Archive for April 2011

Back in Georgia... It's like a trap.

Posted on Sunday, April 24, 2011 by Ashley Allen


Well, Happy Easter or whatever. My Muslim friend kept saying “Fuck yo’ Easter, I’m Muslim!” So… I guess Happy Sunday to you.

I’m still in Atlanta and I still have no power in the house so I guess I’m just chilling out for the whole time I’m here. I’m stealing electricity to power my laptop from neighbors. They’ll be fine. They could bite me.

Some people nearly fought over me at a party last night. The fact that people feel the need to go so out of their way to make me feel uncomfortable makes me feel like some sort of celebrity. Thanks for making me feel like I mean something guys. In your own insane and bitch-made way, you’ve let me know that I was a bomb friend.

Party at Ashley’s house! Bring a candle.

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There's no electricity in my house.

by Ashley Allen

I'll talk about last night when I feel like I can steal electricity from someone else.

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Proof that I'm being productive

Posted on Monday, April 18, 2011 by Ashley Allen


Although making a gif of me and Kern can't really count as productive... What better do I have to do, really?!

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I'm too tired to legitimately write anything.

Posted on Saturday, April 9, 2011 by Ashley Allen

I can however muster up enough strength to let you know that whoever you are reading this, I can whoop your ass at pool. I'm shockingly good... Who knew?

Also, I'm freakishly tired not just because I was whooping peoples ass on a pool table (which I was) but because I came home and then made this:


You see, it's great because we have human heads with stick figure bodies in a field of flowers WATCHING YOU. Jokes are never funny after they are explained. I'm just too damn tired to care. Whatever man. Love my art.

Don't be too upset [viewing participant]. One day I might make a crappy MS Paint rendition of our friendship too...
I'm pathetic.

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Try to publish my crappy art?

Posted on Friday, April 8, 2011 by Ashley Allen



Short fiction:
We're looking for submissions that are under 5000 words. Flash fiction submissions are also accepted, under 250 words. We want to fall in love with your characters, whether they are villains, victims, waitresses, athletes, or animals. We cherish work that inspires and provokes us. Please edit your stories carefully before submitting.
Send submissions to celeste@punksoulpoet.com. Paste the story within the body of the email. No attachments, please.
Poetry:
The curve of a line of words
may sway like a tender current.
Yet some lay low and rough
like hollow mollusks.
Each round word,
a hand plucked pearl.
In other words, give us words that are carefully chosen, and move us. Please don't submit more than four pieces at a time. Include a short bio. Again, a list of achievements isn't necessary, but feel free to include anything about yourself. If you've been published, we'd happy to hear about it! Ultimately, a unique voice, published or not, will get our attention.
Send submissions to celeste@punksoulpoet.com. Paste your poems within the body of the email. No attachments, please.


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I got this information directly off of the website. Does anyone think I should bother trying? It's not like my stories are doing anything but gathering dust in a blog no one reads. I might as well try to do something with them, right?

Feedback please? Anyone?

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Hey, look!

by Ashley Allen


You probably can't tell because the picture is all small, but my new nose ring is so CUTE! I freaking love me, I swear. 

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No, seriously. I just spent 30 minutes trying to figure out how to make THATUPTHEREPICTURE just so I could say 3 sentences. 

Seriously.
Damn, I'm bored.

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I just... I can't even... I don't... //OUTRAGE//

Posted on Wednesday, April 6, 2011 by Ashley Allen

So, I walked into the bathroom this morning. Not a public bathroom. Not a gas station off the highway bathroom. Not an amusement park bathroom. The bathroom in my house. And do you know know what I found? PISS EVERYWHERE!

How does that even happen? And I know it was my uncle who did it. What kind of grown man doesn't know how to aim? And even if you find yourself incapable of that task, what happened to wiping the seat?

WHAT HAPPENED TO WIPING THE SEAT?!

I just don't understand. I'm dumbfounded. The disgust level is just... so high.
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Oh, and if you're wondering why I'm dressed so dapper, it's because I had the flu and I'm still pretty sick. I was supposed to be going out today, but fuck that. Jessica was supposed to meet me over by the Junction because she has $20 for me, and let's be real, I need that $20. Being poor ain't no joke. But when I wake up this morning and ask her what time she wants to meet up, this is the response I get.

Yeah, not heading to Mom's house though. Would you wanna meet me at my house?

NO! No, I would not like to meet you at your house. I said that I was feeling less zombie today, sure. But I never said that I was feeling well enough to trek 45 minutes via bus, train, and burro all the way to your house while you rest in the luxury of your living room and patiently wait for me there. NO! I'm sick. Every time I cough it feels like rocks are rolling around in my head. So, I repeat, no. I would not want to meet you at your house. You can give me money later.
Am I a jerk? Who cares. I'm unwell.

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I am everything you think I am. I will always fall short of your expectations.
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