each other. Felt
their smooth surfaces.

The Things came. They came as they always do,
sounding like car crashes, my parents’ infidelity,
every sound that had ever left me gasping
for air like a fish.

And when they came to me, searching for a girl,
and found me, with antlers on my head and life in
my eyes, when they grabbed me by the wrists and
pulled my fingers to them, rubbed them on their faces
and could not feel the subtle indentions that proved
I was their target, they looked down at me again in
disbelief.

“I am not who you are looking for.” My arms raised,
daring them to question anything.

“Question anything. Look for the darkness within me.
There is none.”

And they did look. They did open my
mouth and stare at my teeth,
pinched my arms, listened to my pulse.

They could find nothing but Life and Lovely.

I touched my hand to my antlers. Felt the point
on my finger, I pricked my thumb against them,
and bled.

And there was so much life in that blood,
so much certainty and hopefulness,
so much lovely. That the darkness,
the Things, went back home.

And in their absence I felt a certainty
that cops, death, no one was ever after me
that I spent this time running
from myself.

Finally proving to the shred of me left
that we’re still going to make it,
but maybe we just can’t do that
at home right now—
and I’m sorry.

”

—	“A Child’s Life Is A Wilderness: live lovely” —Brookeworm

i c a n t d e c i d e t o s l e e p

I dreamed and woke to fizzle pop and it wasn't easy
when I felt the noise all drop and silence bloomed, lingered queasy.
I fell victim to the bottomless tomorrow--

I slipped a flower in my ear and only heard machines
pumping hearts and blood and oxygen--honestly it seemed
like it might be a good idea to slip and dream away
another bottomless tomorrow, today--

My leafy tongue lay motionless in my thorny teeth
drooling puddles you could slip on if you never watched your feet
eyes glued, fixed, and blooming to the sunshine tv
you look like you've been sleeping days.

D O N T P O S T P I C S O F Y E R F A C E O N T H E I N T E R N E T

N O M O R E S I C K D A Y S

a hundred hour glasses half full and we're still fighting over cold spots on the backs of our pillows "I can't sleep, can you?"


after all the heartache sores on our hands your still checking my nails for dirt. "Quit biting your fingers."

I tied my sheets in a knot in my throat and cried all night. "I don't know what you're talking about."

I smeared the fog on the bathroom mirror and I thought I saw you standing there.

she's not ugly. but I'm going to pretend she is.

(RE:) I P O S T T H I N G S L I K E T H I S O N F A C E B O O K

I'm not team homeless bum. I'm team help them. I'm not team give them five bucks and feel better about yourself. I'm team start something.


Volunteer at a soup kitchen. Talk to them. Get them to a job center. A library. Help them better their lives. Don't try to preach to them about some God that has never given a shit about them. And don't pay for their next bottle, needle, or hit.

Give a fuck. And pray to whoever that someone gives one about you.

f a k e s n o w i s f a k e

I P O S T T H I N G S L I K E T H I S O N F A C E B O O K

If there is a god he doesn't do as much as we think he does. And every time he sees "christians" bicker among themselves over what he MIGHT have meant, instead of doing something about the issues at hands, he facepalms and runs off to play ...angry birds on his i Phone 7.

I think America's biggest problem is that America looks at things in a big picture as it pertains to their life, or they look at their life specifically. Whether than looking at how their life affects others.

If a couple divorces, that doesn't go to church, it's easy for a church going couple to assume god wasn't a part in their relationship--otherwise there would not have been a divorce.

If a couple goes to church and gets a divorce, then stops going to church, it's assumed that couple has "lost their way" in the lord.

If two buildings are "attacked" by planes, we blame terrorists--not the government who had full control. The whole time. And--just a note--four buildings fell that day. One with NO plane.

We believe what TV,the internet, the news (run by the government), and our preachers, tell us to believe. That's not "faith."

If Americans are poor it's because 1) they're lazy and so we hate them, 2) God decided to give them AIDS, lay them off, send them to war, or some other shitty circumstance, or perhaps 3) God does dictate certain paths in life, in hopes that maybe someday we Americans will wake up, give a fuck and do something about it. Whether it's exploding buildings, or men, women and children sitting outside in the cold wondering who god is and why he hates them.

Romans 8:28 All things work out for good to those who love and trust in God and are called according to his purpose.

Everything's going to be okay, but if it's not okay just then, it's probably your fault and only you can fix it.

So maybe homeless people can get out of their situation. Maybe you can stop dropping f bombs, or watching porn, or gambling, or drinking, or whatever else your flavor of Christianity deems is "wrong." Maybe you can, but it's hard. Maybe it'd be nice if someone tried to help. A lot of someones even. Maybe that homeless man prays every night, and you can't remember when you have.

Or maybe he's happy where he is, burning tiny Gideon Bibiles for warmth. Hoping when he dies he doesn't go to the same Heaven as all the selfish "Christians" who pass him by.

n e w: playing WoW

This is what I look like when I play WoW, feel less depressed, and don't worry about hair or makeup.

Jordan found me inspiring. Miss Suzanne was worried.

Let me be real with you.

Because as many times as I say I'm going to go to that therapist and get all feel better, I know that's just another thing--another load of dishes I'm not going to do any time soon or until someone makes me.

Everyday I am awake for one hour before I get out of bed. That one hour is me thinking about my life. From start to finish. My day ahead, the day before. Trying not to cry.

After I think I run my fingers through my hair. If there are knots in it that is usually what wakes me up. I know movies aren't real but I want to wake up like those girls with pretty flowing hair and make up.

I brush my hair, or take a shower. I sit. I lay back down. I play on my phone. I go online. I sit.

I don't want to go to work. I don't want to go to school. I don't want to go get groceries. I'm not just avoiding things that are chores.

I do not want to leave the house.

Because why? What's the point?

How long does it take for the bank to know you're not enrolled in classes?

How much would I have to pay on student loans?

How many people did I tell I would definitely graduate college?

How many people did I tell i would definitely do or not do a lot of things?

How long does it take a lady you met while checking her out at Michael's who just so happened to be an employee of the community college you want to go to to e mail you back?

How do you sign up to go to college?

Is it too late?

Why didn't I before?

I did have days off, didn't I? What did I do on those days? Nothing? I suck.

Why does my brother suck?

Will my niece be okay?

People.

People.

People I hate people.

I like puppies. I want a puppy. Puppies are never as terrible and heartless as people.

people. people that don't like. you. won't like. you. ever. no matter what. because you don't think right because you're probably crazy. because you're ugly. because you don't go to church. because you don't want to want to. because you're you and it's too hard to change that.

people want you to be exactly like them so they can look at themselves and say how terrible they are. they want to hate you so they can hate themselves through a cozy third party.

yum. yum. yum.

none of you know how I feel or think everyday.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you I guess.

I mean, Ty knows. But that's just because we're always together. And eventually he had to find out.

I can't even write anymore. I'm stuck in this. It's always been there. Hovering. But I've never been stuck before.

I'm scared. Everything is hard.

But what really bothers me is that I know I'm fine, everything is fine. I'm doing fine. I just get so anxious. And angry. And upset.

I want to go somewhere that I don't know anyone. With no expectations and no reservations. I just want to sleep.

http://www.artic.edu/~mmille12/pages/page1.html

We're all going to die but I hope you go first.

Before you get a chance to have children.

I'm good at being angry.

I have this problem with getting really upset and not being able to express it or confront the aggressor.

If you know me, I've probably been like, super, pissed at you recently. Well, not you--you maybe. You probably don't read this.

I'm so mad at so many people I can't see straight. I'm pissed. I'm angry. I'm sad.

I don't think I really have friends.

I feel like shit often. Like now. Cool.

<3

Recipes

http://www.missionmenus.com/cookbook/detail.php?id=8492

http://www.missionmenus.com/cookbook/FiestaChickenandBlackBeanEnchiladas

http://family.go.com/food/recipe-an-846091-stuffed-bell-peppers-t/

http://family.go.com/food/recipe-ak-802325-corn-quesadillas-t/

http://family.go.com/food/recipe-ak-837321-sweet-and-sour-chicken-t/

http://family.go.com/food/recipe-ak-836899-animal-face-pizzas-t/

http://family.go.com/food/recipe-ak-830679-homemade-tomato-soup-t/

http://family.go.com/food/recipe-ak-836898-teddy-bear-chicken-burgers-t/

I realize that was really hard to follow. Mind you the nine hours of work. I'm so tired. Also, I hate people.

B U C K S & D O U G H

Daniel likes that I'm bloggable again. I like him.

And by "like" I really mean "L O V E."

---

I hate the space bar on this computer. Every time I finish a word I have to pound SPACESPACE.

And you know I love spaces.

And also outer-space.


Today I worked from 10.30AM-8PM. If you had boiled crawfish in the other room (with mushrooms, potatoes, and everything) I highly doubt I would walk over there. (I might, however, crawl--this I S Mississippi and all, I need my crawfish when I can have it.)

Regardless, my feet are miserable.

Today I argued with a woman over $1.07.

Well, not really argued. Just hated. She had it on a Merch Credit Redeem card. When ringing up there are a few buttons for pay: C A S H, C H A R G E, C H E C K, G I F T C A R D, M E R C H C R E D I T I S S U E, and M E R C H C R E D I T R E D E EM.

Now, logically, to pay with a merch credit redeem card, you would press the matching button, right? W R O N G.

You would press gift card.

Why? I know now. Alas, this was an issue. One my manager knew not how to solve (also, he runs the store). So I winged it. It took twenty minutes. I had no idea the wrong button matched her card. Her daughter/wife/sister/friend kept begging her, "Just pay her, it's only a buck, the total is nearly twenty dollars anyway!"

To which this woman replied, "I want my buck."

There were five people behind her. It was busy. There was an ungodly amount of money in my cash register. It was the most I'd ever had at work. It was a busy day.

"I want my buck."

Really? You're buying fake leaves, stickers, a color book, and some chocolate. I want your buck, and also whatever remaining years you have left. You do not deserve them. Stupid people shouldn't get locked up, or allotted for by the government. They should get their live living rights revoked.

"I'm sorry ma'am,we got a call from Hattiesburg today and you're living rights have been removed. Please get in the Suicide Box."

People would be much more motivated to be intelligent, less selfish, more aware, B E T T E R.

Tydee and I say it all the time. The Spartans had it right, "You aren't going to better our society, down this well you go."

That's what working has taught me. To hate people. To want to push them in wells. To love making money. To make money. To earn it by standing still and dealing with stupid.

It makes me mad, it makes my feet hurt, but at least is makes money.

My buttermilk pie recipe.
And by "my" I mean, "The One I Found When I Googled It & Now Use Often."

B O Y S

THINGS BOYS SAY WHEN PLAYING HALO/COD:

"WHAT! You saw that right? How did that even, are you serious? How did he kill us both?!"

"Really?! Really?! That's bull, that's bull and you know it! HAX!"

"Are you serious? I boomshotted him!"

"BOOMSHOT!"

"Did you see that? What are you even here for, kill something!"

"How are you not dead yet?!"

"Okay, we need some sort of strategy, don't you think?"
"Well...I was kinda just killing everything."
"Fair enough."

A N D S O

I think it's been awhile since I talked to you.
For that I apologize.

I explain:

I got a job at Michael's Craft Store.

I am a cashier. I do not count anything. I like the kids that aren't bad. I make money.

I'm moving.

Ty and I have been living in a poor excuse for a house. (But it was ours which, in the end, was all that mattered). We're moving, signed the papers today, and should be in within the next few days. It's a great apartment, water and power included in the rent. Two roommates at the moment. Clean, new, DISHWASHER. It's great.

I haven't done NaNoWriMo. (Or MAT99, for that matter). I get stressed sometimes thinking about anything, because I have this sinking feeling something should be wrong. There's all these people around me telling me that I should just give up, go home, school is too hard, I won't make enough money, I won't be able to have a future. And I get stressed, and I cry, and I sleep and I don't think or realize the truth: Everything is okay.

I make minimum wage. I live in student housing. I go to a shitty university. I don't write everyday.

I eat, daily, a lot. I'm living on my own, at eighteen (at fifteen). I'm in COLLEGE. I AM a writer. I'm happy that I'm doing these things. I am doing what I want to be doing with my life, and the joy and fulfillment I get from doing so can only be judged by me.

I was living in a shitty house, now I'm not. I didn't have a job, now I do. I wasn't doing well in school, I figured it out. I'm overcoming the trials of life and if I wasn't, then I wouldn't get the satisfaction that I do from it.


tl;dr:
I'm happy because my life is hard and I can deal with it. Shut up, & thank you for caring. <3 <3

A H E M

BTW!

I've been updating my face book with more Christmas list things.

BOOKS:
My Booky Wook 2, by Russel Brand.

HOUSE:
Bookshelf-- white, vertical, two columns.
Dresser-- white, horizontal, two collumns/rows of drawers.

Also, things on Etsy. I post links a lot.

F A C E B O O K

Some people shouldn't have the internet.
TMI.

A L L I W A N T F O R C H R I S T M A S I S

WANT:




--MISC.--

+Roller Skates (Not Roller Blades)

--BOOKS/MAGAZINES/COMICS/etc.--

+The Walking Dead (Comic Series)
+Buffy The Vampire Slayer (Comic Series)
+Angel (Comic Series)
+(Kindle Bucks, see "$")

--HOUSE STUFF (want only)--

+Bed, Bath, and Beyond Bucks (see "$")
+Pizza Stone
+Mixer
+Pots and Pans (Pampered Chef &/or NOT TEFLON)
+Computer/Desk Chair

--"$" (Gift Cards)--

+MONEY (it's always good)

Gift Cards:
+Gas Card [any kind]
+Forever 21 [for clothes]
+Amazon (can be purchased online) [for my Kindle]
+Bed, Bath, and Beyond [for house stuff]
+WalMart [for everything]
+Belk [for clothes]
+Southern Fried Comics [located in downtown Hattiesburg]

NEED:




--HOUSE STUFF--

+Book Shelf
+Dresser
+Full Sized Bed Frame
+Couch
+Desk

(**List Will Be Updated As Needed**)

B R O W N S T O N E S

Here's a taste of my latest story for the Printz:

Just across Highway 49 lies a plethora of venues that offer both interesting and exciting experiences in music, art and restaurants. One of these is Brownstone’s, a New Orleans-style favorite of the downtown scene.

Brownstone’s opened four years ago on July 4 by Ken Brown who said, “We purposely pursued this downtown location for Brownstone’s to complement other local music venues, such as Thirsty Hippo, B&E Wine Bar and Benny’s Boom Boom Room, and help foster the ‘college town’ experience which towns like Oxford, Starkville, Tuscaloosa and Athens, Ga., have established.”

Brian Beck has been working as a server at Brownstone’s for three weeks and said he enjoys working in the downtown atmosphere. “ People seem to think that West Hattiesburg is all that Hattiesburg has to offer, but downtown is really beautiful and has a lot of culture,” he said.

There’s a sense of community and camaraderie that comes from working amidst the quieter downtown scene. “People that work in the downtown community are friends,” Benge said. “We all hang out together.”

Ken Brown agreed with many downtown employees, stating his interest in revitalizing down town. “We wanted to participate in the Downtown Hattiesburg revitalization and be an integral player in the growing restaurant and music scene,” Brown said.

Beck said his favorite thing about coming to work is seeing Downtown Hattiesburg in the morning. “It’s so beautiful seeing the sun come up over all the buildings, there’s just so much beauty here, and I don’t think people know that.”

N O S T R E S S

Things I've learned about college:

• Go
• take notes
• talk to teachers
• know what you can handle
• tell people what you can handle
• demand the best
• (you ARE paying for it)
• don't waste time/money
• and always do what you enjoy (why you're in college in the first place.)

Here's the thing guys. You do not need college. College doesn't want you to know that. Your parents likely don't want you to know that. Society wants us to believe we need it to succeed, and because it's accepted as fact jobs are going to expect it because they can.

You are there paying for a piece of paper that says you chose to make your life more difficult, put in effort, and pay lots of money to have whatever career you're perusing. That's why it's impressive. That's what's setting you apart from everyone else.

But for you personally, college isn't anything that you don't make it. Make it an opportunity to push yourself, to do things you haven't done before. To learn, not because you have to, not because of your parents, but because it matters to be able to articulate intelligent thoughts with your peers. We are as enlightened as we choose to be. College is your chance to marvel at something. If you're marveling at a professor, or art, or the realization that you're ready to choose a career, it's there for you to do that.

___________________________________________________

"You don't have to be in college to play beer pong," John Green.

___________________________________________________

If you decide that you're there for yourself, for some greater purpose than pleasing your family, or anyone else for that matter. If you're there of your own choosing, for your future, but for your present too, then college is for you.

And I'm only saying this because today in math class I knew that college was for me. Even though I haven't a clue what is going on in there, I'm challenging myself. I'm going to get through it. Because college isn't worth stressing over, you don't have to pay a university to hate your life, you really could do that for free. College should make you happy. And if it doesn't, then it's really simple to leave. 

N E W B L O G

ashes.are.dusty

I'm going to start a new blog with my friend Dusty. We both work for the Printz and we want to start our own little story of down town Hattiesburg. She's such an amazing photographer and there's only so much room in a paper, but the internet is infinite and interested. So, what's going to happen is I'm going to be writing some articles (which may or may not be in the paper) and she'll be taking some pictures, and the articles will be in the blog (with the best picture) and there will also be a Tumblr where you can find the rest of the pictures from that story. We're really excited about it and want to try to get involved with this magazine called The Pines that started last year. I'm really excited about it. I'll keep you all posted.

<3
:3

I L I K E T H I S M O R E N O W

____________________
Fuck everything.
____________________

If It Hurts, It Is Beautiful
.
And when you stood up it was with the whitest bouquet of surrender--
when I said I love you you cried don't hate me.
When I pulled the roses out of my eyes and begged to see the world;
yearned to look at you for what you really are--
I was blinded. My eyes were empty.
.
So I closed them. Someone else's mom put flowers around my head
and I wore them. But when the day trudged on, when those flowers
cradled my head and drooped into my eyes
I had to cry for you then.
.
Because what is love if not eternal?
What is a father if not the seed that sustains us,
brings us into the person we are--
plants us in the home where we'll grow;
shove roses in our eyes
convince us to look at them like petals
bat our thorn coated eyelashes
until our faces bleed
.
never know the difference between
the red streaks and crying
never know where to point our
lady fingers.
Wrap our arms like vines around them
forever.
And love them. Regardless.
____________________________________________________

____________________________________________________

Because My Parents Got Married In Mony’s Kitchen

Sometimes, when my roommate, Grace, gets bored—
she turns on her rape whistle and throws it
down the hall.

The only reason I think of that now—as
my mother rides in the quiet of her white
Granprix thinking of nothing but iPhones
and wedding rings—

is because I am sitting in the church parking lot,
refusing to go in, thinking about my father—
and wondering how he lost his scruples
in a war in which he never fought—

and there are all these birds.
Specifically one bird, who sounds an awful
lot like a rape whistle.

And I think that ironic, since birds can fly.

The second bird sounds like
a semiautomatic machine gun:
the kind my father would use in the war
he never fought in, where he would lose his scruples—

the kind my mother would use to pepper
the feet of the woman who buttered
my father’s scruples and ate them on toast.

And, again, I think that ironic that a bird sound
so dangerous—since birds can fly.

And I find it ironic that I write this here,
in holy matrimony, on the day that my parents
prove nothing concocted hurriedly in a kitchen
is ever holy.

And birds are never anything but innocent.

H O U S E S

Mostly dishwashers. These are called K E E P E R S.

http://hattiesburg.craigslist.org/apa/1963324835.html

http://hattiesburg.craigslist.org/apa/1962615491.html

http://hattiesburg.craigslist.org/apa/1961641129.html

http://hattiesburg.craigslist.org/apa/1944217299.html

J O R D A N R E M I N D E D M E

Not For Mary Pollitz

By: Ashlyn Ervin

I can recall times when Mary Pollitz would say we were not friends and mean that she loved me. I guess two years still isn’t enough time or her to verbalize it, though—which only makes her more of an incredible person. There are things better than “I love you,” those things are what hold up these ancient buildings called MSA and these students called artists (or maybe visa versa) these things that can be summed up in hundreds of words that mean “I love you”, but aren’t.

On the last coffee house I bowed to Dr. Lebow. I sat between Mary and Kristi and read beatnik poetry, replacing every profanity I could never say in front of Dr. Lebow with “Cheesepoo” a more appropriate word. On that night I write this. A response to a book I won as a door prize, called Warriors—which I bequeathed upon Coffee, my cat-pack that Amelia made me. And everyone begged him to read a story, and I said that he would write one for next time, only to realize there wouldn’t be one.

I find the fact that I have witnessed the beginning middle (and my end) of literary chapters to be amazing. I met the epilogue (or I guess, to someone else, they might be the prologue) I called them “fetuses”, but meant “incredible”, “lucky”, and I guess, even “love.”

I wrote the fragments of this little ramble in a notebook I misplaced, this notebook held a poem (also buried in old edits and worksheets from Owens—insert appropriate amount of time for applause—old story bits I’d rather stay lost) this poem was a love poem—though I’m sure Mary will argue it was not even a poem (in fact she stated on the poem that it was not a poem) simply a couple of lines about toast, and us not being friends.

It’s only now that there are three weeks of school left that I think about last year and wonder where that excitement went. We get so tired so quickly, and now I wish I had slept, dreamed, written, cried, anything but let the days one by one line up behind me, I sit now with my back against them. Leaned up in front of them like a tired book on a bookend, I relish in feeling them brush against me because today I am sad that they’re gone.

But that’s not who you look at me as, that’s not the face you see in emails, counting down, cheering up people that would rather be home, the very place they left to be here. I wonder if they feel like I do. I’m sure they do. And that, that there, the lingering unknown feeling in the back of your throat when you look up and think that you missed something, when some how the old man with no teeth in front of you is beautiful, when your senior year is something you’re clinging to instead of throwing at the wall like splatter paint, that is love.

And I wonder if that old man thought he would be old. I’m sure it never crossed his wrinkled mind. And I think maybe he was just a book, resting on a beside table. A bookmark in the middle, promised to return—a calendar with one date circled in red, that made all the others look naked. And what was in those days?

I threw fluorescent balloons of water at people, I filled a room with famous models made of paper, I wrote for me and my family and MSA and my great-grandmother and your great-grandmother, I did not graduate every day. So today I think, there is nothing about that day worth waiting for. It is the same as every other day. It is a walk, from one place to another, granted with a silly hat, but still, a walk nonetheless, and me feeling that now, after hundreds of days of waiting. Me finally not minding that everyone sings, not vocals, or talented songbirds, everyone sings, that feeling of nonchalant passiveness, even that is love.

At a loss for words I read over and over the things Mary had to say to me, months after the not friends poem, and here in this book I won at coffee house she says, “I don’t know what, but you are my favorite something,” and after it all, she writes, “If I could say it, I would.” Now I can’t bring myself to tell her she has, that everyone has, the vocals at the bell tower, the visuals in the hall ways, the theaters nowhere because they are the at rehearsal, the literaries, the laptops with folders full of possible poems and first drafts, the Dr. Lebow, all of it that is love. I’m refusing to say good-bye, but “I love you” may slide off my tongue before I know it’s falling. But I hope you catch it, and that you can see it, when you look back, not just in me, but in the cracks of the floors in JI, in the story books that we made for ourselves, in the things we’ve done not what we’ve said, in the days we’ve lived, not the ones we’ve waited for.

Cokes For Lack Of Better Cake

You don’t know it
but you sounded off your birthday
of two decades and two years
with a Coke can popping in the light
of our refrigerator door

and that made me love you more.
And think of the holes in your eyes
where the world seeps through
and translates to your brain
what makes a person a person--
what makes a person good.

It made me fold into your chest,
crumpled as the receipts on the sticky
floorboards of your car

it made me think of eyelids and sleeping
and noises we’ll never know we make

it made me love you.

So I thought of birthdays
the anniversary of the days not spent dying
the astonishment we’ve felt as a civilization for centuries
that we could inhabit the earth for so long

and so I thought of you
tiny, crumpled like me in your chest
dreaming, dying, and I wonder
what woke you up

a sound so quick, as a Coke can pop,
“Not yet.”

What kept you coming back, to have another
today? What can make a person good
except living?

T H I S G I R L

I feel like me and this girl
are pretty similar. I want to
make us the same.

______________________



I feel like me and this girl
are pretty similar. I want to
make us the same.
_______________________



PS: I'm going to see a movie with Tydee.
Machete, Quentin Tarentino FTW.

__________________________________

C O O K I E S & I C E C R E A M

Today I interviewed the general manager of a place in downtown Hattiesburg called: Bianchi's Pizzeria. Originally, I was supposed to be doing a story on a lot of different downtown eateries. But, after going to Bianchi's I realized that pizza just needed way more room to talk.

I called and asked to interview someone (over the phone) about the story and, while talking to him, he asked if I had ever been there. I hadn't, he then proceeded to convince me to come in and S E E the place before I did the story. I could tell, just by the way he was talking and his excitement, that I should.

I got there feeling nervous and unsure of what to do. I was supposed to have a photographer with me but things fell through so I was alone, at night, while the whole world was listening to god speak over Hattiesburg about Seymour and the footballers.

My awkwardness didn't stop Charles from telling me all he could about Bianchi's. He showed me the kitchen, the photos of the family that owned the restaurant. All their freshly-made ingredients and dishes, even how they made their cookies and ice cream.

I was especially impressed by their ice cream and cookies, so I wanted to try some. They use the recipe their grandmother used and her cookie iron! So, anyways, I asked and they G A V E me some. G A V E. I was like, really? (Perks?) And C O K E. It was intense.

I'm really happy things happened this way. I'm excited to finish this story and start my series on downtown eateries. These places have character, they care about their patrons--I don't know if people just aren't aware of that, or they don't care. But, I'm going to tell people. And, if I need to, I'll make them care.

"We want to stay here in downtown Hattiesburg, [because] we want to create jobs to reinvigorate Hattiesburg, and Mississippi... We want to give people a unique pizza experience," Charles general manager of Bianchi's Pizzeria.

B U F F Y C O M I C S A R E N E A T

F R O M C O L L E G E H U M O R

C O L L E G E H U M O R . C O M

I

God: Noah, all the people of earth are sinners. You alone are righteous.

Noah: Thanks God. Long time fan, first time prophet.

God: So, I have decided to smite the entire world with a flood.

(pause)

Noah: Couldn’t you just teach man goodness?

God: No. I’m thinking “flood”.

Noah: So you’d rather just kill every-

God: What part of “flood” do you not understand?

II

God: Moses…I have seen the plight of the Jews in Egypt.

Moses: Wow. Only after, uh, 400 years there, right?

God: Yes.

Moses: Awesome.

God: I will take you out of Egypt after ten terrible, terrible plagues.

Moses: …ten?

God: Is there a problem?

Moses: It’s just…ten is a lot. For, you know, God. Couldn’t you get this done in like, two plagues max?

God: No. For you see Moses, I will harden Pharaoh’s heart against me.

Moses: So…you are going to stop him from letting us free from slavery.

God: Yes.

Moses: So you can bring more terrible, terrible plagues upon the people.

God: Yes.

Moses: And you see nothing wrong with this picture?

God: ...

Moses: Are there any other God’s up there I can talk to?

III

Mary: Did you send the child support?

God: Frankincense and myrrh. Yeah.

Mary Annnnnd?

God: (sighs). And gold. And the gold.

Mary: That’s better.

IV

Job: …

God: Well, this is awkward.

V

God: Abraham, you must circumcise yourself.

Abraham: As you wish, my lord.

God: Oh my Me. He’s totally going to do it.

P A W S B I R T H D A Y

Mony and Paw at Mardi Gras in February _______Actual paw.
_________________________________
My great grandfather just had his 83rd birthday. That's amazing to me. Paw and Mony have meant so much to me throughout my life. I wanted to visit him during the weekend, but things didn't work out.
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Paw was one of the first people to convince me to write. I would write books and tape the pages together when I stayed with them, hiding them in the "secret drawer" in the couch. Paw always told me to do my best. And I've always done so because of him.

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I'm going to start working on some Paw stories so I'll see how that goes and post up some things soon. :3
_________________________________

Happy birthday, Paw. <3

M I N I M A L/W H I T E

N O O N E C A N H E A R M E

My name is Ashlyn Ervin and I'm a Freshen Creative Writing major. I've tried several times to find or obtain an adviser and I just can't seem to do that. I've been to the English department, asked the student relations office, my SOAR says I'm "unassigned" and people have said that I won't have one for a while. I'm not sure what normal protocol is, but I've been having a lot of trouble and no one to talk to and my year has gotten off to a pretty terrible start.

I am in BIO 110. I'm not good in math or science. I talked to the professor (who is actually not who even teaches my class) and they said to contact my adviser because I belonged in a non-science major lab and lecture. I went to the English department and they said to tell the professor. I emailed and called the professor back and got no reply other than I needed to speak to an adviser (which I was told I could not have).

The bad thing about biology was that my labs actually didn't start until the last week that classes could drop and only met once a week. I literally found out I was in the wrong class for me and did everything I knew to do that day. Nothing happened. I'm in a lab and biology class that is over my head.

I had to drop my Spanish class through the student relations office. I'm only at USM because of loans and one of the stipulations (I believe) is that I have to be full-time. I have five classes as of now. One is a lab. I don't know how to calculate how many "hours" that is.

I'm in Math 99. I'm terrible in Math. The reason I'm terrible in math is because my first year of Algebra was taught on a computer program with a facilitator. I am now being taught (and required to take) math on a computer program with facilitator. I know how I learn math. This isn't it. I'd like to take math over the summer perhaps where I can only focus on it and do my best. I'd like to pass math, so far I am not. I don't even understand the schedule of the class, the grading, anything. And I don't have anyone to help me with that.

I am the first person in my family to go to college. I'm paying completely in loans and my family isn't helping me in any way.The two classes I like and understand are History and English. History, however, is a very fast paced and involved class. Dr. Weist has informed us that his tests are also extremely hard. I'll also have to work very hard in this class.

English Comp 101 is the only class I feel confident in. It is my major. It's why I am here. It's what I'm paying money at this institution for. My money. My debt is going towards these classes. Three of which I don't think I should be in. I'm really concerned. I don't feel there's anyone for me to talk to. SOAR is mind boggling to even attempt to use to my advantage in any way other than to check my schedule. I can't drop or add classes because I'm in Math 99. I don't know why.

I feel like I'm paying to fail right now. The books I bought I don't use (mostly), some of my teachers barely teach. I knew nothing about college and came here with the highest expectations. I'm sorry to come to you because you aren't my adviser, but I need someone to advise me. Why am I here? What should I do? How do I do it?

Thank you for your time and I apologize if I've inconvenienced you in any way,
Ashlyn

I N T E R V I E W T I P S F R O M M E R Y L

- Don’t ever ask “yes or no” questions.

- Try not to compound questions (1 question at a time)

- Make sure you know what you’re talking about
* Make sure you prep yourself about the subject

- Write the entirety of the interview (Regardless of whether or not you have a recorder)

- Remember to try to dress properly (According to the occasion/person)

- Don’t feel like you have to have words going all the time
*Silences have a way of making other people feel awkward, make them want to fill the silence

- Make sure you always give them a contact number, if they have more information they can call you

- When you’re starting you should explain exactly what your interview is about
* Make sure your source can be prepared

- Pose awkward questions in a way that makes it seem that you’re trying to pose them in a positive light
* Don’t be accusing with question

- Get on their side, become a vessel for them to present information to the public

- Don’t burn your bridges

Sometimes I just sit in class and marvel at being in college. And then I get scared of nothing. Just thought I'd keep you posted.

STATUS: still, clearly, a teenager.

I W A N T T O S L E E P A N D M A K E O V E R

It may be nerdy to admit but...



I want to have a sleepover.



The really girlie kind where we gossip about everyone.



And cook and eat junk food.

I want to paint my nails and dye my hair.
I want to hang with the most golden girls.