My Life as a Bum

So... what do you get when four rather eccentric people voyage into the mountainous jungle barefoot in the dead of night on the rainiest of weekends?

Existential literature in a tree house dangling precariously over a ravine, of course!

And a drippy night under ragged blankets with a beautiful view.
And a whole lot of dirt, grime, and sour airhead wrappers.

What kind of a bum would I be if I didn't hang out at the bus stop to wait out the rain?

Emily's face.

Good morning, 'Nam!

...And spending the next day eating things like spam and pancakes, fording rivers, watching Paris Hilton's My New BFF, and giving each other raspberries.

love, filth, and hobo urine-saturated mattresses,
Anna

Lucky Me

The other day my darling friend, Rita from Fiji, told me that in her culture you are considered very lucky if you have a birthmark on your leg.
I very much have a birthmark on my leg, and therefore I am lucky.

♥
Lucky Anna

Whoopsie Daisies

I'm really....happy. (nearly unavoidable when in Hawaii) So... overcome with happiness, drunken with p.o.g. juice, and dead sure after weeks of deliberation, I accidentally decided to stay next semester. Maybe for the rest of my undergraduate education. (Perhaps for ever)

...Can ya blame me?


Career Day
Bakers are at their ovens,
painters at their easels.
Soldiers are at war,
and I am at peace.

Astronauts are in space,
playfully squirting toothpaste food at each other.
Burglars are in trouble,
but I am in love.

Contortionists are twisted,
accountants, I imagine, are bored.
waiters are tipped,
and I am balanced.

Mimes are silent,
I am singing.
Convicts are playing violent basketball in jumpsuits;
I am free. naked.

Suns are shining,
waves are crashing,
clouds are drifting,
and I am joyfully,
perfectly,
unmistakably unemployed.

Songs, sand, and nectarines,
Anna

Lately

I love it when a song is stuck in my head that is just so....perfect.

Paper Bag by Fiona Apple

I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had

But then the dove of hope began its downward slope
And I believed for a moment that my chances
Were approaching to be grabbed
But as it came down near, so did a weary tear

I thought it was a bird, but it was just a paper bag

Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
Cuz I know Im a mess he dont wanna clean up
I got to fold because these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love

And I went crazy again today, looking for a strand to climb
Looking for a little hope
Baby said he couldnt stay, wouldnt put his lips to mine,
And a fail to kiss is a fail to cope

I said, honey, I dont feel so good, dont feel justified
Come on put a little love here in my void, - he said
its all in your head, and I said, so is everything
But he didnt get it

I thought he was a man but he was just a little boy

Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
Cuz I know Im a mess he dont wanna clean up
I got to fold becuase these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love

So Happy Together

This is my roommate, Weronika Victoria Mansfield. A grand name for a grand girl. (The W is on purpose. It's...Polish. Like a sausage.)

The other day we slept on the beach. And woke up to this.

We love to see the temple

Shenanigans, sleep deprivation, and stupidbabies,
Anna

LOST

Yes! My mom and I did, in fact, find the actual, very large banyan tree that Oceanic flight 815 survivors often use as shelter from invisible, African Priest-eating smoke monsters and polar bears.

So we hid too.
Just in case.

Look familiar, Losties?
Love, jungles, and helpful Mexican workers in golf carts,
Anna

I love Hawaii, I love Hawaii, I love Hawaii

...Shall I say it again?
The Aloha has seeped into my skin, along with the humidity, and claimed me for its own. It's so painfully beautiful, so horribly friendly. It's been 3 or 4 days, maybe five, I can't remember, and I already feel like I'm home.

...Uh oh!











Travel log:
SEATTLE

THE BEGINNING DAYS OF MY GRAND HAWAIIAN ADVENTURE
I came for four months...and am now afraid I might stay forever.

How much more Hawaiian could this get?

"Dude, Mr. Turtle is my father!"

Cheesy new dorm shot. Mandatory, you know.

Love, turtles, and getting leid,
Anna

Packing...again

I wrote this poem just about a year ago, leaving for college for the first time. And now, a year later, I feel just about the same way. So, I'm reiterating the point.

Packing
"I guess it's time!"
said my childhood playmates
as I laid them in cardboard graves
and wiped a tear from their sightless
plastic eyes.

"Time to grow up",
sighed the clip-on earrings,
the fun old gloves from Grammy's world,
when people still wore hats and time
moved more slowly.

"Knew it must come"
nodded my purple parasol wisely,
the battered remnants of a forgotten
trip to disneyland, my faded cursive name
silently nodding in agreement.

So many pages filled with doodles and dreams,
boxes of days and years,
countless laughs emitting dustily,
but lapsing inevitably into
mournful coughs.

Drawers of memories,
prodigal socks, hair ties, and buttons,
dust accummulation of ages,
annoying but endearing.

Isn't it funny how dust,
on a good day, makes you
sneeze.
But when "it's time," all
it does is make you cry?

You know you'll miss that
dust,
The splattered hot chocolate on the
wall, never quite cleaned up,
the books always on the
shelf, but never quite read.

"Yes, it's time"
gently urges my blankie,
the embodiment of 17 years' worth
of pleasant slumber,
something I can't quite give up and
am relieved that I don't have to.

Anna

It's a Sign

My new favorite intersection.
I think it's a sign... in the fate-related sense.

Anna