26 January 2009


the greatest essay ever is Ralph Waldo Emerson's Self-Reliance. i was required to read it in english my junior year and it proved to be possibly the most exquisite set of principles i had ever consumed. plus, it's pretty straightforward; none of that metaphorical shit.
even though i love metaphors.

22 January 2009

i didn't know i had this much snot in me.

i've sneezed approximately eighty-five times these last two days.
i have wadded up kleenex all over the house. GERMS!

i feel like a vagabond. that's a good thing.
besides my oh so hearty diet consisting of mushy foods and cheesecake, i'm doing fine. i believe i had some sort of allergic reaction to the anesthesia (even though i haven't in the past) because there's no other explanation for this sneezing business. but you know, that doesn't make much sense because i've never had any sort of allergy my entire life. just like how i've never been stung by a bee. or tasted liver.

okay enough with the bullshit. you wanna know something?
I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT I'M DOING. i'm so unsure about everything in my life except for my sister and that i have to put gas into my car tomorrow morning. i'm so good at hiding my big bowl of nutzo and smoothing it over with my poised confidence n shit. whatev.

i have been reunited with the art of laying around. in addition to all this sneezing, i've been doing nothing but moping aimlessly around the house. my sister has been kind enough to stay the night and cater to my every need (even though i'm perfectly capable of doing anything), fetching me a beverage here and playing immense amounts of silent hill when i don't want to. you see, i'm sort of a couch potato. i forgot how much i love doing NOTHING.

god i love color me badd. not afraid to admit it, either!

i'm very critical of my writing and this passage SUX. a fourth grader could write this.

QUICK! the first fifteen thoughts to appear in my head:
  1. i'm running my tongue over the reconstructed palette of my mouth and it feels weird.
  2. i love diet coke.
  3. i love color me badd, again.
  4. even though i shook my head quite vigorously after i shaved it, little pieces of hair are still stuck in my shirt and are poking me. i'm going to change my shirt.
  5. i need to fill out my scholarship thing for theatre. OH NO. time is running out.
  6. i'd like to drop everything and drive up to maine.
  7. my hair feels nice.
  8. nutzo.
  9. methadone?
  10. these really aren't the first fifteen thoughts to appear in my head.
  11. my wastebasket is piling up with kleenex.
  12. i keep bringing up my nasal malfunctions, i know, i'm sorry, i can't help it.
  13. i don't know what my schedule is for this second semester...
  14. "i love the way you groove, way you groove, way you groove, way you groove, i love the way you groove me." -from the sultry lyrics of 90s hit pop group, color me badd
  15. something is amidst and i don't know what it is. good? bad? i don't know.

good god.

16 January 2009

oh no.

i have a sixth sense about these things.

that's why i do not get my hopes up.

my parents should get a divorce, i should throw my car into the junkyard, and stop being friends with >>>>

15 January 2009



(i suppose this is more of a venting site for me b/c it's not so publicly advertised and i don't like boring people with my problems but...)

funny how your parents act the way they do towards each other
funny how your car dies, again
funny how your friends don't come right out and say it
funny how you get sick, again
(and that's just a taste!)

i tell ya, lots of funny things in this present situation.
y'know, though, i like experiencing bad problems, because getting over something is such a grand feeling. i mean truly not giving a shit about it anymore. yeah, it's awesome. i'm not being sarcastic.

i feel a lot better when i write things down-not talking verbally about it-but writing. i don't know; seems official.


college apps are done. thank goodness.
i'm starting to write my fountainhead scholarship essay. i have the first paragraph done. i have until april to complete it.
i could care less what people say; that book is fucking amazing, even if ayn rand writes of her philosophies with such tenacity.

Perhaps one of literature’s most unconventional, yet
excruciatingly poised love stories lies within the raw relationship between a
minimalist and a woman beyond her years. Composed in such cutthroat manners
leads to the magnitude of this relationship, possibly contributing the most
cohesive addition to Ayn Rand’s philosophy in regards to mankind’s ego.
Soaring through every emotion and contemplation known to the human mind and
soul, The Fountainhead demonstrates the life of a man in which all should
conceive as if their own was based on said ego. And what is a more
bittersweet donation to human psyche than the fragile concept concerning matters of the heart? The weakness in all of us surfaces once love is introduced;
it is implausible exactly how much power the heart holds over even the most
adamant of theorists, thus exemplified through the actions of our two lovers—the
avant-garde love account of Howard Roark and Dominique Francon.
Ayn Rand wastes not a single word; every bit of dialogue (which is of the utmost catty and eloquent wit) contains substance; every deed and/or exploit contains
intentions greater than what may meet the eye, as shown through Dominique’s
peculiar approach on

that's all i GOT thus far. not too shabby if i do say so myself. but it's very rough. VERY rough. still "high school" quality writing; won't settle for that.
won't settle for anything.


10 January 2009


Something is successively coursing within my veins that I can’t seem to cease. And since I, Samantha Rios, am one of the worst Homo sapiens to ever attempt to get my feelings accurately portrayed to some other life source, whether it be another human being or my cat or a leaf or the mailman, I’m not even going to endeavor to explain what I undergo. I’ve stated it before: I’m restless though I can’t seem to put my finger on what it is I’m unerringly craving.
I thrive in feeling out of my body. The majority of people benefit from it as well, but I mean I THRIVE. Because it takes me back. It’s as if the whiffs of sentiment overrule any other infinitesimal consciousness. By whiffs I don’t mean literally, however smell is quite the source of nostalgia.

I adore the senses. I’m so glad they exist. Life as a rock or mineral would really suck. With the most palpable sense: sight, yea, it’s there, when I see old Little Golden books I used to read, or I look at old drawings I made, I get slapped in the face with memories. Have you noticed yet I like memories? I like them, but I never want to relive them. There’s a difference. And I when I smell this one particular air freshener, it reminds me of family pack I got once at Sam’s club and put all throughout my house in Lexington. OH MY GOD I miss that house so much. Anyway, back to air fresheners, I hadn’t smelled that particular scent since probably July 2006 when I moved and earlier this summer, I was walking through the Target double entrance (you know, that little enclave between one entrance and the next) and the aroma struck me. Do you know how blissful/dejected I was? How could that modest little smell get so much out of me? Because. Because I don’t forget anything. Well, to be more correct, I don’t forget about anything. Nothing, though, beats the auditory side of things. I’m not going to establish, because I won’t bring to a halt.

I feel like I just recycle everything I write; I write the same thing over and over again. Maybe I do, WHATEV. I don’t give a flyin fuck if that is the case.

I cleaned my bathtub this morning. That needed to be done, but I kept pushing it off. Well no longer because it is sparkling now.

I’d like to rinse my brain into a cup and pour that cup into a filter and pour the filtered juice into a blender with some other ingredients and dump it back into my brain.

Jagged. Thoughts. Are. The. Best.

I’m done.

07 January 2009

BEAT ME vroom vroom BEAT ME.

"I cannot speak of what I feel
And yet I feel so much
I know that woman's arms can heal me
Like an angel's touch
She says she likes the accent
She thinks it's so polite
I think she going to like it more
When we're alone tonight."

he's crazy. he's insane. he's senile. BUT HIS MUSIC IS SO GOOD; swangy and furthermore quite arousing.
plus he's really attractive.

anyway, with that tribute to adam ant out of the way, i'm sitting here absorbing heat into my sub-zero body; i'm going to list some objectives of which anticipate profitable outcomes.

Objectives of which Anticipate Profitable Outcomes:

1. Remembering to squeeze out sponges after you've washed dishes and avoiding the urge to throw said sponge in a dark place, encouraging the act of molding.
2. Writing down steps to calculus problems alongside your numerical work.
3. Not drinking the last few sips of a beverage contained in a can. You do not know what's swimming at the bottom of that can. No one is going to miss those last few sips. Call it wasting as you very well have the right to; I call it SMARTS.
4. At least know what "poop" and "pee" translate to in Spanish.
5. When packing, roll your clothes up like a joint (and stuff socks and other fillers in the center) to avoid wrinkles. You should already know this.
6. Tell someone if they have a pen mark on their face. It's the courteous thing to do.
7. Dilute all excess noise and seal yourself with saran wrap and lie in your tub and then put on Royksopp so loud that the bass echoes off the saran wrap. This will get all the oil and poison out of your skin.
8. Reserve time to clip your kitty cat's nails every weekend.
10. Skip #9 when listing objectives.

I am so worn down, butcha'll still never catch up with me.

04 January 2009


so today, the dead next door by billy idol consumed me as i drove down the freeway. it was dark out and i had the song on repeat; the volume was turned up so high that i felt the bass reverberate in my ears. i had the seat warmers on; my windows were up, encouraging the entrapment. just the song going through me.
when i got to my destination, i sat there with the car off but the music still going.
for like ten minutes.
twas nice.
i don't have much to say.

actually, now it's ten oh eight pm right now and these songs i haven't been able to stop listening to:
ces petites choses - ann savoy
un rayo de sol - le mans
paris (aeroplane remix) - friendly fires
baby - os mutantes
i wish i could see you soon - herman dune
d.a.r.l.i.n.g. - beach house
death - white lies
squeeze me - kraak & smaak
don't you ever get tired of hurting me - bettye swann
to the sky - the cure
ragoo - kings of leon
golden cage (fred falke remix) - the whitest boy alive
implode alright - built by snow
sometimes the night... - barzin

that's it, on repeat over and over and over again.

03 January 2009

a few hours after this.

you know.

when you know something can't happen simply based on the logistics of the situation, yea, it's called having a reality check. it's really a shame. like when you know you'll never spend the night in that furniture store simply because...well, you just can't. and you accept it.

i want to jump ahead three weeks please, please please please please. hell, i want to jump ahead about six months.

i can't wrap my head around the ins and outs of what i surround myself in everyday. how i can't allow myself to think certain things or admit to feeling a certain way. why do i have such a tight grip on myself? i sure do hate rhetorical questions. questions are meant to be answered.

that's why it's nice to turn the focus on petty things and the cure's 70s songs. though those songs are not petty. i guess i am a nut. nah. not really.

OH WOE IS ME i don't even know what i'm complaining about.

this is third grade quality writing. fantastic. to the sky i go, i have no idea where i'm heading. i am on drugs and am super depressed. people who claim depression as their lingering substantial emotion 24/7 are pathetic. i think, what, like 1 out of 15 people who use that term too loosely are legimately "depressed" but you never know, i could be wrong. bullshit, i'm never wrong.

that's a lie. sorry. i will never lie to you again.

everything is anything but anything is nothing because nothing is something and we all know something cannot be everything unless everything is all.

can you speak my language? please? can you be the one?