My Life is Absurd
American Haikus in Italy


Cross-eyed Lady

You have to check your bags in

frost bite eats us all


Affectionate kiss

Virtues and vices surround

kiss of betrayal


Return to classical

In the middle of a farm

Don’t sit on the chairs


Setting in the west

Eastern influences rise

cemetery fishes


The audience looks

silent streets with no actors



The blood of Jesus

The sky is barrel vaulted

elegance bleeds forth


Mantua Las Vegas

Giants crushed; Gods rage party

fish swarm for thrown bread


The fair Verona

with a tomb for a lady

letters for the dead


Ugly devil with

angelic talent playing

songs he don’t repeat


Peasants do not dream

of wood seats and wondrous shows

domain of the prince


Parma, a city

is much too cheesy for me

Parmasian cheesy


The trashcans are on fire again

the workers united

will never be divided


Snow falls in the lonely station

heart beats and sonic boom boots

break the silence


Vespas stalk the streets

Buses gallop and roar past

Taxis leave no survivors


Ciao Bella!

Come va?

Andiamo al bar?


No peanut butter

No ziploc bags

No cheddar cheese


Walking along the Arno

Still waters

Besides a tempest mind


There are no toes

On the pigeon’s foot

I trip on the cobblestone



my love of pizza


I hate malls

It’s been a while since I’ve been to this kind of human circus. I’m walking through Nordstrom’s in my band tee, faded jeans, and flip flops.  My bespectacled hat lost most of its bespecklements long ago. 

Everything in the store sparkles like a sunset over the pacific ocean.  It’s glamorous, aromatic, fanciful.  I kind of hate it. 

I have one mission in my mind: sensible walking shoes.  I walk past the perfumes of a million smells, the hats and scarves of a million colors, the shoes of a million desires. 

As I walk into the labyrinth of the actual greater mall, I go into a bit of a sensory overload.  People are everywhere.  Smells like bacon and perfume linger everywhere.    I am turned around, I have no North Star in this consumer paradise. 

In my confusion I notice an attractive man smiling at me.  I mistakenly smile back; he is actually a salesperson. 

"I like your hair," he says.  I catch on quickly.

"Thank you I say," As I throw all engines to warp speed ahead.

"Wait, I have a question-!"  his voice fades into the distance as I speed walk towards my destination.  A nice little shoe shop, with no customers and two salespeople.  I see the shoes I want right away.

"Can I help you?" the saleslady asks. 

"I want these."  I point at the shoes that I saw online, and very pointedly thought would do for the Italian cobblestone streets that I will soon tread upon.  The sales lady also brought out some other ugly options that I would not suffer to try on.  On the shelf I saw some very sensible black heels.  Patent leather, arch support.  About two inch heels. Achingly sensible.

I think back to my high school days when I would wear high heels with gusto to dances.  Leopard print shoes with embedded Swarovski crystal rhinestones.  Golden stilettos with a golden snake with emerald eyes wrapping around my feet.  Pin-up red satins.

My secret curse is my love of fashion and my hatred of shopping.

how much italian can i write?

Ciao. Mi chiamo Marissa. Piacere. Abito a California. Ho ventuno anni. Mi piace il arte e la musica di punk rock.  Mi piace i miei corsi filosofia e italiano. Non mi piace matematica.  Mi piace mangiare hamburger per che sono una americana grassa. loljk. Ma sono stanca. Voglio dormire.

buono notte.

hello. my name is marissa. pleasure to meet you. i live in california. i am 21 years old. i like art and punk rock music. i like my philosophy and italian class. i don’t like math. i like to eat hamburgers because i am a fat american. haha, i jest. but I am tired. I want to sleep. Goodnight.

(I think I’ve butchered the italian language enough for one night.)

wish me luck on my quiz tomorrow.