Why do I still have Lamb of God on my iTunes?... Oh, yeah. That's why.

So it's reading week and I'm in my dorm room.
The reason being is that I live to far away to actually go home.
But I cannot wait to go home for Christmas so I can finally see my friends and family/dog/real bed.
(mostly the real bed)
So I'm gonna stick it out until Christmas break. I miss my old friends so much that I could cry (it's probably not helping that I'm listening to You and Me by Lifehouse (such a bad song but sooo good at the same time))
So far my reading break is going by just swimmingly. I'm determined to keep busy with the following agenda:
1.Finish research on my finally essay for Medieval studies (why did I choose the topic of Druids? WHY OH WHY???)
2.Finish reading two books for various courses.
3.Start my English Essay.
4.Stretch my ears to double zero, after almost a year at zero. (Suck it mom. It's MY body)
5.Take photos on my film camera.
6.Fuck around on campus.
7.Fuck around off campus.
8.Try not to eat too much junk food (and failing completely)

Hypothetics

I'd love to see the way you'd braid my hair
How your fingers would tremble after every plait
The pattern would get lost in your mind
You'd hesitate...
... And start again from scratch

I often dream of how you'd hold an instrument
In your arms,
As a child
You'd play like nobody cared about
Sour notes, and sing as if
Your pitch were perfect
I'd neglect the off keys

You'd please me a lot,
If you read books
Books that were falling apart,
Books so obscure the public library would
Blink three times and turn us away
I'd walk into your room and smell your knowledge
I'd stick my nose in between
Every volume,
And breathe in your scent

I'm sure you'd send postcards
From your travels
And memorize my home telephone
So that you could hear
My voice
So that I could hear yours
You'd write letters with a feather quill
So that you could give them to me,
The next day

My sleepless eyes wouldn't bother you
Tiptoe around my feelings,
Like a hunter at night
I'd read between your lines, as you'd speak
Cryptic messages to me,
Tangled in vines
But by the end we'd be too tired
And instead decide,
To settle down to watch a movie
The one you'd like.

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

I do not have time for poetry.

College is like highschool
Except with more homework
Except with more at steak
Except with no parents
And more booze
And unlimited junkfood.

I don't understand why the engineers get frosh week but the rest of us don't...

University Student here! Getting to know my way around Victoria and the campus. Getting to know some awesome people, and also getting to know some fucking loud ass people in my dorm. Like fuck you I'm studying!!! Anyway every chance we get we party our faces off here. But I feel like sometimes partying is counter productive. You never actually get to know someone while partying. That's why I'm excited for classes to get going. I wanna fucking get to know some sweet ass people. So far there's no one in my classes that I've particularly bonded with. Don't worry though I've made friends. There's Emily, who I knew would be my bff the first night. Like it was blatantly obvious we were meant for each other. She's exactly like me but somehow way more fucking hilarious and stylish. And then there's Noah who me and Emily met that first night. Tall lanky kid from Salt Spring Island, probably hasn't been properly introduced to technology, quasi-hippie, kind of hilarious. And then there's Vanessa. She's super sweet and easy to talk to and get along with and she's super fucking beautiful like Im so effing jealous GTFO. So this be my crew, although none of them are in my faculty. So i figure I need to open up my metaphorical doors and see who else is out there. It's only the first week. I'm sure it'll be fine.

The new news

I am packing my life into boxes... well, for University of course! Except right now I'm obviously procrastinating. I don't really think it's hit me yet that I'm leaving Fort St. John behind. I'm sure it will hit me once I'm in Victoria. The thing is I don't even know if I know what's actually happening, and I'm worried I'm not taking this seriously because I have no feelings about leaving. In July I was all "EAT MY DUST FORT ST JOHN I HOPE YOU WITHER IN SELF LOATHING ABYSS WITHOUT ME MUHAHA IM LEAVING BITCH, CHEERS!" and all that. But now it's different. I'm still happy that I'll be able to start fresh but it's starting to don on me that I'm leaving things behind.. perhaps unfinished. Like for instance I had a dream a few nights ago where all my friends were saying goodbye to me and we were all crying. Not to mention that I've been having trouble sleeping these last few days. I really hope my body's not trying to tell me something. Like that I'm gonna FAIL at living this next step of life. The thing is though that in my head I'm not scared (even though I'm sure my body's been feeling anxious for a while).

Also another thing I've been thinking about is friends. I better make some good-ass friends. They better be down to have some good times if you know what I mean. I'm moving into residence so I know I'll meet lots of people but I wanna make sure I meet the right people for me. It is also very important to me that I not lose touch with my friends here. That would just suck balls. Seriously.

**Woah, I just got really sidetracked for a second and made up a scenario in my head about me coming back to town next April and discovering that there's a new girl that looks alot like me and dresses like me and everyone's friends with her. I'm pretty sure I'd cry.... and then punch the absolute shit out of her.

***There's been an ant doing circles beside my computer for the past hour. I feel bad for it because it's apparent that it's lost his way.

But anyway I will probably write vigorously about my adventures (or non-adventures) in University. So if you wish to stalk my collegiate life then you should probably do so through this blog. I promise I'll try and keep it up to date. I should probably go finish packing now. Don't wanna show up to Victoria with no underwear! So I will sign off by quoting Pudge from "Looking For Alaska" by John Green and Francois Rabelais before him: "I go to seek a Great Perhaps"

Songs of the Summer

The Bay -Metronomy
Believe -Cher (yeah, what up?)
Rabiosa -Shakira ft. Pit Bull
Rest -Parts and Labor
Battery Kinzie -Fleet Foxes
Dreamer -Jenn Grant
Man Down -Rihanna
Virgin -Manchester Orchestra
Starry Eyed -Ellie Goulding
St. Andrews -Bedouin Soundclash
Lithium -Nirvana
Party Rock Anthem -LMFAO (duhh)
Wonderland -Natalia Kills
Volcano Girls -Veruca Salt
Pursuit of Happiness -Kid Cudi
Ahange To -Sami Beigi (this song is Persian, retard)
6 Foot 7 Foot -Lil Wayne ft. Corey Gunz
Taj Mahal -Sam Roberts
Winter Night -Sweet Thing
Holocene -Bon Iver
Plug In Baby -Muse (Fuck yeah for re-discovering your old favorite songs!)
Atlantic -Midway State
Simple Math -Manchester Orchestra
Pumped Up Kicks -Foster the People
My Body -Young the Giant (most kickass song ever, just saying)
Super Bass -Nicki Minaj
Fader -The Temper Trap
Moves Like Jagger -Maroon5 ft. Christina Aguilera

I can hear the bells that strike in hell.

Is this a crossroad
Or a question?
Do I feel defeat?
This great feat, this canyon,
That gathers at my feet
It all crept up on me
Like a cozy, anonymous creek.
But this feels more comparable
To a serpent-monster.
A silent incubus that's been
Waiting between my sheets.
While everyone is watching,
Waiting for me to jump into the deep.
Can't I hold on to a map,
Or the past?
A nostalgic notion
That promises circular laps?
I'd dig trenches in
Midwinter Alaskan earth
Just to have history within grasp.
But time gave me a one way ticket.
There is no going back.
There is no cutting slack.
There is no 11:11.
No Angel in this black.
Wishing never worked
This hourglass will not crack.
It has all come down to this:
This canyon,
This cliff.
Into hard, unforgiving abyss
The Darkness of uncertainty
Anticipation of bliss
All that can be done now is to wait,
Coiled up like a panther.
Ready to pounce
At the sound of disaster.

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

AMERICA. By Allen Ginsberg

America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb.
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in the right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself throught the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are you libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over from Russia

I'm addressing you.
Are going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.

Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joint of marijuana, million of genitals, an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles an hour and twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm Catholic.

America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his automobiles more so they're all different sexes.
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe.
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sabbo & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings, they sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket, a ticket cost a nickel and the speeches were free, everybody was angelic and sentimental about the workers, it was all so sincere, you have no idea what a good thing the party was in 1835, Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have been a spy.
America you don't really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. Her wants our auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracu running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.

-Allen Ginsberg


I fucking love this poem.

I'm trying to be positive.

I want to be the breeze that rustles between the trees
The universal truth that puts one's mind at ease
A dove, a sparrow, a pair of wings that scares only few
The moment of hesitation before you kiss someone new
And though all I want to be is already a part of me
To imagine my possibilities would be unfathomable
I am the one who dares to scale the highest precipice
I am the poet who can swim to the bottom of the blue.

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

Forever Young.

All the young, all the young
Die so fast.
The cord is cut
You hit the ground
And you run hard against the blast.
All the young, oh the young
Die so fast.
Every fresh breath
Leaves us closer to our last.
And if destiny doesn't choose
All the young, someone young
To pluck from their hopeful path
From their mother's arms
Their destiny only merely begun;
The rest slowly die
Caving inwardly
From the burden of loss,
Youth evanesce from their eyes
Innocence inching towards sacrifice
And that's when youth truly dies.

Written by: Niloo Farahzadeh

There are so many young people that have lost their lives in my town this past year.
I'd give anything to bring them back. Even if I didn't know them all very well.
I cannot even begin to fathom what my friends that were close with these people are feeling.
This poem is dedicated to those who aren't with us anymore, and to their friends and families.
Hope the youth never fades from your eyes.