Saturday, February 26, 2011

poetry propaganda

Hi, kids. Listen up.

This is the commercial for the 2011 Honda Civic. Watch it.

Here is an unexpected string of poetry, here's a surprising shock of beauty tiptoeing across a marketed America and going unnoticed by car-buyers and channel-changers everywhere.

This is poetry, guys.

I hope you like it. I hope you don't think I'm ridiculous for being so blown away by this car commercial that I caught on TBS. If you do, it's fine.

And now, I think I'll go buy me a Honda Civic.

Mine + Yours = Ours.
-Avery Jalaine

Thursday, February 24, 2011

the rules of perfection

Have you ever done one of these: See a hottie from far away and everything is fine because he has perfect hair and nice ankles and is wearing this red sweater... So, of course, you get closer. And closer. And closer until you can see him well and lo and behold, he's got an unfortunate nose and an ape-ish brow and acne and a fohawk and a peachfuzz 'stache and that sweater you mistook as stylin' turned out to be pretty offensive and also it's not red it's actually orange.

It's frustrating, to say the least.

Now, let me ask you this: Have you ever actually found a real hottie, the one who is pretty and graceful and has nice ankles and a funny little smile and even up close he doesn't lose any of his potential loveliness? In fact, he seems to gain loveliness the more you watch? So he's perfect, isn't he? But then, have you ever actually met him or heard him speak, and suddenly he's not so perfect anymore because maybe he is terribly terribly dull or he likes country music or he's cocky or kind of slutty in a boyish way or he was born without a personality?

And suddenly you almost hate him because you put him on this pedestal and fabricated this golden personality for him, where he got a 34 on the ACT and writes poetry and hates all of the low-brainpower girls who wear tiny clothes and throw themselves at him and he has a smart sense of humor and likes old film and he reads thick books that even you have never heard of and he's loyal and he could throw a beautiful punch if he ever had to defend you or something.

But he doesn't do any of that stuff.

My advice to you is this: don't hate him. You don't have to love him anymore, or really even like him much at all. But don't hate him just because you set him up for failure. You were the one that made him "perfect", and you're far from it so he was bound to let you down, wasn't he? Don't hate the boy.

I give myself very good advice, but I very seldom follow it.

Get some sleep.
-Avery Jalaine

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

I think that things, in general, are pretty unfair.

Wait, blogging? What's that?
-Avery Jalaine

Monday, February 21, 2011

more poetry, because i can't think of anything else to say


by Avery Jalaine Taylor

Night fell softly
and the moon outside your window
was anxious and clever and full of teeth
all waiting for you to sleep.

And me in my bed
Unbraiding dreams.
and in between.
You woke up in the dark.

The night stretched tight
(tight as our lungs in a waking dream
of sleeping underwater.)
And did you say my name
as you screamed awake
(as you screamed awake to the sound of my voice?)
You could be far from here.
You could be far away from my window
and my bed and the crack of light under my door
where you know I sleep so soundly.

You could be somewhere far from here,
under a different sky than me.
But we'll both fall asleep to
the same blue-grey moon.
The same suggestion of dreaming of you
(of dreaming of me)
But time will not stop
and stars will not fall
and the grind of the earth circling the sun
will not be loud enough to keep you awake.

Let's go to sleep

That one is sort of old. Anyway.
I'll think of something interesting to post soon, I promise.

President's Day.
-Avery Jalaine

Saturday, February 19, 2011


(song of the day: The Sun by Portugal. The Man. I just added it to my playlist, so you don't even have to stress out about Googling it.)


I am a hypochondriac.

Hypochondria: noun. Abnormal anxiety centered around imaginary physical ailments.)

I spend most of my life convinced that I'm about to drop dead, and when I'm not on my death bed, I'm thinking about the next threat of illness, putting hand sanitizer all over myself. But it's not usually little things like, "I bet I have a cold". It's always those really bizarre diseases you see on
Medical Mysteries, where you cry blood or have an unborn twin inside of you or something.

Mostly everything makes me believe I have cancer.

Some symptoms:
  • Stomach ache: colon cancer
  • Headache: brain tumor
  • Earache: brain tumor
  • Do you hear that ringing sound?: brain tumor
  • Growing pains: leukemia
  • Cough: lung cancer
  • Examine freckles; they're deformed!: skin cancer
  • Arm itches: skin cancer
  • Feeling fatigued: most forms of cancer, plus Chronic Fatigue Syndrome
  • Have to pee: bladder cancer

And that's the story of how I jinxed myself into dying of cancer. G'night. Sleep well.

Tell. Don't tell.

-Avery Jalaine

Tuesday, February 15, 2011

the truth about oblivion

(The Truth About Oblivion, by Avery Jalaine Taylor; courtesy of Creative Writing, A1.


And like the apocalypse, the devastation isn't apparent.

It's quiet in the air like a carbon monoxide leak, like someone is mouthing words with no voice.

It's like wet wallpaper, crawling down the wall of a falling-down house.

And so this is loneliness.

And so this is captivation.

And so this is what you get for being a little reckless when you were 16.

This is the middle, this is charm. This is a planet with no air.

So here's to hoping.

Here's to getting off this star, and going somewhere lightyears and lightyears away.

It's a bone-breaking silence. It's a war.
It's the exact opposite of the feeling that someone is watching you. It's the feeling that no one is.

This is oblivion.

This is me and my own universe without a single other soul. Me and the moon.

the end.

Oh, and I really like jazz music, you know?

Be sophisticated like me: drink peppermint tea out of over-sized mug with a mural of a pig with wings, labeled appropriately, "Cupig".
-Avery Jalaine

Friday, February 11, 2011


Well, I'd just like to point out that this is what's on my keys right now:

Yeah, his name is Takuma. Yeah, that is a Chinese throwing star accessory that you see.

I understand your jealousy, and I sympathize. Not all of us are so lucky as me to have such a kick-butt ninja keychain.

I'll never be sad ever again.

-Avery Jalaine

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Roah (Or, How Addy Convinced Yet Another Boy That I Am Obsessed With Him)

Oh! Hello. I have a story for you.

Does everyone remember when I used to think it was immensely funny to tag a certain boy named Roah in every single one of my posts, in various ways? If not, check out all the tags in my sidebar, I'm sure you'll find all the evidence you need there in the "R" category.

I started doing it (in this post) because of this one time when Addy tagged him among a bunch of blatantly girly things like "lipstick" and "cake", and I was like "irony!", so I tagged him and then it sort of became a habit. And no big deal because it's not like Roah was ever going to read my blog, right? (wrong)

Then Addy told me a "funny" story last weekend about how Roah had come over to her house and she suddenly thought that it was an excellent time to show him all of the tags on my blog. Dear old Addy.

At first I thought: "No big deal. She told him the story and it's fine." Then I went to my tags list to review what I'd said, and I realized that I'm totally creepy.

Roah's Probable Interpretations of the Tags:

What I said: "Roah got in a car wreck today."
Roah translation: "Avery stalks me."
Reality: We were at Cafe Rio at the same time and I witnessed the fender-bender. I drove away planning how I'd tag it, thinking that I was very clever.

What I said: "RoahRoahRoah."
Roah translation: "Avery is obsessed with me."
Reality: I was running out of ways to use "roah" as a tag.

What I said: "Roah my main man." or also: "Roah bff?"
Roah translation: "Avery is delusional and thinks we're friends and will probably come to my house at night and kill my family."
Reality: I find it unendingly funny to pretend to be best friends with people who I don't speak to. Obviously this is a personality trait that is prone to backfiring and I should seek other normal things to find humor in, that don't involve fabricating relationships with strange boys at high school.

What I said: "Roah (he's been wearing this hot black coat lately fyi)."
Roah translation: "Avery is obviously very much in love with me."
Reality: So it was a nice coat!

And that should clear everything up, right? Swell.

And lastly, a letter to the real Roah that he won't receive, just to make myself feel better.

Dear Roah,
Do not distress. I am not obsessed with you. You wear nice looking coats sometimes. Addy is to blame for everything.
p.s. you have girl feet. kthxbai.

Must I sleep?
-Avery Jalaine

Tuesday, February 1, 2011

paper trail

((song of the day: sticks and stones by jonsi. it's icelandic love.))

Today at high school, this girl pointed to the book she was reading and asked me: "Have you read this?"

I said yes.

She said: "Does it get better in the middle?"

I said sort of.

She said: "I just can't get through it! I've had it checked out of the library for two months."

I said Oh really because I actually kind of liked it and I read it in two or three days.

And then she stared and stared and stared at me and said: "You've actually read an
entire book in two days!?!" And then I stared and stared and stared at her and eventually started laughing and couldn't really stop. And she said: "What's so funny?" and smiled like it was something she said, but I ignored her and kept laughing because What Was So Funny was that I read an entire book today. And an entire book yesterday. And one on Sunday. And one on Saturday.

She wouldn't get it.

Is it so bad to devour books?

I. Think. Not.

-Avery Jalaine