post midnight ventures
yeild covert errand flurries
silent excitement

How Do I Say This...

Growing up I was often prone to procrastination, only able to do outstanding work in the face of a dangerously close headline. Working in a writing center in college changed that about me, and I'm now able to enjoy and benefit of the writing process.


But dang, it's been dificult for me to actually post anything here. It's been so long since I've done much personal writing; it feels as if I've spent so much time finding, and writing in, the perfect voice for whatever brand, product, or service that I seem to have lost my own writing style. Something for which a favorite literature professor in college, Dr. Sean McDowell, once commented that I should "give praise daily." Perhaps I've neglected the proper genuflections for far too long.

I suppose that's the partly the idea of The Tongue Press. My original vision of the tongue press is of an antique Platen printing press with a large simple line drawing of a tongue being inked as it was wheeled through. Now the 'press' is taking on a different meaning, one of squeezing words out, forcing myself to write honestly.

It's Like Riding a Bike...

I never leaned to ride a bicycle, but had made it my end of summer goal. I have no idea where to start or who to ask for advice, all I know is that I have a trip to the Netherlands in November (2 years in the making) and bike riding is mandatory, as we are staying on a schamcy house boat just out of the city.

I am scared. Despite growing up in a very manicured cookie-cutter middle class suburb my parents did not allow me to go outside to play with the many neighborhood children, not even in the backyard, for fear I would get raped. Not kidding. My siblings and I are first generation Americans, and my parents very paranoid and conservative. No walking to the school bus stop alone. No shaving of legs. No playing outside. And therefore no learning to ride a bicycle.

Looking back at it from adulthood it's not such a big deal, and if it wasn't for the upcoming travel plans I could have lived the rest of my life happily unable to peddle a two wheeled vehicle. Now I realize I'm terrified of falling. I never learned how to play.

fie, insomnia
do athiests pray for sleep?
i implore thee, Sandman...

in the wee hours
even the pen can betray
Freud me to death, please

Valentine's Day Afterthoughts

Perhaps it was the uncharacteristic downpour (verses a customary mizzle) this past weekend, but the recent holiday of love/hate/spite was particularly pervasive. I was surprised how many of my friends and acquaintances (read: Facebook friends) were affected.

• Many folks were avoiding leaving their homes, or avoiding all people in general, as if going to hang at the neighborhood bar would infect the plague.
• Others were scrambling for plans. Omfg please don't leave me alone! I don't want to be Lonely.
• Yet simultaneously an unwillingness to commit to anything solid... just in case.
• The absurdity of watching the over analysis of otherwise platonic social invitations.
• Random outcries of hate! And desire! And more hate!

I ended up with a motley group of friends, single and not, drinking the blanket anxiety away and making whiskey-fueled merriment. As for me, I was happy to be single. This time last year was rough. Constant fighting with my then partner, and I'd been recently laid off. A breakup followed shortly thereafter. Frolicking in the land of free and clear dating has been a welcome change to the many years of long term relationship. What's the big deal? Sure, it'd be nice to fall asleep in a pair of cuddly arms, but I was perfectly happy spending another night in an empty bed, same as any other night. It was kind of comforting really. I kept my mouth shut, knowing I'd be very unpopular otherwise.

Walking home alone that evening a Whitney Houston song popped into my head, one of my first favorite songs around age 5. It seemed to sum up well, everything really. A very happy-go-lucky dance song whose beat urges the listener to bop and smile, but delineating the woes of loneliness, heartbreak, and longing at the same time was exactly the smiling-through-gritted-teeth-slash-tears that filled the air of the pub all night.

I laughed out loud at the thought, secret shimmying down a wet alley and looking around, half hoping someone heard me so I could share the small, giddy revelation. (Music Nerd Sidenote: I Wanna Dance With Somebody is pretty much the 1986 version of I Don't Feel Like Dancing by the Scissor Sisters. Just sayin'.)

So when the night falls/My lonely heart calls...

Now you've done it!

Hooray! I've finally started a public blog, just like I always said I would.


I've been sitting at the same internet cafe for about 7 hours now. My bum is half asleep, I'm highly caffeinated, and I'm maybe about to witness another round of barista shifts end. Life is absurd and satisfying.


A few random items:

• I am highly curious to see what the folks out there in internet land do with YouTube Doubler. So far it seems that pairing a crazy rant with hip hop beats or silly mid-90's songs is highly amusing.The possibilities are endless!
• A teenager at the table next to me just asked her friends, "Who is Peewee Herman?" My eyes grew wide and I'm glad I managed to not gasp aloud. Don't these kids watch VH1's I Love the 80's? Le sigh.
• "Tom's Diner" by Suzane Vega is even creepier a Capella.

Tonight I drink to The Blank Page.