childwithgun (childwithgun) wrote in battery_whores,
childwithgun
childwithgun
battery_whores

  • Music:

I have this thing about saxaphone players



::name::Erika
::age::17
::where ya from::georgia
::nickname(s)::errrka, ekika, ehhahh

RANDOM!

::what have you eaten today?::nothing
::when was the last time you showered?::last night.
::what cd is in your player RIGHT NOW?::le tigre, pixies, hxc mix
::what do you want to be when you grow up?:: fashion designer or a cosmetologist

FAVORITES!

::artists/bands (at least 7)::rilo kiley, le tigre, dance disaster movement, saetia, orchid, nora, bear vs shark, blood brothers, fear before the march of flames
::favorite movies (at least 5)::better than chocolate, the vagina monologues, gentlemen prefer blondes, the seven year itch,a walk to remember, amelie
</b>::favorite plays (if you dont know any, please consider yourself rejected and leave)::</b>Tennessee Williams'Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
i like many but this is the most recent favorite that i've seen.
::favorite books::ahhh, i can do artists but as far as books go i dont have a favorite.
::favorite artist::Cassatt
::poem::(again, this is just a recent one i've read that i immediately fell in love with)
The Improvement
by John Ashbery

Is that where it happens?
Only yesterday when I came back, I had this
diaphanous disaffection for this room, for spaces,
for the whole sky and whatever lies beyond.
I felt the eggplant, then the rhubarb.
Nothing seems strong enough for
this life to manage, that sees beyond
into particles forming some kind of entity—
so we get dressed kindly, crazy at the moment.
A life of afterwords begins.

We never live long enough in our lives
to know what today is like.
Shards, smiling beaches,
abandon us somehow even as we converse with them.
And the leopard is transparent, like iced tea.

I wake up, my face pressed
in the dewy mess of a dream. It mattered,
because of the dream, and because dreams are by nature sad
even when there's a lot of exclaiming and beating
as there was in this one. I want the openness
of the dream turned inside out, exploded
into pieces of meaning by its own unasked questions,
beyond the calculations of heaven. Then the larkspur
would don its own disproportionate weight,
and trees return to the starting gate.
See, our lips bend.



AND NOW!

::promos (at least 2)::http://www.livejournal.com/users/promofrenzy___/861.html?view=4957#t4957
http://www.livejournal.com/users/iloveyourdeath/17911.html?view=40183#t40183
::PICTURES OF YOUR VAIN SELF! at least 3, no more than 8. WITH A CLEAR SHOT OF YOUR FACE. non of that, back of the head shit::





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