Living with dogs is like accepting sexual deviants into your home.
“I’m going to chew on this plastic replication of a duck while I get a raging boner”
“Really? That’s cool. I’m just going to sit her a lick my own ass hole for twenty minutes while making the worst noises with my tongue you’ve ever heard.”
They hump your leg, the sniff your crotch.
I’m starting to think I’m a cat person.
From my Faulkner Pastiche assignment from Southern Lit Class. :
“I was at the psychiatrists,” she would say. “He says that you are causing me mental duress.” Or sometimes she had been to a judge to see about putting Patty in an orphanage, sometimes she had been to the pastor who had called Patty a Jezebel, sometimes she had been to the doctor who had informed her she was dying due to too much negative energy (she often threw in phrases like “mental duress,” “negative energy,” or “personal restoration” which she had remembered from episodes of Oprah), but Patty could look out the large glass window at the back of the house and see her mother circling the property. It was obvious Eunice had gone nowhere, for she very rarely left the house. Only when Oleander needed hospital care did she leave, living off of groceries brought by her mother and checks sent by the girls father –now a professor of mythology in Montgomery who long ago was a potter who built brick kilns in his back yard; he had pulled Eunice out of rurality, showed her music and art, taught her how to use a pottery wheel and talked to her about theories of universal salvation and danced with her under full moons on the sand of the Gulf. He pulled Eunice so far out of her world that when he let go of her, a toddler in her arm and a child in her womb, she snapped back like a rubber band, more isolated and conservative than she’d ever been. Years of imaginary doctors and lawmen had told Eunice Nix the evils of her daughter, and Patty had accepted the one way commerce of bullshit until her epiphany on the road to home from church.
“Ollie,” Patty said, “I’ve just had a brilliant idea.”
I know he’s nobody’s favorite Beatle, but he’s my favorite. And it’s not because he’s nobody’s favorite, and I feel bad for him. He’s always been my favorite. Maybe it’s because of his role on Shining Time Station.
Just added a new video to the video page. It’s called My Tapeworm and you should check it out. Plus, in the screen shot, I’m making a really weird face. I know you want to see that. I could change it, but I’ve sort of grown to love it.
It’s much simpler these days. There’s easy access to a lot of my songs, a lot of my videos. Hopefully, I’ll get everything up here eventually. Wouldn’t mind some feed back.
Thanks for all the really good criticism. It helped validate some little thing I already knew in the back of my head. Basically, my recordings should probably be just me and my ukulele and that’s it…at least for now.
Anyway, I went and got me a youtube channel. It’s, not surprisingly, www.youtube.com/user/jenniferteeter. Here’s a video from it (i like it cuz it’s artsy and all yo).
Will ya’ll listen to this song and let me know what you think of the recording quality. Specifically the drums. Do you like them? Should I cut them because they sound so canned? How is the balance? Can you hear that horribly hiss?
I’ll take feedback on the singing or songwriting, but it’s not really my focus.
Went through some old files on my hard drive. Found a lot of good stuff, but this little gem was an assignment for my ap environmental science class. It was made into a book with burtonesque, black and white pen sketches. The meter is a bit off, but I still like it.
Eli Solomon
Written and Illustrated by Jennifer Teeter
Eli Solomon lived in a town,
Where smoke filled the air and acid rained down
The rain burnt his skin and the smoke would fill,
His lung, until Eli became very ill
“This city is the cause, it’s time to act rash!”
Cried Eli’s nurse as she took out the trash.
And the trash turned to poison that seeped into the ground
And oozed to other places where it would later be found
Meanwhile. Eli Solomon, his cat, Nicholas, and his nurse,
All packed up their belongings in a big, checkered purse.
They moved to a place to keep Eli from harm
So they went to the country to live on a farm
The air was clear and everything swell
Until Eli got sick from a polluted water well
“That’s our only source of water so we’ll have to go far.”
Cried Eli’s nurse as she started the car.
They moved to a place where it’s sunnier than most.
Eli, the cat, and the nurse moved to the coast.
But the hot, coastal sun sizzled and fried,
And poor sensitive Eli burnt and died.
He went somewhere better where the air is very clear
And no one is wasteful like everyone here.
They buried him under the smog-tinted sun in the town,
Where smoke filled the air and acid rained down.
His nurse would fault the sun, the well, and the rain,
But his nurse was the one who was really to blame.
Her car caused the rain and the smoke and the hot
And her waste caused the well water to be polluted with rot
If she had been nice to earth it would have been nice in return
And Eli Solomon might be next her instead of in an urn.
I wrote a quick little song about Dollhouse. You can preview it here and there’s info on buying it.
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