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12h · 48
yuletide cynicism
If you’re looking for yuletide cynicism here,
you’re shopping in the wrong place.

This is New York City’s time of year.
It’s stood the test of time and it fairly sparkles,
proving that the ordinary can be extraordinary.
With the right lighting.

Lisa’s (parent’s) apartment glitters like our promised heaven on high.
When we left at Thanksgiving, Michael (Lisa’s dad) had the concierge
service stressed, toting boxes of decorations up from their storage area.
When I waved my goodbyes, he appeared to be wrestling an octopus of
cool-white fairy lights into submission. Now everything glitters pyrite bright.

Our holiday time is limited—and this is our chance to unwind—so we’re
selective about what we decide to embrace. For instance, there was a sale
at Michael Kors where, no big deal, I got a pair of brogue, black
leather wingtips that’ll be straight fire with a little black dress.
The bargains were so good that I decided the store must be a drug front.
Not that I’m complaining. Do I ever complain? Nope, I’m stoic.

Like Eric Adams, the mayor of New York, Lisa and I’ve
been “testing the product” of Manhattan's club scene.
We’re searching diligently for the new and unfamiliar.

When it comes to picking which clubs we want to visit,
Charles, our driver and escort (a retired NYPD cop),
has gone as far as to suggest, we’re “out of our depth,”
and refused to let us even try one or two DJ’d, pop-up clubs
in Queens that were getting a lot of heat and likes.
“Roosevelt Avenue is the new 42nd Street,” he’d said.
What does that even mean??
Indignant silence

Anyway,
I hope Christmas finds you all merry and bright and that your holidays—whichever you celebrate— are carnivals of food, music, friendship and love—for those are the luxuries that count the most.
Merry Christmas! Happy Hanukkah! Merry Kwanzaa, Happy Festivus!
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Songs for this:
Absolutely Everybody by Vanessa Amorosi
Rock With You by Traincha
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A Christmas Playlist—because there's 4 days til Christmas
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_28.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/10/24:
Brogue = a low leather shoe decorated with small holes along the sides and wingtips
2d · 82
Leeza and Santa
I heard the door open. It was Leeza (Lisa’s 14-year-old sister),
she’d been out on a date. I was the only one in the living room
as she came in and sagged, dejectedly onto the huge, white
sectional couch, right next to me. She looked positively
deflated. Which is unusual because up until now,
she’s been all freckles and smiles

Ok, here’s where we get poetic and rhyme, with innuendo and allusion:

Me: “Did you have a good time?”
Leeza: “No but I was trying.”
Me: “Did he get handsy—the swine?”
Leeza: “Argh! No—but his kisses are a crime.”
I gasped: “You didn’t give him a climb!?”
Leeza “NO!” she said, somewhat horrified.
Me (trying to be neutral): “No judging, it would have been.. fine (I lied).”
Leeza: “That’s never going to happen.”
“Good,” I declared, “he was just a distraction—and, you know Santa.”
“What about Santa?”

Whew, that’s enough of THAT (rhyming business).

She asked, so, yeah, I sang it.. I had to.

“He knows who you’ve been kissing,
what you’re thinking when you’re awake,
he knows if you’ve been bad or good—
he’s kind of like a cop that way.”


After a moment's silence Leeza asked,
“Is there something creepy about that?”
“Only if you think about it.” I admitted,
as she put her head on my shoulder.
.
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A song for this:
Fairytale of New York (feat. Kirsty MacColl) by The Pogues
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A Christmas Playlist! There’s 6 days til Christmas (and Hanukkah)
http://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_25.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/16/24:
Allusion = a word that avoids mentioning something directly.
4d · 126
3rd-wheeling
(A Christmas vacation vignette)

Lisa and I choppered onto Manhattan island yesterday morning. We’d both felt toasted—so we took naps—and yay! We awoke recharged.

Later that evening, Lisa and I were at the ‘Elsie’ Rooftop Bar, in Manhattan, waiting for Lisa’s boyfriend, David.
Ok, man-friend? More age appropriate I suppose, he’s 27, but that description doesn’t have the same bf slap.
Dave’s a Wall Street M&A guy and they’ve been together for over a year - a future for them seems very real.

Slinky, jazz-like versions of secular Christmas favorites were playing somewhere and it’s a groove I slipped into immediately. We had reservations and I’d misbegottenly hoped for a five-star, breathtaking city view, but the indoor tables turned out to have these uncomfortable, high-backed, bench-like seats that face away from the windows—***? I made a mental note to check website pix in the future. The place is in need of some serious feng shui-ing.

Disappointed, I asked for a side table where there was, at least, a pitiable skyline view and I placed my iPad, volume down, on the table so I could side-watch the Thursday Night football game—hey, I’m not meeting MY boyfriend, ok? As the official third-wheel, I figured I’d need a little entertainment.

After a few moments, a waitress came by and she paused to look us over with a cat-like indifference that signaled she was better than me, better than us really. She was just cooler.
I was delighted—why am I drawn to people who look down on me?
I suppose I need years of psychoanalysis—but who’s got the time?

I glanced at Lisa. We know each other at a cellular level. With a milli-second of lash flutterings and eye dilations, I asked “are you getting this?” And she affirmed that she was. Because we’re cyborgs. A couple of cyborgs.
Just kidding. We’re not cyborgs, neither of us. We wish we were sometimes—think of the advantages, you could complete college in a blink—wirelessly.

Anyway, back to the narrative. The waitress reminded me of when I was starting high school and my mom and I toured colleges, how snooty the Harvard people were, even though I’d been accepted and offered a free-ride scholarship—I mean, shouldn’t we all have been one, big, self-congratulatory snooty-group together?
(Of course, I chose Yale because the people were totally friendly).

“I better get used to it,” I side-bar’d Lisa, who got the reference to my upcoming, year-long, master's program at Harvard—because we’re cyborgs. I handed ‘Laura’ (our snooty waitress was tagged) my Black American Express card, which got her attention, and said, “start a tab please—someone will join us—run a 40% tip too,” I added with a smile. She practically jogged off to get our drinks and hors d'oeuvres and I turned my attention to the game, you know, to catch up.

I love Pro football—it’s not really fall without football—is it? Even though Tom Brady retired. This all goes to say that I’m a pro football ******. Lisa likes it too, though she’s not totally obsessed.

Just after Laura brought us our martinis and ‘poached lobster’ slides, a random, well-dressed man (he was wearing an expensive Brioni, wool linen silk suit), 35-ish, receding mousy-brown hairline, high-ball glass in hand, took the opportunity to stop by and chat. “SO,” he said, in a deep, jolly, ice-breaking salesman’s voice,
“You girls like football?”
I decided that the suit was too shiny for a Brioni—was it a Zegna?—I idly wondered.
“We’ve boyfriends,” Lisa announced, almost apologetically, nodding to include me—in case he missed the plural. Undeterred, he swiveled my way—as if he needed a second opinion—and asked me,
“What do you like about football?” He sounded somewhat condescending to me, so I did what I always do with condescending males—I played the ‘ditzy-girl’ card, “The costumes,” I answered.
“The uniforms,” he gently, fatherly, corrected—before rocking back a little on his heels and sipping his drink.
“And the hats,” I updogged, but before he could digest my reply, David, Lisa’s man-friend, arrived on the scene.
“Sorry to be so late,” he said, giving me a little, jiggly, 4-finger wave, shedding his coat and giving Lisa a smooch on the top of her hair.
The salesman wordlessly took his leave.
It’s a night on the town—let the 3rd-wheeling begin!
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Songs for this:
Diamond Dave by The Bird and the Bee
You Belong to Me by Vonda Shepard
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And a Christmas Playlist - because the big day is 8 days away!
http://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_24.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/07/24:
Misbegotten = something badly planned or thought out.
6d · 174
non-mechanical
Love is non-mechanical
it doesn’t crank, pinion
or always work dependably.

In cavalier moments, I thought I knew
something of how it all works—
it’s apertures and shafts—
its grinds and reciprocations.

I’d judge it’s motions
work its levers, judge its spins,
and address its slippery angles.

You could call me obsessive
but obsessive people don’t
obsess this much.

You could call me compulsive
but the compulsive aren't
this compulsive.

All I can do is poise, balance
or swipe a little black credit card.
It’s the only magic I have.

I can’t turn bread into wine
or fish into water.

I can’t make the blind walk,
the deaf to see or the lame to
taste again.

God reserves some miracles,
keeps them as close to the vest
as cards.

Jugglers work the circus,
mimes thrash to communicate,
and tightrope walkers fall.
.
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Songs for this:
Viva la vida by Cold Play
When There Is Love by Karen Sokolof Javitch
The Rainbow Connection by Sarah McLachlan
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How about a Christmas playlist! Because Christmas is in 10 days!
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_29mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/15/24:
Cavalier = shows no concern for important or serious matters.
Dec 13 · 132
foolish things
Anais Vionet Dec 13
I do foolish things
when I'm blue
when I'm sad
and missing you

I do foolish things
like dancing all night
foolish things
drinking everything in sight
foolish things
shopping til I drop
foolish things
somehow, I cannot stop

doing foolish things
when I'm blue
when I'm sad
and missing you

I do foolish things
watching ‘parks & rec' all night
foolish things
drinking coffee until daylight
foolish things
dragging friends on crazy romps
foolish things
somehow I cannot stop

doing foolish things
when I'm blue
when I'm sad
and missing you

I do foolish things
acting like spring breakers
foolish things
*****-dirping strangers
foolish things
acting like some whack-job
foolish things
but somehow I cannot stop

doing foolish things
when I'm blue
when I'm sad
and missing you

I do foolish things
making badong decisions
foolish things
I'm in an awkweird position
foolish things
I've begun precrastinating
foolish things
a change is indicated

so come back soon
cause when you do
there are foolish things
I want to do with you

foolish things
foolish things
crazy foolish things
foolish things
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Songs for this:
We're All Alone by Kennedy Ryon
Another Man's Jeans by Ashe
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A Christmas platlist - because there's 12 days til Christmas!!
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_16.mp3
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slang
badong = bad / wrong
*****-dirping = saying silly or outrageous things to strangers for effect.
awkweird = combination of 'awkward' and 'weird'.
precrastinating = procrastinating before procrastinating
Dec 12 · 141
up the hill
Anais Vionet Dec 12
I’m listening to a song,
that’s captured my mood.
What’s the singer saying?
If it knew, I’d sing along.
but the slurry words elude.
It’s an artistic choice, I suppose,
and I don’t require deeper meanings.

A squirrel stands defiantly in the middle of the path,
A tiny, furry-tailed, usurper - quite out of the routine.
“Hello fluffy rodent,” I baby-sing, as it watches me,
“What an odd meeting, are you hoping for a feeding?”
I try to pass but it jittery-scampers and cuts me off.
"I have a test, get out of the way, you crazy nut-thief”
I glance at my watch; l might really be late to lab.

So, I leave the path to the possibly rabid rat.
if it comes at me, on-God, I swear I’ll kick it,
launch it ballistically into the evergreen thicket.
How I long for a coffee, hot and sweet,
or a sandwich and salty chips - that would be nice -
but then I would be late for class. I sigh in defeat.
It started to drizzle. This afternoon will be miserable.
.
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*Songs for this:
Out of Myself by Bebo Best & The Super Lounge Orchestra
Jettin' by Digable Planets
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Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_15.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/27/24:
usurp = take something by force and without the right.
Dec 9 · 160
standby
Anais Vionet Dec 9
(a silly series of Senryus)

It’s time to cram for
final exams, again, so
here we go, mug up.

My mind, coffee dark,
drifts in academic dreams,
—think roiling oceans.

A ‘mandatory’
society meeting? You’re
not the boss of me.

I’ll shun or eschew,
if I want too, sidestepping,
like a tap dancer.

I'm not lazy - I'm
high tech and in energy
saving mode right now.

It’s a pointed and
conscious decision—I’ll do
me and you do you.
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Songs for this:
Simply Couldn't Care by Tracey Thorn
Each and Every One by Everything But the Girl
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Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_14.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/03/24:
Eschew = avoid something because its not right, proper, or practical.
Dec 8 · 147
jobs
Anais Vionet Dec 8
My roommates and I
always have something to say.
We talk incessantly, like chirping birds.

We’re all reading the same large print here, and It suggests that college is almost over.
We’re bleeding time and there are dreams in need of scheming.
It’s time to stack our chips with transactional relationships and hoard the things that matter most.

I have to admire the sheer attitude and bravado of these girls—their defiant strides,
as they face the invisible indignities and constant obstacles of job hunting.
(Where they’re required to behave while they’re observed and evaluated).

They have their resumes and they’re complaisantly ready to flex their appealing gregariousness.
All of the major playas are passing through—from established giants like (Amgen, Bayer and Genentech)
to biotech startups and research Institutes—to cull through the herd of Yale biomedical graduates.

I don’t get to play (interview) this time and it’s rough just watching the signs and plays from the sidelines.
I can’t help the feeling that I’m underperforming—even though my ‘Master of Public Health (MPH)’ program starts 10 days after we graduate. ‘Baby, I was born to run’— to steal a line from Bruce Springsteen.

Despite our separate paths—we’re like cats getting ready to jump in all directions—a bouillabaisse of intoxicating and terrifying excitement for the future is brewing, and we still have the constrictions of our current curriculum to deal with—like a snake, it still wraps around every aspect of our lives.
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Songs for this:
born to run by Bruce Springstein
Time by Tom Waits
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Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_03.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/02/2024:
complaisant = willing or eager to please other people,
Dec 5 · 154
Asymptotic
Anais Vionet Dec 5
(a piece from high school (I’ve been reorganizing))

I am simply at my worst these days.
Wild and unpredictable emotions rush on me - it's a place where the layer of control and composure are very thin.

This school year has been an endless working, always desperate, collection of days.

Each passing week seemed to unmask some flaw in me.. Like peeling a rotten onion.

Emotionally, spiritually, I’m drubbed—I droop like a hanged man.

It's not the work—I survive (piano) competitions and academic battles as if by some brand of magic..

No, it's more.
I have lost my goal. Like biblical engineers raising the tower of Babel on the plain of Sennaar, I am struck by a lack of focus. My direction, my original plans, seem shallow—I stand purposefully gelded.

It's worse because I'm somehow so much less who I want to be.

Like an asymptotic curve I constantly miss my ideal. I am hunted, internally, by my own inner voice, that ruthless, pittyless, seeker of perfection.. it lurks like the prowling wolf, stalk bent walk.. sifting my every thought, my every action for flaws.. until like the wing weary hunted pray I could almost welcome the killers warmth for sweet silence

In a mood somewhere between cowardly and courageous I finally approached my mom..

In a speech from the scaffold, I told her of my black, tight, treacherous spiral.. of my doubts about everything.

I expected the worst.. a disappointment, in less than cryptic, ciphered messages, a slow sharpening of her claws on me for endless shortcomings..

Instead, I got miracles..
as if rigid constellations had shifted.. an atmosphere of freedom earned.. and at least for that moment, the mom who used to sing me awake in the mornings as a girl.. and a delicious summer of rest.
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A song for this:
Everyday Is A Winding Road by Sheryl Crow
Cruel To Be Kind by Letters to Cleo
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Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_02.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/05/24:
drub = soundly defeated
Dec 4 · 160
unfocused
Anais Vionet Dec 4
Our land of stars and stripes, now glows,
with screens that flicker in hallowed halls.
Entranced humans shuffle, with eyes fixed below,
on small gadgets that have us enthralled.

Should the Statue of Liberty, our symbolic girl,
be holding a smartphone up to the world?
While tweets fly like eagles and hashtags swirl,
foreign disinformation trends as fast as it’s purled.

In lunch halls, real conversations take rest,
as influence is sought—in hoity-toity, binary quest.
Friends are backdrops—originality in short supply
as likes and shares make our dopamine fly.

America’s zombies, though ******* drained,
shuffle endlessly on, with Wi-Fi stimulated brains.
Once the land of the free, we’re now the land of tech
with minds wrecked by truths unchecked.

As we rock and sway—the new robot way—
will our old, analog-republic simply fade away?
.
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Songs for this:
Airhead by Thomas Dolby
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Oh, and a Christmas playlist because—it’s December!:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_01.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 12/04/24:
hoity-toity = snooty or pretentious
Dec 2 · 147
that went fast
Anais Vionet Dec 2
Already back in class.
Wow, the Holidays went fast.

Wasn’t Black Friday great?
‘Bargains,’ make my heart race
and the Internet’s my kind of place.
I can dead-on shop this time of year,
shamelessly, without the fear
that someone will be judging me.
I make some ‘passing effort’ to be frugal,
that’s what ‘black Friday’ sales are for—and google.
I bought my suitemates those techie gifts, to guarantee,
that they’ll meet with their approval.
.
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A Christmas playlist for this:
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_21.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/30/24:
Frugal = careful about spending money
Nov 25 · 219
a circling turkey
Anais Vionet Nov 25
I saw a turkey circling, high above Manhattan
his bronze and copper feathers ripped in the sun,
and it looked like it was having an awful lot of fun.

He looked proud, in those clouds—majestic and delicious,
I could picture him sprawled out, on our Thanksgiving dishes.
Then I thought, chastisingly, “Wow, in a way, that’s kind of vicious.”

I opened the glass doors—we were sitting on the sky-high terrace.
I thought I’d better check—so I wouldn’t later be embarrassed.
I called Karen (Lisa’s Mom), “You already got a turkey to prepare us?”

She was hand making apple and cherry pies, lining crust in the pans
“You bet!” She called, “One's dressed-up—and a honey-baked ham!”  
Closing the door, I yelled, through cupped hands, “Fly on Turkey—DO NOT LAND!”
.
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Songs for this:
It's the Most Wonderful Time of the Year - Shrift remix by Andy Williams and Shrift
One Day More by Les Misérables Original London Cast Ensemble

.
I made this year's Christmas playlist!
https://daweb.us/xmas/Christmas_34.mp3
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/25/24:
Chastise = to criticize harshly for doing something wrong.
Nov 23 · 295
your romantic horoscope
Anais Vionet Nov 23
There’re so many sad love poems around here.
If you guys need help negotiating love’s slippery *****,
let me offer you, your own, romantic horoscope!:

Don’t court romantic disaster
don’t mistake a lightbulb for the moon
Titanic wasn't a rom com

and a sad update:
Grand romantic gestures don’t happen anymore,
you're lucky to get a vibration in our pocket with a "sorry" text


I know what you're thinking though, “We didn’t know the moon was useless until we landed on it,” but once you’ve ‘landed’ on a guy (or girl), once or twice, it’s too late—you’re likely ‘in it.’

Big picture-wise, I think we all have Shakespeare to thank for unrealistic, romantic storylines. Romeo & Juliet are the perfect example—they meet, fall in love and marry the very next day.

In Shakespeare’s defense though, love in his world-building was always messy and imperfect, and there were few "happily ever after" narratives. (The exception being Beatrice and Benedick, in ‘Much Ado About Nothing’).

In a side note, my weekly horoscope (Libra) for the Thanksgiving holiday reads:
You’ve become so self-centered, It’s all about you. What about your family? Before you go emo and angry, change your perspective—own it—strive to improve relationships.
Sarsh (so harsh), in this writer’s opinion.
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(Songs for this):
Love Is In Town by Brenda Boykin
Do You Even Know? by Rae Morris
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/23/24:
Negotiate = "to navigate around, or over successfully."
Nov 21 · 298
driven
Anais Vionet Nov 21
Life at 21, do you remember it?
Things rush at you, hit you, from all directions.
Any small decision can turn into a major plot beat.

What are our lives anyway but the sum of our decisions?
Opportunities contract and expand around us, like breathing—
and what fills those lungs are our test scores and faculty opinion.

College is a land of dreams—we’re all dream catchers—on our own paths, but the paths are mazes shrouded in haze, tumblers in need of combinations, variants that we must learn and memorize though it drains our communal blood.

At test times, the silence in libraries and coffeehouses is deafening,
full, as they are, of hunched-back phantoms toiling on books or blue-lit screens. If it sounds stressful and dramatic—it is. It’s not a time to get raddled—it’s all a big test.

Your world contracts to the sterile and dry— the facts and the moments needed to gather and order them.

That’s why we love breaks. Fall, Summer, Christmas, Thanksgiving—any flavor—break.

In fact, Lisa and I are on break now, I’m typing, on a MacBook Air, in a helicopter, screaming towards Manhattan.

If we don’t die in this shaky, 250mph, 3000-feet out-over Long Island Sound, cricket-like contraption, we’re going to have a great time—if we do nothing but sleep, hug our families and eat turkey—a great time.
.
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Songs for this:
Little Hercules by Trisha Yearwood
Constant Craving by k.d. lang
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/14/24:
Raddled = confused or befuddled or broken-down and worn.
Nov 20 · 526
stick figures
Anais Vionet Nov 20
(a poem in Haiku and Senryu)

Draw a stick figure
future - sadly diminished
and chaos ransomed.

Paint the landscape
with the sweltering glare
of global warming.

Add micro-plastic
and forever chemical
flavorings to taste.

Come share this
with me - let kisses heal and
soft whispers inflame.

Some locks need two keys
to open, some heavens can
be reached by mortals.
.
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A song for this:
All Gone Away by The Style Council
Locks that require two keys are called ‘Dual Custody’ locks. They’re most common for bank deposit boxes.
Nov 18 · 234
a modern girl’s delay
Anais Vionet Nov 18
(a disastrous morning Sonnet)

I am the very model of a girl who’s late for morning meal,
my charger failed, the printer jammed, the morning’s start has been surreal
I lost a scrunchy and a shoe, I had to use some dry shampoo
my Keurig had no k-cups too, I’m feeling like a total shrew!

Our pre-dawn jog went really well, but now the morning's gone to hell
I couldn’t find clean underwear, I’m desperate to charge my cell,
I got some soap in my left eye, I stubbed my toe and nearly cried
While brushing teeth and hair in haste, I wonder why I even try.

Anna’s got an attitude, she’s not someone who’s normally rude
her hookup so ‘experimental’ has an irregular sleep-in schedule
how’s she going to get to class if she’s babysitting sleeping-lass
I guess I’m not the only one, who’s schedules simply come undone.

I woke her with a gentle voice and soothed her out—we had no choice
My morning happened to sideways go—but it fueled this grandiloquent tale of woe!
.
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A song for this:
Something Stupid by Michael Bublé and Reese Witherspoon
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/17/24:
Grandiloquent = the use of extravagantly pompous language
Nov 15 · 358
almost here
Anais Vionet Nov 15
Paris is so beautiful, that it’s emotional,
like the red tile roofs of Rome,
or the Kenroku-en gardens of Japan.

It’s a relatively large world.
Whenever you can fly over an ocean
you feel limitless, and godly,
like the world is there for you, on demand.

Speaking of God-like views, I’m headed
to Lisa’s (parents) Manhattan highrise again
this year for Thanksgiving—six, very-long days
from today—and I have to wait—but I can’t wait.

I’m starting to stuff things into my bag, like a turkey.
There are so many holiday things to do in Manhattan.
Things that invariably whip you up for a sparkly Christmas.
But these are only commercial attractions—planned distractions.

One frosty November-break morning, two years ago,
a tide of clouds had rolled in, like a trillion tons of cotton
candy had been dumped on New York city, overnight,
filling it up to the 42nd floor. It glistened there, below us,
in the klieg-bright sun, like Tiffany diamonds on cotton.

So, imagine that, then add a flock of geese, in military-like
v-formation flying just at the crest of the glitter, like dolphins
hopping in and out of the waves, as they passed above the
insignificant works of man. It took my breath away.

So, naturally I grabbed for my fancy phone with its super-duper,
high-res camera. The snaps did the glorious scene poor justice—
the majestic, wild geese came out as dots on glare.

I’m watching things carefully this year, not just the multicolor, cachet, window displays on Fifth Avenue and the decorations at the Chelsea Market (where Oreos were invented). I’m going to capture this year
—every intense, emotional second—with that most unreliable, 3D
gadget of all—Memory.
.
.
A song for this:
Holiday Road by Lindsey Buckingham
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/15/24:
Cachet = a synonym of prestige
Nov 13 · 297
for luck
Anais Vionet Nov 13
(a university-life vignette)

It’s a Friday night, Leong and I are at a small restaurant close to the dorm called “Ordinary.” We’re in a cozy, pleasantly dark, little red booth—waiting for Lisa—who’s running late. This is Leong’s favorite bar and her taste in exotic drinks is labile—tonight she has us drinking ‘Maker’s Mark,’ a delicious, straight-up bourbon, with a twist of orange peel.

We’re on our second—and I’m starting to buzz—did I mention Lisa’s running late? On a hot note, we’re celebrating. I turned in the first draft of my thesis prospectus last Wednesday and this morning I got it back - accepted.

But more importantly, when I tore into the envelope, back in my room, there was a yellow sticky-note on the prospectus that read like an academic valentine. It said:
“Anais, you write beautifully, with the economy of a poet.”
I may have danced around my room.

So, we’re sitting there, sipping our drinks and noshing on a charcuterie platter when this cute, hipster, Princeton transfer-student guy named Milo showed up—drink in hand. He’s like, 5 '11 with light-brown medium-longish hair tucked behind his ears and he’s wearing a light blue, textured cardigan over a tan t-shirt and leaf-green work pants. At first, he’s walking by, but he spots us and stops.

“Has anyone ever told you look like Anais Vionet?” He asked me.
“No,” I replied, “never.” “You sound like her too,” he followed up.
“Well, I wouldn’t know,” I answered, shaking my head ‘no’ and shrugging.
“But she’d never come to a dive this cheap,” he updogged.
“Oh, yes she would,” I assured him.

Then, I gasped, remembering. Milos on one of Yale’s 500 soccer teams. “You guys lost to Princeton the other day! Isn’t that your alma mater? Congratulations!”
“Thanks, for bringing that up,” he said somewhat chagrined,
“We lost one-to-nil—it was just bad luck,” he said defensively.
“Oh, bad luck,” I chided him.

He did look tired and defeated, so I motioned him to take a seat. He slid right in next to Leong, who’s hand he shook, “Milo,” he said.
“I KNOW,” she said, in a sly and evil way—we’ve talked about him, conspiratorially—even she thinks he’s cute—and cross-culturally-cute isn’t easy.

“Are you superstitious?” Milo asked us—turning so Leong was included.
“Oh, sure,” I spoke first, “I was raised catholic, and even if you don’t hundo-p believe, it carries over. I always carry a lucky crystal with me—you know, for tests and what-not—I depend on that, as opposed to diligence and studying.”

“You have one with you now?” He followed up.
“I do,” I confessed, “I always have one in my bra.”
“Wow,” he laughed, “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I chuckled, “For luck—in case I need to appear supper fun and sassy? Though I guess I’m proof crystals don’t work.”
“Do you really have a crystal in your bra?” He asked, sipping his whisky.
“Yeah,” I said, sliding my hand discreetly into my left cup and bringing out a tiny, flat green, polished Jade stone crystal. “Isn’t that uncomfortable?” He asked.
“Nah, there’s plenty of room in there,” I admitted, sliding the crystal back in place.

“Leong’s superstitious,” I said, nodding to her.
“All Chinese are superstitious,” Leong pronounced, “whenever I had a big exam at school, my mother would go and leave a chicken at the temple.”
Milo and I chortled—I’d actually seen women do that when I lived in Shenzhen.
“Well, I guess it worked!” Milo pronounced, and he and Leong high-fived.
“We have a saying, ‘it’s better to be lucky than good,” he added.
We say, “Yùnqì zhòngyàoguò nénglì,” Leong noted, in Cantonese.
“Luck is more important than ability,” I translated.
Speaking of luck, Lisa finally arrived.
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Songs for this:
Where Are You by 54 Ultra
Cut Glass by mark william lewis
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/12/24:
Labile = open to change.

My thesis topic is "Molecular dynamics simulations of protein folding (or protein-protein interactions)." It isn't easy to give it a poetic twist.

Our cast:
Leong, (roommate) 21, is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). She's a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major.’ I speak Cantonese—which may be why we were paired—I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) - we talk a lot of secret trash together.

Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff. Grew up in a posh, 50th floor residence on Central Park South in Manhattan. She shares my major (Molecular biophysics and biochemistry) and is easily the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in RL (and is sensitive about it). Our tastes match, in everything (fashion, media, music, humor) except men.
Nov 11 · 1.1k
he broke (up-with) me
Anais Vionet Nov 11
(A throw-back piece, a breakup poem from high school)

What a lonely, peculiar, eccentric figure I must be. A girl, in a garden, crying at an iPad, in the dark.

Earlier, at school...

It was a clear spelling out, like steel cuts thru fruit.

As he spoke, he looked down and away, his gorgeous face blank and indifferent, as if I were wasting his time or he was talking to a child needing an obvious truth taught quickly.

When he finally looked back at me, I saw no pity in his impersonal, hazel eyes.

I couldn't breathe, I couldn't think, I needed time to contemplate the universe's new laws.

Can a girl just suddenly die of heartache?? because I was sure my heart had stopped, locked and frozen.

Finally, I gasped in this impossible new air—the force of it made me hold the cold-iron stair railing—the game is rough.

He's so—male—all chase and careless passion—intelligent teaser, a skilled steersman of excited climates... Oh, you simply have no idea.

And now he was, gone—still there physically—but gone to me—as if he'd transformed into a hologram or had begun to orbit some other sun, he just...

"You made me feel special." I said.

I had lost my balance on this faithless and unequal world, where heaven so cruelly punishes desires.

"You made me feel I mattered, such a favor." I said, absentmindedly, as I turned, and went back up the three steps into school.

I don't think I looked back at him as the door closed. After all, he wasn't there anymore.

I think he called my name, like a question...
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Song for this:
Still Is Still Moving to Me (with Willie Nelson) by ***** & The Maytals
Helpless by The Cleaners From Venus
Nov 8 · 1.1k
pulses
Anais Vionet Nov 8
It’s the morning of a different day—who knew there’d be another?
Lisa and I went on our harbor jog @ 5am—that’s nothing new.
It was, like 44°—we’re enjoying fall’s cold, refreshing bite.

Anyway, my mind wasn’t on it and I nearly stumbled over
a chunk of dark, uneven roadway, made invisible by its function.
Charles, jogging beside me, wordlessly managed to right me
without us losing a step and I smiled my thanks.

argh! I’ve got to get out of my head.

Later, in class, lulled by the comfort of the stiff, wooden chair, my eyes unfocused and the professor’s voice seemed to fade into the backdrop. Suddenly, he was asking me a direct question that seemed almost without context.

Metaphorically slapped back into focus, I scanned the room and the whiteboard for clues before awkwardly—walking the edge of catastrophe—bluffing it out, because, well, I’ve an instinctive reluctance to admit defeat with any sort of grace.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I had dreams—nothing with a defined purpose–just an amalgamate of bonfires and storms in a coastal scrubland with an odor of fresh cedar and a sense of casual vulnerability.

My attention today is like an intermittent pulse.
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Songs for this:
Headz Gone West by Nia Archives
Dark Red by Steve Lacy
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/04/24:
Amalgamate is a formal verb meaning "to unite (two or more things) into one thing."
Nov 6 · 333
wrong
Anais Vionet Nov 6
Have you ever been wrong?
I was wrong.
Ugly, smugly wrong.
Psephologically wrong.
Hit the iceberg,
smoking’s good for you,
the treaty of Versailles,
left on red,
Copernicus, Aristotle, Custer,
wrong.
I’m not claiming an excuse,
wrong.
It wasn’t you,
it was me,
wrong.
Just fricking
kiss a frog
wrong.
Wrong all along,
wrong about the world,
reevaluate me wrong,
wrong, wrong, wrong.
I can admit I was wrong.
Can you forgive me,
can I forgive me,
wrong
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Songs for this:
Waters of March by John Roseboro & Mei Semones
Stabilise by Nilüfer Yanya
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 11/05/24
Psephology = the scientific study of elections.
Nov 4 · 348
The Competition
Anais Vionet Nov 4
(this is another throw-back - a piece of writing, from high school, used in my Yale applications)

I pound the pillow, curse the clock and mock injunctions to rest.

The sun finally rises and its rays slantwise fall through the curtains as I dry my hair.

A meal, like a forced dose, we soak ourselves in wasted, nervous time.

Finally! We arrive at the competition...

Tension is here and tireless pressure.

The players waiting stiff as straw, tongues playing over dry lips.

Teachers and coaches unapologetic in their pallor.

Music drifts behind us and occasionally gasps, as imperfections play like daring circus tricks.

The sparkling prodigy returns disappointed, grimace of a smile, stricken, he stares away as we search for words, oh! clumsy, unrepairable prince!

Suddenly, its time and I wonder why we are hurrying, feeling weak, momentarily frightened to go there.

On this stage in this great, hushed hall, enormity suddenly dawns with mass enough to crush me.

At last, I sit before this odd Steinway music machine - my dearest mechanical friend.

A tremble resisted - the reward of mortal afternoons - endless practices fruit.

Eyes closed I prepare my best self - pushing all fear, all doubt, to the margins - and begin.

I hope, to recreate, one note at a time, Chopin's ancient impact - with hands flying, like tethered birds, I hammer out his timeless melody explosions, his streams of crazily exact math exam fiery semiquaver motions.. then, almost suddenly, I'm done.

I stand, joyously, nearly crying.. The world hasn't ended.
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Songs for this:
12 Etudes, Op. 10: No. 4 in C-Sharp Minor by Vladimir Ashkenazy
Part of Your World by Emile Pandolfi
We gather together by Emile Pandolfi
I thought I was going to be a concert pianist once - before covid.
Did you know there are piano recital competitions?
I wasn't a prodigy, I practiced endlessly, only to lose, eventually, to one of the prodigies.
I competed in 7 'big ones,' two were international, and I came in second every time.
My joke was, "I'm the second-best pianist in any room."
I only switched my goals (to medicine - sort of the family business) when that fell through (Thanks, one more time, covid).
Nov 1 · 271
rerun
Anais Vionet Nov 1
(a poem in Senryus)

Let’s rerun the play,
take up strings, so the puppets
can start fresh their dance.

Summon the old ghosts—
Shakespeare’s doomed heroes
—pronounce them reborn.

Recall the actors,
lead horses from their pastures,
raise the curtains.

Pay Shylock his pound
of flesh, give Richard his horse,
let Viola love anew.

Old, ever-hallowed
villainy, once banished,
has taken new stage.

Human suffering,
live—don’t fret, you won’t miss it
—it’ll come to you.
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Songs for this:
Kool Thing by Sonic Youth
End of the innocence by Don Henley
The Perfect Idiot by Fievel Is Glauque
Merriam Webster word of the day challenge:
Hallowed = something or someone, highly respected and revered.

Shylock was 'the Merchant of Venice', driven to revenge by prejudice and discrimination, 'King Richard III', (also the plays name) trapped after the Battle of Bosworth Field, cried "My kingdom for a horse," before being slain, and in "Twelfth Night", Viola loved Duke Orsino, but things got 'complicated.'
Oct 30 · 223
Halloween scares
Anais Vionet Oct 30
Should I write a poem about Halloween,
full of psychological horrors and gruesome things?

Like deep romantic wounds getting infected,
herpe kisses or Donald Trump getting elected?

I could lean on shuddery tropes, like haunted houses
or more real world threats, like cutthroat spouses.

I could make you look up scary looking words, like Syncretism.

gasp What caused that creek in the floor?!
Who’s that banging on the door?

Is that blood on that rag?
Is there a body in that bag?
Is that your husband in drag!?

Relax, have fun, chill-out,
Oh, better get a bowl of candy out.

Happy Halloween!
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Songs for this:
Monster Mash by Bobby "Boris" Pickett & The Crypt-Kickers
I Killed You by Tyler, The Creator
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/30/24:
Syncretism: combining different forms of belief or practice.
Oct 29 · 1.5k
the age of Hate
Anais Vionet Oct 29
(A 'thought piece' I wrote in high school)

Ok, I'm not paid to think (like the TV shouting heads), I have no real voice (vote), and certainly no credentials - but I'm as invested in America as any high-school citizen can be. I've pledged allegiance 3000 times (hhmm.. do they doubt our loyalty?) and when it comes to loving America, I'd have to say my classmates and I are at the center of the spell.

I'm afraid we're growing up in the age of hate.. the age of phony outrage where each position large or small is high noon and violence is underfoot even when policing ordinary citizens.

We won't address the multitude of old problems in this new age.. we'll just unleash a marquetry of half truths to dispute the proven until unreasoned arguments reach their paranoid fullness.

The real world is alarming enough - lets just push that away and ignore it - while we're at it lets **** shame the poor, the old, the sick, the unemployed, the hungry and the hand of mercy.

I realize America was never one moral atom bonded for better.. but those anvils that forged us appear neglected or forsaken. I'm afraid what's happening now, what we're seeing and hearing now, is a symphony of erosion - that by the time I have any say at all, the middle class will be gone - america turned slum - where even the voice of despair will be turned traitor.

We'll only be able to see our greatness in museum souvenir shops where nothing is affordable and everything is made elsewhere.
This was one of the short essays for my Yale application. I post it now as an election classic 🙃
Oct 27 · 266
showers
Anais Vionet Oct 27
My room, the suite, seemed too small.
I felt like I’d been in my room forever.
I’d developed a scratchy sense of stuckness
and a fresh, itchy awareness of dust particles
floating in the stifling, still air that made me
want to stop breathing in so much.

But I didn’t, categorically, have the energy
to get up and focusing seemed like a lot of effort.
I had a big midterm test, first thing this morning
and it laid me to waste, mentally. I think I did well
but it was a feat. Whenever I feel lifeless and weak,
I start to fear I’m coming down with something.

But then, everyone’s tired. The suite seems unnaturally
quiet, as if no one even has the energy to command
our ever-listening AI to play a playlist, so silence
ruled by exhausted default. It’s as if a low-pressure area had
descended to hold off a brush of refreshing ozone and rain.

Could I rouse my posse of symbiotic sort-of siblings
for an outing somewhere - like Toad’s bar - just across the street?
My door was open, so I called out, rather weakly, “Let’s go out!”
Someone, (Lisa sprawled out on the red corduroy couch?)
groaned listlessly from the common area. “My treat!” I updogged.

Five minutes later, it was showers all around. I love a good shower.
A shower’s where I ponder over the big questions, because
answers seem to come quickly there. I imagine I’d be wise
beyond words if I had a house with a waterfall running through it,
like one of those amazing, Frank Loid Wright masterpieces.
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Songs for this:
The Duke Is Gone by Chuck Senrick
Cannock Chase by Labi Siffre
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/26/24:
Categorical = Absolute, very strong and clear way.
Oct 23 · 268
voting, fall, midterms
Anais Vionet Oct 23
life happens.
It’s fall, it’s midterms
It’s election time.

New Haven’s giving a lot of fall.
I’ve been starting to feel the chills,
but things are turning cold and extra breezy,
so it all maks sense.

The good and bad can coexist closely,
is our energy dropping? Nope.

Whenever I think of voting,
I go back to American Idol.
My first voting experience.
It was 2009 and I was 14.
I was into Adam Lambert.
he didn’t win, and sure, I felt
a child's appreciable sense of outrage
millions and millions of us did
but we didn’t storm FOX Network
We cried into pillows and took it in stride.
Now Adam sings with Queen.
So I guess it worked out.
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Songs for this
​​Bohemian Rhapsody by Adam Lambert
Do It Again (feat. Carolyn Leonhart & Robert Smith) by The Juju Orchestra
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: 10/19/24
Appreciable = things that can be perceived or measured.
Oct 21 · 1.5k
only sleeping
Anais Vionet Oct 21
I’m sleeping in
just call me out
it’s the simplest kind of comfort
I do it for me
there’s a softness and care
my, that got so wholesome

I know, I should embrace hardship
adversity builds resilience
it’s darkness that reveals the stars
that last one sounds too good to be original
but I’m not researching it
haven’t you been reading?

I’m sleeping in fugaciously
and metaphorically.
If you’re in the water
it’s good to swim
otherwise
you could be writing.
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Songs for this:
Sleeping In by The Radio Dept.
Save the Phenomenon by Fievel Is Glauque
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: 10/17/24
Fugacious =;&that lasts only a short time.    
I know what you’re thinking
Oct 19 · 271
the End
Anais Vionet Oct 19
Why do the texts keep on coming?
Why does my phone have to chirp?
Don’t they know,
the election is over..
It ended when I cast my vote.
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Songs for this:
Bring Me to Silence by Fievel Is Glauque
The End Of The World by Skeeter Davis
Oct 16 · 435
punked
Anais Vionet Oct 16
We’re on October break, which is a 6-day weekend. For the last two weeks, everyone’s been making plans.
“What do you think of Cancún?” Sunny’d asked me.
“The only people going to Mexico are on the cheap or trapped in a trunk.” I’d answered.

After two weeks of weighing every conceivable terrestrial destination, amenities and available attractions, we (there’s six of us suitemates - Sunny, Lisa, Leong, Anna, Sophy and I) settled on good old Manhattan, where you’ll find us in adjoining-suites atop the Plaza hotel (thanks, Grandmère).

Things went CrA-CrA (crazy with a capital K) right off the bat. Sunny, as it turns out, KNOWS people here, and we decided to ‘walk on the wild side’ for one or two nights and check out a few fem-facing clubs. Now I know how sensitive we all are about pronouns, and what-not, but I’m going to try to simplify for a broad audience. These are lesbian clubs.

One thing I like about Music is sharing it with friends. Communities have always formed around art in whatever form. There are book clubs, film societies, Trekkies, Swifties and apparently, wild-*** lesbian dance clubs.

On our first night in Manhattan, the sun had barely set when Sunny said, “Ok then, let’s go!” And off we went to a “Femmquerade Ball”. I think that’s a combo of ‘feminine, queer and masquerade.’ She’d told us beforehand what to wear, “Take sweatshirts, those will come off - it gets hot in there - otherwise t-shirts, jeans and ballet flats - no purses.”

You know, I thought punk music was dead, ideating its death somewhere in the 90s. I was wrong, it’s ALIVE.
You know, when everyone’s feelin’ it, when two hundred people are rocking as one, club-life is transcendent. The club vibe was interesting too, there was a safety and freedom to it. You're in a crowded club, somehow without the limitations of the banal male gaze, with its sexist expectations. I don’t know how else to describe it.

I don’t think music has to have a message to earn its place as art. Folk romance music’s ok, jazz has its reach, opera is still happening and of course there’s regular dance music - cause sometimes, you’ve just gotta jiggle it.

That being said, there’s a saying that “Punk is truth” and that comes from its rawness and authenticity.
Punk has a ‘low barrier of entry’, as the academics say. It’s a game anyone can play. Punk isn’t autotuned, the bands use second-hand guitars, there are no synthesizers, the speaker stacks were shared, the vocalists lacked training, and I’d guess that none of the players were burdened with unpaid Juilliard tuition.

Punk’s always been outsider art, a scream along, you can’t go wrong, fire and every punk song is a garage invitation to joyously rage. As we drove to the club, Sunny had said, “Think of punk as dance music without inhibitions. It's straightforward and unapologetically for the people who can’t bother to keep to the dance steps and aren’t above getting in each other’s precious space.” Every word of that was true.

Punk lyrics are about the problems and issues of real-world people. It’s a roll call, a manifesto, implicit and explicit in stylish screaming. I’ve always called it scream-0. The point being, that while the rest of the world is restrained, heteronormative and reduced to a corporate gray backdrop, there’s still room for comradery, agency, outrage, pumpkin-Jello-shots (@ $16 each) and a bit of winking fun.

We DID have fun but I’ve been hoarse all day today. As we’d climbed into the car, last night, for the ride back to the Plaza, Mr. & Mrs Charles pointedly removed ear plugs from their ears - the kind they give to airport workers who work around jet engines all day. Charles laughed and said something, but I couldn’t hear him.
My ears were still ringing.
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Songs for this
Rebel Girl by Bikini ****
Hash Pipe by Weezer
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge: 10/13/24
Ideate = form an idea about something

Our cast…
My Yale suitemates: Sunny (Nebraska), Leong (Macao, China), Lisa (Manhattan), Anna (Oregon), Sophy (CA) and I (GA). The Charleses = Charles, my long-time escort (a retired NYPD cop) and his wife, Chynthia.
Grandmère = my Grandmother.
Oct 14 · 1.5k
the 15 second hex
Anais Vionet Oct 14
I’m tired of influencers faking nervousness.
my generation wants to care less
these days.
it’s a counter-current hack.
we want to be less defined.
we can search and reflect for ourselves.
we’re sick of the emotion
that’s all over everyone’s faces,
the unsightly splotches of opinion.
the entire election machine,
the process of getting there, is smudged.
It’s a curated mess, an advising spin,
an incomprehensible hex:

“Oh profit pondering,
contradictory means to an end
- bless weave, and conceal,
bloodless dollar debt options,
painful penny pincher paradoxes,
and deadly debt bliss dilemmas..”

“Is this a witch or an arbitrager?” Lisa asked, after rudely leaning over and reading up to this point.
“I was shooting for a numinous type of beat,” I revealed.
“We’re supposed to be working on our thesis definitions,” she said accusingly.
“Are you not challenged, here, hour by hour?” I asked sarcastically.
“I need ideas - well - I have too many ideas, I need some focus, I wanted to see what you had.”
I deadpan looked at her, “Well, you broke the spell - I lost my train.” I complained dryly.
“Don’t put me in a situation.” she said, waving my gripe off as insignificant.
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Songs for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
drive ME crazy! by Lil Yachty
Melt by Nilüfer Yany
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/10/24:
Numinous =things with a mysterious or spiritual quality.
Oct 12 · 320
jungle rave
Anais Vionet Oct 12
Vibe-check, it’s Friday. Yay! A delightfully cool Friday at that! I’d like to thank the democratic party (which I’ve heard controls the weather now). Has the heat finally surrendered to the inevitable freshness of fall?
Can we please proceed directly to a cruel winter?

“What are we doing tonight?” I asked Lisa as she sat on the edge of a chair to put on her Nine West tunic pointed-toe booties. She has class this morning and I don’t. I’m sipping coffee, curled up on our red-corduroy couch, under a school themed throw, trying to grasp the plot of a fascinating chemistry book.

“Something fun,” she said, verbatim, offering little concrete as she picked up her slouchy silhouette, hobo bag.
“See ya,” she said, shouldering the door open with her right arm and securing her coffee with her left.
She’s got one of those giant coffee cups that are so vogue. She gives herself 30 minutes, after our morning jog, to get ready for class and that whole time, she’s brewing cup after k-cup of Keurig coffee to fill that monster.
“Byeeeeee,” I responded, before the door clunked closed.

Sunny, came to the door of her room, “Do you separate your whites and darks?” She asked.
“Of course,” I said, not looking up, to save my page-place, “we’re not animals.”
“I never separate,” she confessed.
“That’s why your white socks are pink,” I updogged.
“They are pink,” she said, pulling up her pajama leg to expose her pink socks, “bright pink.”

The serious events have started. Parties thrown by groups, always to a theme, offering whimsical, rainbow palates of fun. We’re here for it, my room and suitemates, all of us. There’s no better way to spend a Friday or Saturday night, than dressing up as a Disney princess, jedi princess or streetwalking zombie princess.

Some nights, there’s more than one and we jump gatherings until we find the perfect one. We easily feed off of each another’s energy. We’re all 21-year-olds now and pushing past painfully obvious insecurities, legal restrictions and occasionally, moral boundaries.

Ok, let’s reach for some Friday night rhymes:

Fridays are reserved for revelry, for noise and crazy mirth,
you can find a rave or masquerade with very little research.

The venues are themed and adorned for festive cheer,
and the turned-up music ignites those dance-like atmospheres.

Picture tapestries of youthful fun and you’ve grasped the vibe of the night.
In fleeting moments, we reach for it - I hope you brought your invite.

There was a disappointing ‘jungle rave’ where people were smoking inside!
Are you a ‘master of the universe,’ if you can’t get air-quality right?

Way too soon the revels cease
and in the Saturday morning quiet, we search out tasty eats.
We did it for memories, to give our dull lives a makeover
and good news! I didn’t wake up with a hangover.
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Songs for this:
Nite Becomes Day by Citizen Cope
Breathe In by Frou Frou
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/12/24:
Verbatim = "word for word."
Oct 9 · 405
those smoky eyes
Anais Vionet Oct 9
J D Vance has such smoky, smoldering eyes, doesn’t he?
The way those baby blues coruscate, as if from the darkness.
Are those shadows natural? No, it’s eyeliner, of course, but on
a 40-year-old man it’s called guyliner.

Any teenage girl will tell you the kohl pencil is the gateway makeup tool for self-definition, if not exactly self-improvement.

As an ex-teenage girl, I can picture the hours senator Vance spent,
hunched over his laptop watching make-up tutorials on TikTok or
Instagram, analyzing eyeliner techniques in overwhelming detail.

TikTok clips are today’s replacement for the Teen Vogue magazine
product pages of back-in-the-day. I recall watching these videos,
at 14 and devolving into a fog of envy and inadequacy.

JD began wearing guyliner in 2016, so he probably watched those
at age 33 and by now, he’s certain to have upped his game by having them permanently, cosmetically tattooed on.

Of course, Trump himself has never been one to shy away from makeup.
His weird, orange, glazed-ham look comes from his preferred spray-on concealer, ‘Bronx Colors,’ a cruelty-free makeup manufacturer in Switzerland.

If this all sounds too judgy, I’d like to say, “JD, I’ve felt your clearly adolescent girl pain, and I get your desire to represent a softer and more romantic republican political aesthetic.”

And let’s not forget that Kamala’s been known to wear makeup herself.

Here are before and after JD Vance eyeliner pics - you decide: daweb.us/jdVance.png
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Songs for this:
It's All Over Now, Baby Blue by Falco
Gonna Get Along without you now by She and Him
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/09/24:
Coruscate = reflect bright light in flashes.
Oct 6 · 271
leftover
Anais Vionet Oct 6
Peter (my bf) flew away early this morning,
like Shakespeare’s eagle, “leaving no tracks.”
Now I lie here, as a leftover or Millais’ drowned ‘Ophelia’.

That’s an image ripped from adolescent, female visual culture.

Time‘s adversarial magic drags us ever future-wise,
eroding sweet moments we would cling to.

Shall we poetize?

I want a quiet afternoon,
on the bright side of the moon.

It’s an actual-factual place,
convenient, in close outer space,
like mythical Elysium, Shangri-La or Valhalla
where I’d still be intertwined with my fella,
like characters from literature or legend.

A place where “I’ll get to it tomorrow,”
is, alas, an everlasting pass,
because on the dusty, unreeling moon,
tomorrow never arrives,
our lovers never have to go,
and we can relax, ******* clothed,
simply enjoying the everlasting earthrise.
.
.
Songs for this:
To The Moon by Meghan Trainor
Moon River by Frank Ocean
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/05/24:
Adversary = an enemy or opponent.

Shakespeare’s eagle, “leaving no tracks.” Henry V
Oct 3 · 508
coming to town
Anais Vionet Oct 3
Peter (my bf) is coming to town - tonight. I’m breathy with excitement.
My energy is so sick. “Someone scrape her off the walls,” Leong remarked, as I bounded out of my room this morning.
Lisa winced, holding her hand up, as if to block the sun, “You never smile in the morning.”   “And she’s humming,” Sunny observed.
“I’m not,” I started, then after a pause I amended, “yeah, I guess I was.”

I’m not just happy, I’m some new kind of happy. It’s been too long.
I’m swinging a school’s-out, pre-Christmas, free iced-latte vibe.
I’ve been on the busiest stretch, clearing my schedule. I have to define my thesis this semester. Argh!

But I’m ready for some bf fun. I’ve changed my sheets, hidden the general mess and God, even vacuumed.
That’s very un-university-like behavior - believe me.
As down as I was last Friday night, from tanking that quiz, that’s how up I am now.

Speaking of that quiz, the only way to deal with a fret is to exorcize it, defeat it, vanquish it. I stalked the TA after class last Tuesday, finally cornering him, like a wounded animal at his desk.
“I tanked last week’s quiz,” I admitted, which sounded way more whiny out loud than it did in my head.
“Vionet, right?” He’d asked rhetorically, already clicking his keyboard to bring up the grade sheet.
“Are there any extra cred..” I began. “You got an 88,” he interrupted me. “Yeah, but,” I’d begun again
“That’s a B,” he’d deadpanned in a low, ‘why do I have to talk to idiots,’ voice.
“Yeah, but,” I’d began freshly, only to be re-interrupted.
“A weekly quiz,” he’d said, “like a hundredth of your grade.”  
“A B,” I began, shaking my head side to side in a ‘no’ way, but I’d smiled ingratiatingly too - I was going to win this guy over.
“You’re way too tightly wound,” he’d snarked, insensitively.
I opened my mouth to speak again when he said “OUT,” twisting his head to nod towards the door.
“You don’t,” I began, only to have him give me a teen-like, wide-eyed look as he nodded again at the door.
So, I flounced out, giving a silent voice to my indignation.
Bureaucracies.
.
.
Songs for this:
Take Off Ur Pants by Indigo De Souza
Kool Thing by Sonic Youth

.
.
Our cast
Peter, (My bf), is a bearded, 27-year-old from the sage hills of Malibu, California. He’s 6’1, too thin, his jet-black hair is perpetually uncombed and his skin is pale from over exposure to fluorescent lighting. He earned his PhD in Applied Physics last year and now he works for CERN in Geneva. He’s smart, quiet, awkward and he can be too serious. I’m unreasonably cRaZy about this guy.

Lisa, (roommate) 21, my bff and Manhattanite ‘glamor girl’ (who’d bristle at that description but it’s hundo-p true.) who grew up in a 50th floor Central Park South high-rise. A (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.

Leong, (roommate) 21, a ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major,’ is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and she’s a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). Growing up, I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) we both speak Cantonese (maybe why we were paired?) and we're able to talk a lot of secret trash together.

Sunny, (suitemate) 21, a (pre-med) molecular, cellular, and developmental biology major, is a cowgirl from Nebraska (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races). She’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady.

Your author, a simple country girl from Athens, Georgia is also a (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 10/02/24:
Fret = to worry or be concerned.
Sep 28 · 478
cats and boots
Anais Vionet Sep 28
Here’s to scrumptious nights.
cats and boots and cats and boots
We went clubbing last night, to recalibrate
ourselves on the dance floor, where magic happens.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
To focus on sensory experiences, the beat,
and share in the fun and tangible sense of freedom.
cats and boots and cats and boots
Feel the wave, show your energy, be the wave
cats and boots and cats and boots
be disheveled, swing your hair like a weapon
abandon, silly, self-protecting vanities
cats and boots and cats and boots
flashing lights on dancing figures
make it all seem slo-mo and extreme.
cats and boots and cats and boots
It’s been too long since we’ve done it like this.
Work-worn, I’d lost my lucidity and stumbled badly on a quiz.
Lisa pushed my books onto the floor, declaring, “Get UP, we’re grabbing some bliss.”
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
failure has a reality, a gravity and pull all the more shocking in relief.
I’d started out the evening gloomy and ashamed - a figure of regret -
but I’m better now, buoyed and recharged and soon I’ll have a plan - hopefully.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots
There was a guy there, on the dance floor, who looked like a young Leonardo DiCaprio.
We made eye contact, nodding and smiling at each other in motion.
We gyrated, together, sort of, for a second, in our separate orbits - no conversation
I just watched him for a moment or two, sexualizing him like eye candy.
Just seeing him was sensual fun and I wondered what he smelled like.
He had a gritty, sweaty, idealized beauty, like a dancing ‘David’
that no Michelangelo could ever capture in stiff granite sculpture.
The music ended - momentarily - we knew it would start up again
and we were there for it - til 1 or 2 am anyway - then it recranked.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
Lisa grabbed my hand, jerking me onto the dance floor almost
before I could set down my drink. Eeek! “Slow Down!” I yelled,
but my complaint was lost in the din and my involuntary laugh.
cats and boots and cats and boots and cats and boots and..
.
.
Songs for this:
Dance To This (feat. Ariana Grande) by Troye Sivan
Good Time Girl (feat. Charlie Barker) by Sofi Tukker
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 09/27/24:
Lucid = clear and easy to understand

cats and boots and = say it over and over to feel the beat
Sep 26 · 337
therapy
Anais Vionet Sep 26
I’m taking control, making changes.
Some for the worst, others for the best.
I don’t like to evade or retreat.
My secrets are inconsequential.
I’m taking things into my own hands
- I kissed my therapist. On the lips.
Life is but a game of ‘Smash or pass’
and I hate waiting for ice cream.
“I like the way you move,” he said, “I like your skin.”
“It’s what people notice first” I admitted, “want to see it?”
Or maybe I dreamed that - I dream about him, sometimes. shrug
I think the helpless, astringent, professional intimacy fires me.
I want him to ask me about my jerkwater *** life, he has a concomitant
passport, but he never does. Isn’t that important - what about Freud?
What do you think you inherited from your parents? He asked.
“What a question!” I observed, “You mean genetically?”
“Come on,” he prompted, and I thought for a long minute.
“I have my mother’s impatience, her drive to succeed
and her thick blonde hair that seems to dry instantly.”
He nodded, indicating he liked where I was going.
“I have my father’s eyes, his flashing temper and flat chest.”
He chuckled, but I could tell he wanted me to stay serious.
“Then there’s my Stepfather (Step), he taught me humor,
patience and self-control - oh, and how to drive.”
He ****** on his pencil eraser and nodded.
He always blurs the line between performance and approval.
.
.
Songs for this:
Secrets (Your Fire) by Magdalena Bay
The Spot by Your Smith
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 09/24/24:
Jerkwater = trivial, remote and unimportant.

** for the record, I only dreamt that I kissed him
Sep 23 · 333
september
Anais Vionet Sep 23
I have a couple of ‘research for credit’ classes this semester and I’m spending a lot of time with my TAs. Teaching Assistants (grad students) are essentially approachable professors with longer office hours, faster response times and a willingness to spend a little time walking me through options, so I understand the material and don’t charge-off in some crazy direction. I have a flawless record of wasting time on the wrong things at the wrong times, so I never feel silly or dumb asking questions.
AM I having fun yet? Yeah, I am.

A bell dings. Let the fighters enter the ring.
There’s a gathering of things, then we rush for the wings.
Students are bolting from classes, like riders out of rodeo shoots.
Focused faces, off to the races, phones appear from a hundred places.

Outside, a cool, brisk breeze moves paper-mâché clouds, across the blue-dome sky.
Squirrels freeze from their thieving, and watch this sudden, noisy invasion of their world.  
There’s a bee-like buzz of conversations, from ahead, behind and in doppler passing.
“Question six - was that right - what are you wearing to the thing tonight?”

My tummy growls for some lunch time relief - a plea for a snack - or coffee’s appeasement.
I glance at my watch, there’s no time. I leave the path for the grass;
I have an immediate class! Why are people so slow?
I get heinous looks - it’s grass people - kiss my *** people.

I squeeze sideways in the crush to enter the Kline Biology Tower, atop science hill.
In the hallway I find Lisa, we share the next class. “Do you have a granola bar?” I ask.
“I’ve got two,” she brags, fishing one out, as we drop our bookbags.
As I moan with pleasure, she chuckles at the relief on my face.
The TA announces, ”You should have papers, pass ‘em, please.”
.
.
Songs for this:
Home by Luke Chiang
No Other Plans by Sunny Levine
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 09/22/04:
Heinous = deserving of hate or contempt.
Sep 19 · 388
sighs
Anais Vionet Sep 19
We’re coming up on the spooky pumpkin-latte season, when days suddenly end, while I’m busy in some sterile, fluorescent chemistry-lab and there’s nothing to do but walk down dark science-hill to the dorm.

Is that rustling the sound of leaves or footsteps?  The most effective horror stories come from spaces of doubt and hover between reality and possibility - but no fears, this isn’t my Halloween story.

Apparently, there was a scandal last year, about underage girls being served at bars around Yale - I mean, seriously, who knew? Sunny’s still having fun. She’s out every other night like a hunting cat ‘meeting’ all these new freshie girls. She has the best takes. Her hungover Sunday morning debriefs are not to be missed.

I’ve gotten comments that suggested that the party lives of U-girls are seen as dysfunctional, but to me they’re perfectly normal. Everyone seems to want college life to be saccharine and sanitized. I figure most students live highly stressed lives. We’re expected to show up to multiple classes, on time, prepared and be ready to perform at the highest levels academically - then add to these pressures our elaborate social and study demands. Young adulthood is strict in ways you may not remember. Poor us. sigh So we have a little fun.

I’ve been bottled-up, by and large, this semester - mostly by my own twisted need to get ahead in every subject and I joined a Yale Society - dumb, I know, like I have the time. But I was tapped and Annick (my sister) said “DO IT!” I bet I quit when the going gets tough.
Why did I think senior year would be easier?  

Fall semester is a time famous for freshmen heartbreak - with everyone newly away from home and old boyfriends. About that...

I hate it when boyfriends get old
and you have to get rid of them.
Not chronologically old - don’t call your lawyer,
this isn’t ageism rearing its ugly head.

There’s the chafing-like pre-breakup irritation,
because you’re suddenly separated by distance
and experience. it’s easy to feel out of touch and
unable to voice your joy about the new life you’re living.

It’s the little things that tend to bother you first, like the sudden
strangeness of lingering silence on the once-exciting video calls.
Ugg, breakups - the subject freaks me out - I get shivers up my spine
and feel nauseous, just thinking about them - I’m not mocking heartbreak.

Where was I? Oh, yeah.
Adolescence should feature at least one earth-shaking, world-shifting, heartbreaking first love - unless, of course, covid happened.
Do I harp back to covid lockdown too much?
Well, it happened. It was our Vietnam, and we were unprepared.

There’s a guy showing me some persistent interest - something I have no time for - or interest in. He’s a tall, sporty, transfer student from Princeton. Not unattractive, in a sort of eager, and dense, hipster way.
“I have a boyfriend,” I told him, hoping he'd lose interest.
“He must be invisible,” he observed, several days later.
Then, “If you’d give me a chance, you’d soon find out I’m a sparkling conversationalist.” He updogged.
“Introverts,” I said, “we should be running the world, but no one listens to us.”
“I like a woman with ambition,” he said, encouragingly.
“Go away,” I replied, and he did.
But he was back in the morning because he’s in my residence and we share a shuttle bus stop. sigh

Question: Why are they still calling storms hurricanes?
I mean, now that they can have male or female names, shouldn’t they be themicanes?
.
.
A song for this:
Alfie by Cilla Black
Does Everyone Stare by The Police
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 09.18.24:
By and large = another way of saying "in general" or "on the whole.”
Anais Vionet Sep 7
The evening stars were gone, replaced
by a spreading, ominous purple bruise of cloud.
When the wind rose, in sudden violent
crisscrossing gusts, everything went into motion.

White cabanas shook, like staked swans
flapping to fly, lavender bushes thrashed
their thorny arms as if in panic, umbrella pines
creaked and writhed like tethered balloons.

Lightning lit the winding, stony stairs, like ornamental
neon lights, as we’d run up the path from the beach.
Shockwaves of thunder accompanied the flashes
- there was no lag - the storm was there and upon us.

We were laughing and screaming, like children
chased through a dark Halloween funhouse.
The first, fat drops of rain popped behind us,
like a giant’s, arrhythmic, snapping fingers.

As we reached the open, French, louvered doors,
that led from our suite down to the shoreline,
we body-slammed them against the tempest.

And braced them fully closed with our backs, as if to vilify the
natural courses of wind and rain with an animal will to break in.

The lashing monsoon heralded our urgent, stormy union.
We were like the storm - insistent, wild and untamed.
All was revealed in that flashing, tempestuous darkness
as need, euphoria and lightning lit the naked night
.
.
A song for this:
Walk Between Raindrops by Donald Fagen
Hurricane Waters by Citizen Cope
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 09.07.24:
Vilify = To harshly judge and be be openly critical.
Sep 5 · 483
back to black
Anais Vionet Sep 5
“How does it feel, studying for your first exam of the semester?” My sister Annick dug at me, via Facetime.
“Oh, I’m miserable and no one even knows!” I exclaimed excitedly.

I already miss summer’s sense of infinite time and space, and life on the lake, with its big, wet, melancholy summer rains. But most of all, I miss the travel and delicious, swirling, excesses that form the dark side of long holiday freedoms.

I’ve been called excessive, I accept that and I have to check that aspect of my nature, from time to time.
“Don’t you have any brakes?” My roommate Leong once asked me, like I was some runaway train.

I remember last summer, how we almost eased into fall. As summer had faded, things changed and slowed down, as the European students turned back to their serious, ordinary lives. The bars and streets became deserted, carousels stopped spinning, arcade games were turned off, yachts sailed away, the eager summer wait-staff vanished from the elegant hotels. Brightly lit, summer-gaudy Saint Tropez became just another faded seaside town, where the paint everywhere suddenly seemed chipped and cheap.

This year, we sped up, by spending the last couple of weeks in flashy, frantic, fluorescent Manhattan - oh, man.

Then BOOM, we were dropped, as if from a great height, back into university life, back to cafeteria lines, shuttle buses and the scholastic gridiron - which oddly enough, has a lot in common with the teenage world. It was going from a-hundred-mile-an-hour adult freedom, to dealing with all the old teenage issues, like homework, tests, studying, the endless clock-watch scheduling of to and from classes - you know, the physicality of academics.

It sounds rough, I know. We’ve been told that as seniors, we can expect an even more important and frenetic emphasis on social life. Yep, we’ll be stepping things up to a whole new level this year!
Woot!! Maybe I’ll even get to wear some makeup!
.
.
A song for this:
September by Earth Wind & Fire
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 09.05.24:
Gridiron = A football field or other challenging arena.
Sep 1 · 219
swizzles
Anais Vionet Sep 1
Three days in - three days of school - and it’s like I never left.

In school, you can get oversaturated with screens. I like books.
They have a sense of permanence, they don’t glare back at you,
and I want something physical I can grip, markup and push off
the bed onto the floor when I get over it.

After three days of class, I’m asking (no one in particular), "Are we there yet?"

I can speed-read if I have a pointer - I use cocktail picks (swizzle sticks?) - you know, the little olive skewers you get in a martini? I have a collection from all over the world.

If I go to a bar and they have nice swizzle sticks, I’ll gather a few up. “What are you DOing,” Karen, (Lisa’s mom) asked me as I scarfed up several from patron’s empty glasses at the elegant, Refinery Rooftop bar in Manhattan.

“I have a TON of reading to do,” I explained, helpfully.
“Don’t even ask,” Lisa shrugged, rolling her eyes, when her mom looked confused.

The trick to speed reading is your eyes (and brain) pickup more than you realize and people tend to pronounce things, in their minds, as they read, which REALLY slows you down. So, you swivel the pointer down the page, following the pointer with your eyes, and Walla!

You can’t do THAT with a computer screen. You need a book, and when you have 2 or 3 hundred pages (or more) a night to read, you can’t just hold your breath and refuse - like a seven-year-old - can you? Seriously, I mean, can we? I’m asking - though it’s probably a little late (senior year).

Now, of course, not just any appetizer toothpick or fruit pick will do - the selection process can be rather byzantine. They must be a certain length, about 2 inches longer than my finger, so my hand doesn’t block the text, and square ones are the easiest to grip. Finally, if they have a little arrow-point on the tip? Well, that’s true love.

The problem is, I can get a little intense when reading and they tend to break. When my roommates hear me exclaim, “God **** it!” At 2am. They usually know why.
.
.
A song for this:
Easier Said Than Done by Thee Sacred Souls
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.31.24:
Byzantine - very complicated, secret, and hard to understand.
Aug 31 · 299
the rear view
Anais Vionet Aug 31
Summer’s in the rearview mirror,
re-experience it at your peril,
it’ll only distract you now, and maybe depress you.

Summer shifts your orbit, from classrooms and remote zooms,
to lollygagging by beaches and snuggling in cozy hotel rooms.

As intense and vital as last summer was - as they all are -
it’s already blurring in memory.

Soon only the memory of sensations will remain,
like the warmth of the breeze and the sun on my skin
and sigh the warmth of a certain boy’s skin on my skin.

Those flashbacks ache, late at night, like phantom limbs.
.
.
Songs for this:
All I Wanna Do by Sheryl Crow
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.28.24:
Lollygag = spending time fooling around and wasting time.

Note: Skin’s important, because, well, I’m fairly covered with it.
Aug 29 · 558
classy
Anais Vionet Aug 29
Today was the first day of class.
You should have seen all the people.

Everyone couldn’t have had class, some of them must
have been gawkers, the types that slow to watch
flat tire changings and car wrecks.

Some were carrying maps - freshmen.
Like student drivers they clogged the paths,
drawing a few looks.

They gaggle together like geese,
Jeeezus - shut UP and get ON with it, freshies! I thought.
Not ungenerously - I remember being lost - back in the day.

I have class, myself - in both the intrinsic sense - of style -
and in the “research for credit” ‘check in on the first day,’ kind.

Still, we’re parading, and I’ve always loved parades.
My one regret is that there are no mimes or elephants.

ok.. poetry..
Stress is somewhere in my propinquity.
See, it’s known to stalk this vicinity.

I’m not a freshman, so it hasn’t struck yet,
but when it does, and it will, you can bet,
that initially, it will shake my tranquility
and end our start-of-year festivities.

It will creepily creep, destroying my sleep,
until I prove my scholastic resiliency.
.
.
Songs for this:
Violently Happy by Björk
Schoolin' Life by Beyoncé
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08:27.24:
Propinquity: a nearness in place or time (a synonym for proximity).
Aug 27 · 515
skoolwear
Anais Vionet Aug 27
Leeza, Lisa’s 14-year-old little sister, is anxious about the first day of school. She didn’t tell me that, I’m not sure 14-year-olds talk anymore.

Now that I’m almost 21, I can roll my eyes, like everyone else, and say, “Teenagers.”

Leeza’s a jingli, all-angles, taller than I am (when did THAT happen),
redhead who’s fast becoming a Lisa-like beauty.

School starts, for her, in 11 days and every piece of clothing she owns is draped across the furniture in her room or the floor, as she organizes her skool outfits.

There’s a pile of rejected apparel in one corner - the outcasts -
and a stack of magazine cutouts showing the clothes she plans to buy.

I wandered into her room that afternoon and she watched
me suspiciously, like I might steal her nonexistent baby.

“These might go together,” I said, holding up a top and skirt as a combo.
She winced, involuntarily, as if exposed to something distasteful.

Apparently, I’m getting old and my teen-taste is attenuated or worse yet - past its expiration date.
.
.
A song for this:
Houdini by Eminem [E]
Smells Like Teen Spirit by Nirvana
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.25.24:
Attenuate = make weaken an effect, or force.

jingli = skinny
Aug 25 · 661
lulls
Anais Vionet Aug 25
It was 64ºf and overcast this morning when Lisa and I started our 5-mile jog to the New Haven Harbor and back. We always start our semesters this way. We’re emotionally ready for fall weather and hopefully, a long and cruel winter.

Sunny, Lisa, Leong and I were starting the morning with breakfast together. We have summer catching up to do.

Of course, Sunny never does the expected. Over a bowl of heart-shaped Cheerios in the cafeteria, she announced that she’s “really going to try this year.”
“That's a choice,” Leong admitted dryly.
“You mean academically?” Lisa asked, for clarification purposes.
“Wait,” Leong updogged, “Did your parents ask for proof that you were here?”
Sunny rolled her eyes, she knew she’d get trolled with a newfangled declaration like that, but she meant it and she wasn’t tempted to elaborate.
“You’re a phoenix, rising from the ashes,” I said encouragingly.
“It’s a 4th in a lifetime opportunity,” Lisa noted.
Handling university academics is largely a structural task.
All it requires is artfully arranging information and slices of time.
“You’ve got this,” I affirmed.
“Let’s not get excited,” Sunny cautioned, “One reason I’m so hot is that I’m emotionally unavailable.”
“It’s your best quality.” Leong observed.

Tick tock, we’re all still unpacking but things are taking shape. Senior year starts in 3 days.
.
.
A song for this:
Suddenly I See by KT Tunstall
Don't You Worry 'Bout A Thing by Stevie Wonder
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.23.24:
Newfangled: something new and difficult for some to understand

Our cast:
Sunny, (roommate) 21, is from Nebraska, she’s a cowgirl (seriously, she has a quarter horse and barrel races it), she’s an outspoken fem-facing ladies-lady whose life is an endless parade of ‘sleepovers.’ Sunny knows all the best gossip and she’s somehow befriended all the professors.
Lisa, (roommate) 21, A Manhattanite and reluctant ‘glamor girl.’ My bff. A fellow (pre-med) molecular biophysics and biochemistry major.
Leong, (roommate) 21, is from Macau, China - the Las Vegas of Asia and a proud communist (don’t knock it til you’ve tried it). She and Sunny are ‘molecular, cellular, and developmental biology majors.’ I speak Cantonese - I lived in Shenzhen China (about 30 miles from Macau) - maybe that’s why she was originally paired with us?
Me, Your writer is just a simple country girl from Athens Georgia.
Aug 23 · 342
move-in
Anais Vionet Aug 23
Although we’re just moving in,
It feels like we’re lived in these rooms forever.

I can’t look around without the past coming out to play.
These ivy halls are sticky with memories now.

The movers left a while ago and I took a moment to loiter,
on our red corduroy couch, and watch my roommates settling in.

There’s an irony, for me, in the subconscious ways I adapt
to the people who surround me. Whether it’s the way I dress, talk,
laugh, act, or the things I become interested in. There’s no ossifying here.

We’ll pick up our books tomorrow and do some last minute shopping.
I’ll walk out paths to classes. I know the campus but I’m a relentless planner.

Classes start Wednesday, that’s when circumstances will take over -
the schedules and studies - we’ll mold our lives into the larger ecosystem.
.
.
A song for this:
Dreams Via Memories by Ceramic Animal
The Hardest Part by Olivia Dean
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.21.24 :
Ossify = opposed to change, hardened and inflexible.
Aug 21 · 1.9k
the terrace
Anais Vionet Aug 21
I fell asleep outside,
on Lisa’s windy, 50th floor terrace.
It was indulgent, sensual
and lethargic - it crushed.
I forgot the time.
The sunset was intense,
a violent shock of color,
like an existential smack in the face.
I felt a lot of joy.
I’m feeling optimistic.
We leave for New Haven tomorrow.
I believe in the future.

Leeza popped her head out of the glass doors,
she was wearing a small, pale, skin bikini,
“Wanna go to the (indoor basement) pool?”
I stretched like a cat, “Sure,” I purred.
.
.
a song for this:
Hit My Heart by BOY
Relax by Vacations

8.21.2pm
Our cast:
Leeza, my roommate Lisa’s 14 year old skinny, redheaded beauty of a  little sister.
Lisa, one of my Yale roommates whose parents live in a Central Park South, Manhattan Highrise
Aug 20 · 1.3k
the old poets
Anais Vionet Aug 20
The old poets haunt me
they taunt me from the shadows
following every keystroke I type -
they’re critical of phrases,
they demand narrower themes
and mock the very clichés they invented.

I remind these frightful spirits of how tenuous
life was, how I’m blindly living these experiences,
how prevalent desire is, how human it is to chase
the things we’re told will fulfill us, like goals and love.

I try and explain this Internet thing,
how the more copious my writings,
the more people it says are following me.
How I really don’t want to sound paranoid
but as hard as I try - I don’t see anyone.
.
.
Song for this:
Too Much Time On My Hands by Styx
Reelin' In The Years by Steely Dan
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.17.24:
Copious = plentiful, numerous, abundant
Aug 18 · 584
less-than-perfect
Anais Vionet Aug 18
I have a great piece coming up. This isn’t it, I misplaced it,
but as soon as I find it, I’ll post it. This one is less-than-perfect.

The less-than-perfect summer felt like love.
There were some genuine moments of glamor
and a few new, intense, sense-memories to relish.
It wasn’t easy but we performed that magic called
holidaymaking - things in life don’t just happen.

Ok, some things just happen, like slip and falls,
heatwaves, hurricanes, car accidents and aging,
but the good things, like love, and hotel bookings
usually require a little planning and effort.

On the beach there’s a sense of infinite space,
but it comes with its own kind of circumscription.
You know, deep down, that it’s only summer,
and the paradise offered is slippery and temporary.
It’s the dark side of long holiday freedom, that
the discordant noises of fun soon fade, like tans.

Strips of perfect polaroid pix, will be stuck to my dorm room wall -
scenes that will act as talismans, tchotchke-like reminders of
overly straightened hair, sweet kisses and foolish shenanigans.

So, bring on the less-than-perfect hours of study,
I’ve done it before and I’m just about ready.
Bring on the weeks of less-than-perfect sleep,
It’s senior year, the experience should be unique.
Bring on the less-than-perfect social submission,
I’m a less-than-perfect ******* a less-than secret mission.
.
.
Songs for this:
Don't Forget the Sun but The Explorers Club
Feel It Still by Portugal. The Man

08.18-2:15p
BLT Merriam Webster word of the day challenge 08.16.24:
Tchotchke: a small object used for decoration
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