Sometime in October, 2016.

A stable, sweet laugh ruptures,
which comes all the way from the cavernous depths of your chest
and it echoes throughout my ears
But then a brittle croak comes from the back of your throat.
And I know what is coming.
It is Almost as if an impostor is in control of your lungs
Taking your respiratory system hostage,
Forcing out that crippling sigh of despondency.

A Speech well Rehearsed,
Saturated so sweetly with the sad sound of regret.
The last sentence filled with immeasurable longing…
a voice echoing with contempt.
“It can’t happen here” I thought to myself,
as I watched you smoke.
But it can,

and it did.

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I’m Moving to China?!

Life since graduation has been really weird. It’s like I’m in some sort of parallel universe or something. I left San Francisco at the end of June. I left behind a place that was my home for the past four years. I left behind friends I’ve come to love dearly and I left behind lovers, but most of all I left behind a place that I didn’t even really want to leave in the first place. I had a job (although not one I actually wanted), I had my own place, and I was surrounded by people with similar mindsets who made me feel truly unique and special unto myself. I was free to be whoever the hell I wanted to be.
However, I had to pull the stereotypical “move back in with your parents after you graduate college cause you’re broke and have no idea what the HELL to do with your life” move. WHEW. LAWD. Let me tell you. It was hard. So damn hard. I felt like a sick dog with their tail between their legs crawling back to somewhere that they did not belong. That somewhere is Lancaster California. *cringe* It’s not as terrible as I’m making it seem, I promise. When I moved back home I was able to be closer to my family and my sweet angel Sugar again. I didn’t really come back to many friends because let’s face it, how many friends from your hometown are still your friends once you leave for four years and then come back? Everyone’s got their own lives now. They’re married, or having kids, still in school, traveling, or dead. Real life moves fast and it doesn’t wait for some to catch up.

“Heather told me she teaches people ‘real life.’ She said, real life sucks losers dry. You want to fuck with the eagles, you have to learn to fly.”

Real life doesn’t always allow you to stay friends with people from your past. And that’s okay. Effort is a two way street and you soon realize who is “not always around but always there for you.”
SO, when I moved back I didn’t immediately start looking for a job. I wanted to take a second and… *breathe* I had just spent the past four years of my life diminishing my mental health and working my ass off to get my Bachelor’s Degree. I felt like I deserved that fucking breath of fresh air. So, I chilled. I decompressed, and started to think about what I could(should?) do next. I knew I wanted to travel, but my money wasn’t exactly flowing (that’s kind of how it is when you have no job) so I realized I needed to begrudgingly begin my job search. I applied to tons of tutoring jobs, but most wanted experience *which I did not have* so it was hard. I got discouraged. I got depressed. I felt hopeless, and annoyed, and no one talks about post graduation depression. It hits you hard. You’ve been going to school for most of your life and now you’re just *stuck*. I pushed past the slumps and kept applying to jobs and hoped for the best. I applied for a teaching job in China, knowing damn well something like that would definitely require teaching experience, but I just applied for the hell of it, thinking “what harm could it do to just apply?”

Now fast forward to a couple months later, in October. I had completely forgotten about my teaching application for the job in China. But I get this email talking about scheduling an interview and I’m like “what is going on”. So, I schedule the interview with my *now* recruiter and threw on a blazer (completed the look with no pants) for the Skype interview which ended up going really well! I mainly talked about my days volunteering at Pomeroy Recreation and Rehabilitation Center. At the end of the interview she said she would review everything with a panel of people on the Director’s Board and that she would get back to me within 24-48 hours (fast, I know!) The next day she called me and she said I got the job! I was genuinely shocked. China. A job in China. A job teaching English in China. ME! Teaching English in CHINA. It sounded so insane when I repeated it in my head. A million emotions were running through my entire entity, my whole being was shook. To the core. How the hell was I going to pull this off? Am I really going to do it? I had roughly 4 days to decide. But in my heart, I knew that once I had heard that I actually got the job I knew I wanted to go. SO, I’m going!
My passport just arrived today so now I work on getting my Work Permit Visa. I have a ton of other things I need to do and I hope it all works out. If everything goes according to plan I will be leaving to China on February 13th of 2019. I will be staying in the city of Chongqing. Upon graduating college, I never pictured my life going this way. I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, but I slowly realized that if I don’t take these kinds of crazy steps in life, how am I going to say that I ever truly lived? I want so bad to emphasize the idea of “following your dreams.” I know how fucking corny that honestly sounds but wow, when you realize you can do whatever the hell you want… it’s an uninhibited feeling of freedom and mystery. I plan on taking you guys along for this crazy ride, so this will just be yet another thing I will sporadically be blogging about. Talk to you all soon!

-Taylor.

Hapless Souls

Frailties buried into oblivion
mental infirmity
Feeble,
constantly drowning at the thought
of all your insecurities
Apprehended by the Divine Virtue
as well as the distinct attribution of inferiority
which in turn, curses everyone with
Insipid
interests
and leaves little to no taste
in the mouth.
Combustion.
These are most of the Original
Stories About Real Life told by
everyone
that you know and love.

Hardly anyone nowadays imprints
useful lessons on the mind
and that is why
everyone’s distasteful choices
have become fucking
Infectious.

Misery has encroached your heart,
but your tears,
and flesh
are reserved, only to be shown to certain characters
who are more
Helpless than you.
Degraded  humanity
Filled with vulgar sorrows
And absolutely no empathy.

Chaotic Masses
with a fair look rising in their eyes
Only to be brought down
by the slaves of Opinion
which rules them with
absolute Sway and Guilt.
And this
is why,
we are and always will be
the Hapless Souls.

Tinder Date mini series: Dislocated Shoulder Boy

HELLO! My god who am I? Where have I been? What am I DOING? I haven’t written a post in forever and so today I’m giving you the story of Dislocated Shoulder Boy. Poor thing. AH. I’m actually cringing right now as I type this. I hope he’s well. Truly I do.

First of all, our Tinder messages were mainly us riffing on what kind of music we’re into, so it was a really cool conversation. Finally, he asks if he can take me out for a drink and I agree. He picks a bar based on the type of music they play *duh*. SO we arrange to meet at a really chill dive bar in the city, and we pick a time and that’s that.

I’m in my Uber on my way to meet him and I’m completely sober, ew I know right, who goes on a first date whilst completely sober? I get to the bar and I see a guy with his back facing me and I think “Oh that’s him!” So I walk up and I’m like “Hey!” And he turns around and he’s CUTE. So I’m like YAS. We go into the bar, and he’s like “I’ll order for us.” and I’m thinking hm, weird, you don’t know what I like but okay give it your best shot. He orders these fruity drinks and we go find a seat in a booth. It’s too dark. It’s too loud. I’m squinting in the darkness trying to politely make eye contact while he talks and I can’t hear shit because the music is too loud, awesome right? So I’m like la de da da *bopping head up and down* and chugging my drink. I notice he’s really fidgety, and isn’t making eye contact, just bouncing around in his seat a lot. So I get a little weirded out and I start to think of my grand escape plan. It was like he could read my mind because in that moment he looks up at me and he goes “Sorry, I’m just really nervous” and then my heart was like AW okay he’s not crazy just nervous, cute. I get up and go get us another round of drinks, and we’re talking about shows we’ve been to recently. It was a really great conversation. He asks if I want to walk a few blocks to another bar that plays a lot of metal and old school punk, so I’m thinking wow this date is going so great. We go to a different bar and we’re sitting outside and the stars are shining above us and Black Sabbath is playing and it was just CUTE right? Right.

Towards closing time *cue song by Semisonic* he asks if I want to go back to his house to “see his record collection”. Ha ha, yeah dude lets see that record collection, right? So we get to his place and he’s like “you have to be really quiet though my roommate is sleeping” and I think “Oh god is your roommate your mother?” (She wasn’t, I guess it was just a dude who’s a really light sleeper). We’re in his room and it turns out he really DOES have a cool ass record collection. He showed me all of his Doors records and then puts one on and I’m like yeah okay we’re gonna make out. So we’re on his bed, kissing, and listening to the Doors, how hot is that? Fast forward a little bit and he’s taking his shirt off and putting his shoulder under my head. He goes to turn his body to look at me and all of a sudden I hear this gross *POP*!

And he SCREAMS. Like. Really screams.
So I’m like:

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I get up and I’m like “Are you okay!??”
And this dude looks like he is in a world of hurt. Eyes shut, lips pursed, beads of sweat dripping down his forehead. Finally, he takes his hand and PUSHES his shoulder backwards, and I hear another *POP.* Then his eyes open and close and he’s just laying there, it doesn’t even look like he’s breathing. I think okay he’s dead… I decide this is definitely my cue to announce my exit right? Wrong. I say “Um… I’m gonna go now.” And he’s like “NO. STAY. Please. Sorry. I dislocated my shoulder in a motorcycle accident and sometimes it just pops out of it’s socket. I have to shove it back in sometimes. I’m fine now. Come back and lay down. Come!”

My dumb ass is standing there with one shoe on and one arm in my jacket looking at him like:
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He gets up, and changes the record all casually like NOTHING EVER HAPPENED. I AM STILL STANDING IN THE SAME DAMN SPOT FLABBERGASTED AS HELL LIKE EHMM, WHAT YOU SAY? Then he pulls out a joint and says “I’m gonna smoke, then my arm won’t hurt as bad. Please, stay. I’m sorry that had to happen.”
So I sit down and I’m like okay, this isn’t too bad. So we lay down and he smokes, and I try to cuddle with him and he’s like “OUCH, OH. NOT MY ARM.”
THEN i’m like:
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Thinking to myself i’m like okay enough of this I’m too drunk so I’m gonna take my ass to sleep. I’m laying down coffin style, hands across my chest, legs straight, and fall asleep hoping I don’t touch his dislocated shoulder again. In the morning I call an Uber home, and then I never talked to Dislocated Shoulder Boy again. In all honesty it wasn’t THAT bad, or maybe it was, I’m just glad we were only making out when it was dislocated. Imagine being in the middle of having sex and then someone dislocates their shoulder? So, I guess there’s always a bright side to every situation huh. *shrug*.
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Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)

“Some of them want to use you
Some of them want to get used by you
Some of them want to abuse you
Some of them want to be abused.”

    P.S.A. These dreams are a little graphic, and kinda gory. Read with caution.

  In the past week I’ve had two dreams where I died and I woke up immediately after my death. The first dream isn’t as fresh in my mind because it happened Tuesday night and I didn’t write it down like I did the other one. All I can recall in the first dream is that it was in a setting that literally reminded me of The Peoples Temple Agricultural Project, better known by its informal name “Jonestown”. It was a remote settlement established by the Peoples Temple, an American cult under the leadership of reverend Jim Jones, located in north Guyana. If you’ve seen photos of the massacre you know that the setting is very jungle like (considering they were actually in the middle of a jungle) and their pathways were made of wood, this is one distinct detail that I remember in my dream, the wooden pathways covered in other people’s blood. An older man whose face I can’t quite remember was going around and shooting people. One by one. I laid on the wooden pathway in puddles of other people’s blood and acted as if I were dead. He was walking away from me and I thought he was gone so I got up, and I was still on my knees when he turned around. He looked me in my eyes, and I said “please don’t shoot me” and then he raised his gun and shot me in the chest. I vividly remember a burning sensation in my chest and then it was like I was just slowly fading out of consciousness. That’s when I woke up in my bed. It was really weird because I still felt an odd sensation in my chest, strange right?

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                Well last night I had an even more graphic, detailed dream about my own death. The setting was at my home in So-Cal and all of a sudden Marilyn Manson shows up at my house. I had won some sort of a contest or something, “One Night at home with Manson”. My mom made us dinner, chili dogs. (This was a favorite childhood meal of mine so I think that’s why it was so vivid in my memory). We ate together. Then went into my room. We laid down together and just talked and listened to music. He said he felt tired and wanted to stay the night at my house. I happily obliged with this request (obviously). We fell asleep in each others arms. I got up before him to go to a liquor store? It was like really early? My mission was to buy him his favorite candy bar? I have no idea why I remember this but I’m pretty sure that’s what I was trying to buy lmao

I set him an alarm on my phone just like he told me to before we went to sleep the night before. I come back from the liquor store empty handed, and I walk into the DOOR of my ROOM but when I walk inside it’s not my room its like a portal to my backyard, and it’s nighttime. It’s windy, and cloudy. There are crows circling a tree overhead. Manson is lying shirtless in a pile of leaves and dirt and playing with the leaves, running them through his hands over and over again, mechanically. There are white candles lit everywhere and a circle is drawn around him in white chalk. He motions silently for me to come to him. I walk over and sit criss cross with him. He tells me to hold him. I sit in his lap and he’s crying; slow, sad tears. He then looks at me and says “Do you want to die with me?” And I laugh a sad little chuckle and say to him “Well do you want to die?” And he hugs me. I’m comforted. Suddenly I feel an intense burning sensation in my back and I look down and realize he had stabbed me in the back and also stabbed himself in the chest. I make a weird utterance out-loud, kind of like a croak, he moves forward and kisses me and then I FUCKING WAKE UP. All the dreams I ever have of Marilyn are always super weird and fucked up. But since this is the second dream I’ve had in one week where I’ve died so I’m just really wondering what the fuck is going on in my fucked up subconscious. What does this mean? Help lol.

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Anyways hope you enjoyed these recollections of my death dreams. Post a comment if you’re into dream analysis and have any idea what this shit could mean. I’ve done a little research in the Dream Book I have but it would be better to hear from someone who analyzes dreams.

Tinder Date mini series: Bunk Bed Boy

  It’s the start of a new month, and I’m ready to share another story of a Tinder date gone wrong (so, so wrong). I conducted a poll on my Twitter account to see which atrocious Tinder date story you all want to hear next and the polls revealed that you all want to hear the story about the infamous… Bunk Bed Boy. Yes. I said it. I’ll say it again louder for the people in the back, his name is Bunk Bed Boy.

            This one started with a few Tinder messages, and then moved swiftly to the DM’s on Instagram. We made plans to go to a bar in the city, have a few drinks and then go back to his place to watch a movie. I started getting ready around 8 pm, and with me, getting ready for a night out always involves at least one bottle of Trader Joe’s delicious Two Buck Chuck, White Zinfandel to be exact. So I’m putting my face on, getting my life together, drinking my wine, living my life, when I realize I don’t remember how old this guy is, or what he does, or even what he really looks like cause all he posts is videos and photos of himself skateboarding. “That’s fine I’ll just find out when we’re talking at the bar” I thought to myself. 10:45-10:55 pm comes around and I may have had more than one (or two) bottle(s) of Two Buck Chuck, (whoops) but it happens! So I’m kinda already wasted and I think to myself that maybe I should cancel and reschedule for a time when I’m maybe not as drunk. But then I thought to myself “You already put your eyebrows on, you might as well go out” so I pulled myself together and called an Uber. I get to the bar and the first strike is that he’s literally as tall as me (I’m 5″5′ and half). He may have even been an inch or so shorter than me, AND THAT’S FINE, but it just caught me off guard. We get to talking, and he seems really laid back, definitely the chill type. I’m feelin’ it. 

             We had a few beers, and then a few more. We decide to leave and we head back to his place. When we get there we walk down the hallway and into a room that is literally the size of a huge closet. I’m drunk, and confused. Like, really confused. I see a ladder leading up onto some sort of platform. *cue Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin* I am even more confused, like literally what the hell is going on right? So he says “here climb up this” and he points to the ladder that goes onto this magical fucking platform in the sky

and I just stare drunkenly at him like:
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I think to myself: This is going to end in one of two ways… One being that I start to climb up this mystical ladder and then I will slip and fall to my death or two being that I will climb to the top of this magical ladder and get up onto the platform and then this Tinder date will murder me because there is nothing normal about this situation. If you don’t know, Drunk Taylor often just does things without thinking, so I start climbing up this damn ladder and I get to the top of a platform and I see… A bed.

And I’m like:
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And then it hit me like a shit ton of bricks.

This 29 year old man owns a bunk bed. 

A bunk bed.

A.

Bunk.

Bed.

Now even though I was really drunk, sitting on a bunk bed owned by a 29 year old man sobered me right up. I’m sitting on the bed and I turn my head to look at him and I HIT MY HEAD ON THE LIGHT HANGING FROM THE CEILING. AT THIS POINT I WAS WISHING THAT I HAD FALLEN OFF THE LADDER AND DIED, but I digress.
We kiss for a little while but I just cant stop thinking about the fact that I’m sitting on a bunk bed a couple feet away from the ceiling. He then proceeds to tell me that he MADE THE BUNK BED. THAT’S RIGHT, WE GOT A CARPENTER ON OUR HANDS. So I say “Is this… still considered a bunk bed even though there’s no bed on the bottom bunk?” and he’s like “Yeah dude, cool huh?”
And then I thought to myself:

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At this point, I knew it was time to go. So I called the Uber and was on my merry way home. This 29 year old was just a 17 year old boy in a 29 year old man’s body. So, what did we learn from this Tinder date? Fellas, if you own a bunk bed and you are not 17, please warn a woman in advance. It doesn’t help if she figures it out after she gets there, she will leave and you and your bunk bed will be left alone with each other. Forever.

Well, that’s the second post of the Tinder Date mini series:
Bunk Bed Boy.
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Til next time! xoxo

 

 

 

What is the Sidewalk?

A child said, What is the sidewalk? pointing timidly to it with tiny, frail hands;
What was my answer for the child? . . . . I know not what to say because I haven’t
thought of it until this very day.

I guess it must be where asphalt flowers go to grow
And where they stay, wilted and unseen.

Or I guess it is the messages written in faded pink chalk,
A gift from another child selflessly scrawled, on to the sidewalk.
Only to never be identified, only to be walked on, shuffled on, and ran on.

Or I guess the sidewalk is itself a child . . . . the produced masterpiece
created by two parents; the construction worker and the concrete… or the tarmac, the asphalt, brick, or slab

Or I guess it is a sacred path created for us to walk upon
Which also allows us to take wrong turns,
And also encourages us to go in unforeseen directions
It is the path that leads us to our favorite coffee shops with our beloved friends,
or it is the path that leads us to our first dates with beautiful strangers
Or the path that leads us to the park in the dead of night all by yourself

A path not yet known
Universal ways to choose your own
But the path is always made of concrete,
But not set in stone

And now the sidewalk seems to be
The only place you can see
The true reflection of the moon
And it seems to me, to be beautiful in all of its faded glory.

 

\\\\Poem inspired by Walt Whitman’s Leaves of Grass\\\\

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