~

Wayne Allwine, the man who voiced Micky Mouse longer than we have been alive, died in May this year. In real life, he was married to the voice actress who is still currently the voice of Minnie.

I'm not saying it's right or wrong, but it hurts.


When an obvious thought, delayed, strikes suddenly,
it strikes more powerfully.

[Edit: Posted this in the wrong blog, but some of it's good.]

One Group: Three Projects

In AP English, my class was given a few options for a creative presentation of Hamlet. Some of those options consisted of interpretive dance, write a song, and select a play-list for a theatrical production of the play. Being young and ambitious proponents of the "Shakespearience," our group elected to construct all three of those options. Of course, in selecting the interpretive dance, I assumed that I would be the focus, as I am the only one in our class who would be comfortable with publically rolling around on the floor to depict the tragic and untimely death of frail Ophelia. Hopefully, our presentation will be recorded, and I will not giggle through the entire production, set to "Nightingale" by Howling Bells. Secondly, selecting a playlist. We shuffled through iTunes and found titles fairly related to Hamlet, "Poisonous Intent," "Lovesick Teenagers," and "The Day We All Died" and the like. However, we also included "Poker Face" after no debate as to relevancy. Doodling a CD cover was not difficult, except for remembering what happened in the play that could be accurately depicted on the tiny, irridescent space. Writing the Ballad of Ophelia was tougher. While I'd started out with a good basis, Evan P. had tuned Kira's guitar to drop D. I'm not fantastic at tuning from memory. Luckily, there was a tuner. Unluckily, I didn't know how to use it. Instead, Kira and I elected to go with the good ole' Psych standby, "Last Christmas." It's blunt and I don't know how the melody to the actual verse goes, but it'll be rockin'.

Jon Stewart

"In a quiet, unassuming way, this guy from the previous generation has become the symbol of many of the things our generation is all about: logic, skepticism and policitcal change through merciless teasing. And the fact that most of our elders call us "the worst generation" for relying on a comedy program for our news, while we call them "the insanest generation" for creating an environment in which a comedy program is one of the more reliable sources of news, seems like one of the more interesting conflicts of the decade."

Damn Fine Day

HiQ!
Stasi and I saw the most aesthetically pleasing Robert Downey Jr. as Sherlock Holmes!
Viv made pancakes!
[H]ouse!
Chase took his shirt off!

Rockin'.
:D

[Edit: I love Barack Obama, "I believe that robotics can inspire young people to pursue science and engineering. And I also want to keep an eye on those robots in case they try anything."]

I Got the Clap(per) for Christmas

My extended family quite aptly fits that adjective. There are a number of different religious creeds and geographical locales they have settling in, each with his own stereotype. We're the feel-good, quirky family holiday movie of the year without all the crying until someone gets into a verbal battle of political ideals they weren't prepared for. My grandmom got the Slap Chop. I got the Clapper. My dad got a "rabbit skin rug" in the style of a bear skin rug, but made actually of polyester and displaying a very large "rabbit head" in the style of the manly bear skin variety. Aunt Kathy, the stylish socialista, could not make it up this year, but called and shared some lovely conversation. Uncle Mike, the sarcastic comedic relief, spent his time on the phone with her loudly and facetiously complaining that "Roger," my aunt Karen's South African, soon to be husband, would be wearing a "puffy shirt" to the wedding to match his medically required eye-patch. (The brothers are hosting the brother-in-law's pirate themed bachelor party.) Towards the end of the night, after tea and pie, my aunt Jeanne brought out two very large, very heavy boxes of books. While being courteous and taking turns, the whole family sauntered up in pairs to select neat little stacks of neat little books to supplement their Christmas booty. "You don't see this in every house in America," my dad commented lightly. It made me very proud of the home and environment I had been raised in.

[Edit: PS. 'Christmas booty' shout-out to Stasi.]

Must Be Tired of Something

Today, I went sledding for the first time in many a year. It was exhilarating to fly screaming through the stinging snow. Even more thrilling was Kate and I piled onto one sled attempting to knock over Jeff and Stasi, who were sledless spoilsports. :P I heartily enjoyed my time and hot chocolate afterwards.

Lavishly dreaming of classy drinks, classy ties, and warm solo vocals, I've been listening to Frank Sinatra. The band is a complement to a traditionally pleasant voice, and the lyrics pass through meaningful musing to sappy serenade.

I remember being cynical. Sophomore year, Tboc recommended The March of Follies, or some similarly titled novel on the basis that I was enough of a cynic to appreciate it. Still, there was a time of idealism, and I have since returned to my scathing roots. It is not meant to say that I am unenthusiastic and have stopped dreaming, but I'm more realistic. I don't want to be another white girl that didn't get out of suburbia. However, my future seems so empty with possibility that I may fill it with comfortable familiarity. It's hard to find a compromise for myself. It's much less painful to be cynical and faithless.

I Believe in Magic and a Thing Called Love

I danced around my room listening to The Sing Off cast rendition of "Mr. Blue Sky." I air-guitar'd. There has not been this much of that kind of dancing in my room since last summer. My life is bangin'! Over a lifetime of wishes, I have roughly a 50+% success rate with blue M&M magic. I'm cute, talented, endearing, and enthusiastic. My family is amazing. I had a happy childhood and a ballin' adolescence. I have good memories that make great stories. Bitchin'!

Good Things Specific to Now:
Snow- all related beauty and creation
Hot Chocolate- with marshmallows
COOKIES!
Hot Apple Cider
Christmas Lights
"Holiday" Songs
Having trees inside
Christmas ornaments
Friendlier people
Parties!
Days off
Solstice
After tomorrow it's getting lighter again!
Family
Pumpkin Pie- whipped cream
New socks
Gag Gift
Candles
Poinsettias
Fire Places
Blankets
Scarves
Mittens
Yule Log
Christmas Cards- glitter
Birds puff up their feathers
Cats have winter coats
I have a winter coat

I'm On Cracked

"...The end result is a bizarre image of an invisible pedophile who's apparently only visible when viewed through some special infrared camera. Parents, your child could be getting teabagged by an invisible pedo right now."

"Robert, no! Holy crap, is that what you look like without a shirt on? Aren't you supposed to be some kind of sex symbol? You look like a white Urkel."

I believe that I am making holiday cards as an excuse to use glitter. It's not often I have arts and crafts projects that demand the excessive use of sparkling... I don't even know what substance glitter is made out of.

I got my gifts for the "Dirty Pollyanna," the "Dirty Dirty Pollyanna," and the "Psych Pollyanna." I'm finished shopping for mom and dad and have all the cards for my teachers, but only three friends. I wanted to get "Play with Me: Massage Oil" from Victoria's Secret for the Dirty Dirty Pollyanna, but alas! it was too expensive.

Blue M&M Magic Works

Yesterday morning, I had my favorite bowl and my favorite spoon and I was so ready for Honey Cheerios, it was gonna be awesome. However, to my great distress, there were no Cheerios to brighten my day with their toroidal delight. Settling for Lucky Charms, I decided they were still a way to bring happy nostalgia to my morning. They were stale, and I was saddened.

On the bus, past Bethel Springs, the sunrise over purple New Jersey was splendidly orange. Steve and I discussed some notion not particularly relevant to anything, but that made me laugh. English class was a similar source of irrelevant humor, as we continued acting out Hamlet. This time, my role was that of "GHOST." I do not believe I was terribly frightening in the role, but no matter. Art lacked the holiday songs we'd been so long enjoying, and in Psych we had a pop test. There were some nefarious going ons, but we shall see how that works out. Math was full of stories and a few bad puns, but otherwise the same as any other positive day.

After school, my mom picked up Jack and me for our Christmas portraits and some Christmas shopping. I did not find a cheap gift for dirty dirty pollyanna, but I did resolve my need for a psych pollyanna gift. She dropped me back at my dad's. I fell asleep. Jeff came over. He brought me a bag full of bags of M&Ms and retaught me how to solve a Rubix cube, but I've since forgotten again. We shared stories and a little music on guitar that I recognized, but could not name. I played Hallelujah, a hesitant bit of Lizzy, and the intro and chorus of Brick. Later, we ran out to try to find milk, because the 202 Wawa was out of everything, including gas. After he left, I went to bed in a very warm and contented affection. I woke up very early to a bright room lit by snow's reflection. Merry Snow.

Read is a Homophone

Budding time for liveliness
And growth to all things new,
She shot up like a creeping vine
Desiring to do.

Her bright face flushed by summer's sun,
She read stained sheets of paper.
Making out the meaningful
Wherever she was able.

Still the tired sun sank down
An ode to autumn skies.
Little girls must go to sleep,
As will to nature lies.

Empyreal in blanket snow
The moon reflects on time,
On wasted beauty, summer sun,
And youth that passed her by.

Poems and Prose

Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.

It is a sad thing, a goodbye long coming and too soon met.

Autumn frosts have slain July...

I seem to cycle through beautiful bursts of obsession, musing through poetry, aliveness, philosophy, all mighty knowledge, prose, and art. Currently, I am enamored with poetry.

Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

"My favorite gift was..." Both an English prompt and freedom. I wrote about my first set of wheels, an open top Jeep, that fire engine red adventure-mobile exactly my size circa 1998. It got horrible grass mileage, but was endless on sidewalks. Too bad there were no sidewalks. I read my prompt like Cheryl Trykv in Teen Getaway, pregnant with dramatic pause and that cool, indifferent whine. It got a few laughs, some snaps. Even as I write, my thoughts pause unnecessarily for effect. It's very- me.

In mercy lift your drooping wings and go.

Langston Hughes' poem "Harlem" contains the line "...a raisin the sun," from which Lorraine Hansberry titled her play. One of the girls in my class read the novel, and related that this particular allusion implies "one should not let their dreams shrivel like that eponymous line." This is not, I think, the intent of choosing those words. Hughes does not declare statements on the nature of dreams, only questions it. He merely suggests that perhaps shriveling is a fate of dreams deferred, or maybe "they explode?"

We warned ourselves. That you might despise
Me—hate all we both loved best—
None of us ever guessed.

Being in Lit. Mag. brings an incredible appreciation for talented authors, namely because most people aren't. The exposure to all writing styles clarifies how to improve my own ability. Whereas I formerly assumed that my writing was disconnected and abrupt beyond comprehension, I realize that, relatively, this is not the case. Beyond the syntactical improvement, I've grown to discriminate on the basis of substance. A number of poems dwell on themes I would have written in the past. Now, I see them as trite adolescence. Still, I am unable to create my own original expressions. Still, I try.

But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.

And I’d like to be a bad woman, too,

And wear the brave stockings of night-black lace

And strut down the streets with paint on my face.

As far as I am aware, I have never met a prostitute. Its criminalization is, I think, an atrocious manipulation by males of morals and the female body. It is not desperate women who drive the streets at night looking to satiate their desires; men, no matter how powerful, will always be subject to their irresistible needs. Because of this, lady of the night sounds classy, but is as in opposition to class as day is to night.

So let us melt, and make no noise

"After working sixty hours again for what reason" stirs my fancy and notions of bureaucracy.
"Amor Mundi" is a another good poem.

Oh, I have picked up magic in her nearness

In context of the rest of the poem, I perceived the above line in reference to myself. However, as an independent sentiment, I thought of Viv and Molly. Viv, and the idea of her, has nutured a restlessness in me and an awesome appreciation for blue M&Ms. Molly, fantastic resident of the written world, has a penumbra of life, even when I am not near her.

I wrote some poetry tonight.

One-Twelfth Dozen Is too many Words

I've been dreaming about Dave again, even in fantastic ones. Previously, these phantasms were confined to cold encounters in hallowed halls of dream school, roughly equivalent to reality. While real life proximity is acceptable, dreams are unsettling to me. I am not indifferent towards him, but I cannot clarify my thoughts. Nostalgia is the closest defined expression. I feel like I'm not allowed to think about him.

My mama thinks I'm grown, but I'm really just little.
Someday, I will remember.
Someday, I will remember.
Someday, I will remember.

If, as the naughtiest pit girl, I were to get coal in my stocking, I would set it on fire. Today marks a little under halfway through December, and I've begun reflecting on the year. This was the fastest year on record, and certainly not deserving of the nice list. In one year, I have acted the Sodomite, disregarding my notions of sexual exclusivity and emotional commitment. I have sneered at the high and mighty from my ivory tower, locked up all alone with the occasional visitor.

If, as a nicer pit girl, I were to receive a book of poetry, I would already be familiar with the verse. Today marks a little under halfway through December, and I've begun reflecting on the year. This was the fastest year on record, and certainly deserving of the nice list. In one year, I have opened a parallel world of enjoyment, frowned upon by my mother and the status quo. I have loved the bodies of those longing for touch and loved the lives of those who do not need to love me in return for my own selfish satisfaction. I have rediscovered a community that I was formerly barred from, a community of stories and the "new."

"'I'm significant,' dreamed the dust speck"

In psych class, I feel like the presumption is "sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll," when really there's only rock and some bjs and mild, mild narcotics. O my.

My brother was an effing angel. All of his pictures from childhood are super adorable, with super hilarious faces. I wish I could've gone through these pictures with someone. My mom gets sad seeing all of the family she doesn't have. My dad is indifferent. My brother has better things to do. I think I need to track down Kristin R. and give her the duplicate pictures I've had for so long.

I identify with Ophelia, frail, insensible, goes crazy and suffers a tragic fate at some point in the future.

I've made some rockin' stuff. A few shirts, a few songs, a few paintings, a couple beautiful letters with a few lines of prose I especially liked. I recently stumbled onto excellent poetry that I've been savoring as well.
Gitanjali 35
To the Desert (this poem is soooo sexy)
To His Coy Mistress (this poem is even sexier)
Romance
Bilingual/Bilingue
anyone lived in a pretty how town (okay, so I already liked this one and forgot)
Black Boys Play the Classics
The More Loving One
Love Armed
Danse Russe (which I've lived)
I roll the volume on the cylindrical knob and throw my body to gyrating behind closed doors to opening Doors. It sounds hideous, the movement of imperfect flesh to imperfect sound on desecrated disc. It is, but no one seethes.

Usher is a very attractive man. I do not understand why he should take off two different shirts in "My Confessions pt. 2," but it's the sort of thing I'm okay not questioning. If I got more benefit from religion, it would be a good analogy.

HiQ meet tomorrow. Bring it on. I feel smart this year and weirdly older, especially in a sense I wish somewhat to be ignorant and passionate again. There is a certain joy to being alive. I'm going to climb a tree right now.

Movie Tickets from my Memory Box

Casino Roy
11/25/06 with Dad, Jack, Jeanne, Karen, Kathy, "cousins," ???

DCI
8/8/07 with Jeff, Drew, JoeKat, Jeremy, Abby, Sarah, ???

Across
9/21/07 with Viv, Jeff, Nicki, Scott, Molly, Matt, Abby, Sarah, Erik (?), Steph (?), JoeKat (?), ???

Across
10/06/07 with Mom and Jack

I Am Legen
12/20/07 with Matt, ???

Cloverfiel
1/22/08 with JoeKat, ???

Jumper
2/17/08 with JoeKat, ???

Juno
1/27/08 with Mom

Vantage Po
3/15/08 with JoeKat, Abby, Matt, ???

Wanted
6/5/08 with Jack, Dave, Trisha, Nicki, Matt, Hetty, ???

Mamma Mia (actually Pineapple Express)
8/11/08 with Dave, Taylor J., Conrad F., Pat F., ???

Lakeview (actually Religilous)
10/04/08 with Dave, Jeff, Matt, ???

Quantum
11/22/08 with Mom and Jack

Valkyrie
12/27/09 with Matt

Milk
12/21/08 with Molly, Jeff, ???

Watchmen
2/8/09 with Matt, Jeff, Sarah, Molly, ???

Coraline 3D
3/26/09 with Jimmy

UP
6/23/09 with Jimmy

Bruno
7/10/09 with Jeff

Harry Potter
7/23/09 in OC, MD with Jack and Stasi

Ugly Truth (Actually DCI Show)
8/06/09 with Jeff

500 Days
8/11/09 with Viv and Erik

Lying
10/03/09 with Meg, Joe, Adam, Stasi, and AJ

Capitalism
10/04/09 with Matt

Things in my Memory Box

list of senior pranks
letter from Kim
poem from Stasi
3D glasses
drawing from Kira we can never show Eric or Wasiq
personal list of beautiful words and things
letter from Jeff
three month anniversary present from Jimmy
money
"things that rhyme with 'ail'" paper from Dave
'09 New Year's Resolution 24/36 completed
Flying Pikachu card
Surfing Pikachu card
flying pig encased in glass
light up penis lollipop plastic base
drumline bracelet
necklace
marijuana seed
Longwood Garden ticket from filming our US project
Billy Joel & Elton John Face 2 Face ticket
Riverlink Ferry ticket from blink-182 ticket
pink "T-MOB" wrist band from blink-182 concert
"How to Recognize Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever" game card
rough draft of 3 month anniversary present to Dave
2 free pizza slices at the Laser Dome ticket
West Chester "Music in Motion" '08 ticket
Homecoming '08 ticket
Prom '09 ticket
University of Delaware vs. West Chester football game ticket
two Friendly's smiley face stickers previously used as nipple pasties
plastic fancy toothpick from casino
movie tickets

"i luv u"

My mom has, by far, the worst text grammar of anyone I converse with. However, this is usually the entirety of any message she'll send. Last night, a little after midnight, I called in need of someone to talk to. I was so relieved to the point of shaking when she suggested driving over and talking in the car. Unfortunately, she had taken her medication, rendering her unable to drive or fulfill her suggestion. It hurt some, especially knowing that through circumstance, my mom could not be there for me. Growing up in a divorced home, daily life is easy. It just took some getting used to with the schedule and there's two Christmases. However, long term, I do not want any child of mine to grow up without a mom, for legal or biological reasons. Once I get into the full swing of adulthood, I have to get "evaluated," to be sure I did not inherit the same biological faults of my mom, even though I'm grateful for the Berbee boobs. We talked about it, the distance between us and what kind of adult I will be, like her or not. She spoke of times she wouldn't let Jack or I see her cry. I thought of Disney World, the first time I did see her cry. When I could get through my own tears and sputtered chokings, I spewed my fears and frustrations, my dissatisfaction and self-doubt. I explained and labeled my feelings as best I could, feeling entirely childish for this cumulative frothing of emotion. The phone call gave me more things to think about, rather than ease my anxieties. This tired and torrential morning, Mr. L. so effortlessly heard my few, nonchalant words, and assured me with more words than the cliches my mom offers. Still, the problems exist and will return again.

PSU and Navy Too

I just want to get into shitty, not-good-enough Temple and take generic courses to get nameless degree to get menial job where the piece of paper is only the admission ticket, and then they completely retrain you to fit whatever mold they require. My check has not yet been received. My online application has not yet been processed. I couldn't apply to PSU. I don't think I'd make main anyway. I gave my contact information to a Navy recruiter, and I don't want to do that either. If possible, I'd like to be great at something I'm passionate about, not "above average" in a bunch of things I'm fairly indifferent to. I'd like to have any passion, so to speak. Oh my Jesus.

221

Today, I did some personal math in, of all classes, math. Looking at things only in terms of time and money is really, really disheartening. Throw in a deadline, some distance, a dispersion of friends, an absence, a silence, brings inevitable end. It is very dark in the future, because everything is such a mystery.

Christmas Is Coming

But it's always coming except two days a year.
There are large things I want this year, and I would be very content to get none of them, as I don't need anything I don't already have. An electric guitar, nothing fancy, just not "my first guitar" from Target or some like. A camera that is not point and shoot. A car, but I continue to not want to drive.

A fun and hilarious role-playing scenario would be President/Intern.
An unfun situation would be David Letterman/Intern.

Red Light Stops and Lindy Hops

Today, it snowed for the first time around here. Today, from roughly 1:10 until 2:30 and dressed in entirely the wrong clothing, I helped THON's Springfield group collect money in the intersection of 202 Wawa for the Four Diamonds Fund which "helps kids fight cancer" (at no expense to the family). My uniform consisted of a tank top, sweat shirt, and miniTHON "Dance Away Cancer" shirt overtop, paired with white Chuck Taylors®, a hat, and traditional blue jeans. It was immediately apparent that my toes, and possibly the rest of me, were in danger of not surviving. However, it's okay to sacrifice these little things to pay the price for the things that are worthwhile.

My instructions were to go from car to car waiting at the red lights with my labeled bucket and be as crazy as possible, "So just be yourself." I would dance and jump and make begging faces through the windows. My dance of choice was sorta an "around the world" holding the can. After one guy donated and saw me continue the same dance down the line, asked if I knew any other dances, so I did Solja Boy for him. Other times I would hula or do the Cotton Eye Joe or wiggle in general, occasionally creeping and dancing into the line of sight.

While the snow hadn't been sticking in the beginning, eventually the median turned to slippery mess as I trudged back and forth through the mud, puddles, and slight layer of snow. Having lost coordination in my toes, I slipped once, and got what I believe was a sympathy donation. Canning under freezing conditions garners several donations out of sympathy and "you guys are crazy." One gentleman, seeing our plight, stopped at the Goodwill and circled back around so he could purchase jackets and give them to me and Jeff. By the end of the afternoon, I was incredibly grateful. I dropped my bucket at one point, and a mess of change fell out. It was very unpleasant to pick it from the snow, mud, and grass with my ungloved hands, but every penny was returned to its friends in the bucket.

A few people I knew came to the red light as the afternoon passed. Anna R., Kristina A., Lauren D., Tom, Molly, and Molly's dad. Donna passed by, but wasn't in the turning lane that I was covering. We waved. I made scowly faces at Eric G. for not donating. When Tom made it to the turning lane, he gave me a dime, or coin of some other negligible value for having more on hand. Unfortunately for him, he did not make the green light on the first try, so I harassed him a second time. He opened the door to pass me a nickel, another nickel, a dime, couple pennies, until I held open his door to invade his personal space until receiving the entire contents of his change cup. I'm sure he felt good giving to sick children.

There were a few battle cries utilized through the day, such as the general "Help Kids Fight Cancer" and "I hate cancer and love children!" Whenever we got a donation, I'd thank them for hating cancer, or loving children, especially with the change donations, telling them the kids are up against a big fight. A few people, who had donated at an intersection further back, decided to give twice because of the dancing. Many asked me where my gloves were, told me to zipper up, and voiced concerns for my health and catching pneumonia. I would respond with "at least it's not cancer." I had a few conversations along the line. One of the first was with a young guy in a Santa Hat, who asked me if I was enjoying myself. An older gentleman told me that administrators would take too many fees before the kids ever saw a dollar for him to give. At the time, I was unable to respond that THON is one of the most efficient charities on the planet. Many people wished Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas, and God Bless.

When we left around 2:30, the four people sitting in the back of Jeff's car were collectively frozen, wet, and numb, which I think made it easier to sit crowded together for our shared plights. Upon arriving at home base, I realized my pants were wet the entire length of them, including the pocket my cell phone was in. Our group shed layers en masse and retreated to find dry clothing. I was introduced to everyone there, we shared hot chocolate and canning stories, then went to count the soggy bills we had collected. The stacks were to be organized by every 100 bills, double counted, then rubber banded. Some bills were buried under mounds of change and others were soaked to the point of sticking to every other bill they came in contact with. After everything was organized out, we found some coin for Concord Country club, a few presidential golden dollars, Jeff was given a five-pound note, and a whole mess of screws. In total, with the estimates from the change jars, they raised roughly $4,000 today. That is over the $300 per person estimates for an entire weekend trip, and they'll be going out tomorrow as well.

Lindy Hoppin' is awesome. Mostly because the foot movement isn't 100% coordinated, as far as I'm aware.

Daughter is a Pretty Word

And in my dream, I asked her, "Have you ever streaked in a park?"
"Oh, this park? Plenty, it's this other one I want to try."
So took off our clothes and ran through the trees until we got to a pool.
It was freezing, because winter came so quickly it froze the trees and water to look like springtime. Then, he was there, and called us out of the water. And when we looked back, they had gotten in the pool, so we walked around the cement walkway. There, he touched my arm and sincerely explained it was not about right or wrong or pride, but there's only so much time and only happiness mattered at this moment. This was exampled by a drawing of a compass, with me to the South, Nicki to the West, a cow to the North, and them to the East. In compromise, Nicki had already forgiven, moved towards the center. I needed to now. We hugged. I dove into the water, came up, and reconciled.

Sexy Librarian: Year II, success
-makeup inspired by Tara Reid
"Last Christmas" WHAM! edition parody for Psych class is gonna be a-mazing.
This is the best lunch time I've ever had. Better than the lunch bunch.
I perceive that Matt is a dick to me at HiQ. We'll see on Tuesday.
Combinations and probability irritate me, because it's making assumptions to factor out the chaotic and the fantastic.
Bought an amp from Pedro, got a patch chord from Nick. Rawk.
A.C.- Picnic of Love, greatest album ever created

Quotes and Blurb

the song that I sing was not generated from within me

For the first time the sun kissed my own naked face and my soul was inflamed with love for the sun, and I wanted my masks no more. And as if in a trance I cried, "Blessed, blessed are the thieves who stole my masks."
Thus I became a madman

Friendship is always a sweet responsibility, never an opportunity.

There must be something strangely sacred about salt. It is in our tears and in the sea.

our hand shall hold neither sword nor sceptre

And then He walked away.
But no other man ever walked the way He walked.

And their music smote heaven and earth

Yesterday we obeyed kings and bent our necks before emperors. But today we kneel only to truth, follow only beauty, and obey only love.

Children of Gods, Scions of Apes

"Be clean in body and spirit even if you have nowhere to lay your head."

Body Worlds was informative. I read every single place card and handled the siliconned liver and was the last one out of the exhibit. The only thing that perturbed me was the polycystic kidney. I bought a loaf of bread and a couple smiles from a memory in the Redding Terminal Market.

Best Wiki in Forever

libidinal panic which leaves a chaotic whirl of fractal patterns in the reader's mind

He promised cameos by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx, as well as "stupid songs" and "strange sexual practices".

"It is brilliant, but it is exhaustingly brilliant."

is a sensitively-handled coming of age tale in which a group of young boys face the consequences of the American policy of racial integration. At one point in the story, the boys attempt to understand the new policy by way of the mathematical function, the only sense of the word with which they are familiar.

lo real marvelloso

especially highlights this eternal and undeserved grace

that we should be holy and blameless before him

I have set before you life and death, blessing and curse

"It's a poor sort of memory that only works backwards"

The wardrobe department for The Wizard of Oz unknowingly purchased a coat for character Professor Marvel from a second-hand store, which was later verified to have originally been owned by L. Frank Baum, the author of the novel on which the film was based.^[10]

The point of the staging was apparently that the story of Hamlet is a universal one that was equally credible in the 20th century as in the 17th

In The Boondocks episode "The Story of Catcher Freeman" an example is the mention of Batman by one of the slaves, as Batman was created in 1939.

"Extra, extra! Newspaper boys are anachronisms in modern day society, read all about!".

Huh... Interesting

• Haughty eyes
• A lying tongue
• Hands that shed innocent blood
• A heart that devises wicked plots
• Feet that are swift to run into mischief
• A deceitful witness that uttereth lies
• Him that soweth discord among brethren

...includes more of the traditional seven sins, although the list is substantially longer: adultery, fornication, uncleanness, lasciviousness, idolatry, witchcraft, hatred, variance, emulations, wrath, strife, seditions, heresies, envyings, murders, drunkenness, revellings, "and such like"

unforgiven souls of the sin of lust are blown about in restless hurricane like winds

man condemns things eternal for the sake of temporal things.

the only one characterised by an absence or insufficiency of love.

Augustus Gloop represents Gluttony, Violet Bauraguarde represents Pride, Veruca Salt represents Greed, and Mike Teavee represents Wrath.

"It was the first that made a real splash."

first titled Donald Duck in Nutzi Land

Would the final state be different if the lamp had started out being on, instead of off?

sing to me sweet and slow tonight

beyond which events cannot affect an outside observer
event horizon

a 15-year-old who, in October 2009, was doused in rubbing alcohol and set on fire after assailants yelled, "He's a snitch, he's a snitch."

hypnagogia the transitional state between wakefulness and sleep
They often contain word play, neologisms and made-up names.
More rarely, poetry or music is heard.

OOPArts are often of interest to creationists

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anatopism

choosing to "selectively recreate the culture, choosing elements of the culture that interest and attract us."

"Thomas Pynchon loved this book, almost as much as he loves cameras!"

He also admits to hating water and birds because both remind him of God.
This is one of the most powerful quotes I've seen in a while.

'The world is a fine place and worth fighting for.' I agree with the second part.

“If I live, I’ll kill you. If I die, I forgive you.”

Tell Me What You Know

My dad is investigating the death of his little brother. I cried when he told me what he was doing. Now, it hurts to see him on the internet for hours, just checking around.

Quite often, in the last thoughts before falling asleep, I realize, "It would be a relief to never wake up." It is not contemplating suicide, but some natural act of eternal dreamland. I love sleeping. I love dreaming. Over break, I dreamt of everyone. Beaches and buses and a sensation of flying. Occasionally, I have nightmares, but nothing worse than the monotony of real life. Today was the crown jewel in a cotinuation of this most excellent weekend. There was talking, stories being told everywhere. I was informed, "You make things interesting. I think you know that." I am becoming aware, and still, I wish to sleep.

"Thanks for being the star of so many good memories this year. Happy thanksgiving, Chloe. ..."

I've Never Been Drunk, but I Have Lied

"There is no poem that can make up for the time we have lost."

Why am I worth waiting for? Why does it happen that guys would rather say no than corrupt me? Why can't I be a normal fuck and chuck. I'm so frustrated. I've done things I never wanted to and figure it's better doing something than nothing. I think my innocence made me worth loving. I think I loved myself for my innocence.

I'd rather be wanted than needed. To be wanted is selfish satisfaction. To be needed is selfish control, a selfish power, and one can let the other person down. Still, I'd rather be either than neither.

Much as I disdain the lifestyle, I've always seen myself as capable of being a housewife. At least in the beginning, until I get resentful or the man gets complacent. If I had somebody respectable to love who'd love to fuck me, I could get on my hands and knees to scrub the floor.

"We won't touch, but I'll do 100 sit ups a day for two weeks."

I had a dream about Jimmy last night. Well, the main focus wasn't him, but he's probably why I remembered it. Him, Rob, Josh, and Grayson were renting an apartment in Philly together, and Grayson had invited me over for a party. After guiltily cockblocking him and his girlfriend for some of my dream, I ventured out to see the rest of the party. Jimmy and Josh did not acknowledge me, and I didn't know what so say. Then I made fun of Rob. There was drinking, so I left, and walked around Philly for a while. I was sad and had forgotten where I'd parked.

"If you limit your choices only to what seems possible or reasonable, you disconnect yourself from what you truly want, and all that is left is compromise."

— Robert Fritz

A Lone Gunman Can't Shoot Anybody Else

An idiot is without reason, unreasonable, if you will. In that, my emotions have enslaved me to idiocy. Cease thinking, it is time to feel pain disproportionate to provocation. How's that vagina treating you? Because it's the worse thing that ever happened to a girl, to be born. Bleed. Suffer all manner of irrational despair. Get fucked. Continue propagating and bring the next generation into misery. Females are the un-fairer sex. What an idiot. What a brilliant idiot.

In Action

I want to shout in the streets like Ginsberg's tragic poets. The damned and defeated have nothing to lose but time, while I creep in my room looking for satisfaction in words rather than action with other bodies. It was discomfort and inconvenience that made me feel too old and too scared. There is no future of fiery shrieks in the night choked up in laughter. No gasping breath materializes a shimmering fog suspended in night air. All manner of limbs fall about in wildness only in fantastic visions of who I am not and will not. There is something Romanitic to the billow of smoke and sharpened clarity of stars. Lie in the grass in the summer at night and the world morphs to some unbelievabl contradiction. Time and distance grow beyond the realms of comprehension while the whole world shrinks to the senses of something alive. The night sky stretches indefinitely for the overwhelming contentment of one mind. Inhale. Stop breathing. The world simplifies. Exhale in slow motion.

Good Day (As Usual)

Dan invited me to lunch with Gabby, Brandon, and Jake, and now I feel my life is lacking intentional ironic absurdity. There was some slight chillin' at Dan's house before we left where I organized the G.'s Apples to Apples box. Brandon played guitar. Dan sang. The singing continued as we hit the road. During "Jump Around," we shook the car. Listening to "Closer" by NIN followed. Now, while that song is incredibly sexy, in my Top 10 Songs to Strip To List*, and is not a family friendly song to blast, it is an incredibly amusing song to blast. Our destination was orange pleather heaven, Tom Jones, and I got the Blue Ribbon Special**, as always. I trusted Jake enough to give him my sausage, but he finished neither mine nor his own and relocated them to Brandon's plate. Besides that, I ate everything, and will take a nap to sleep it off. Hopefully, I'll hang out with Stasi or Jeff or peeps later tonight, but I may be whisked away to see my cousins down from NYC.

*Closer- NIN
Pleased to Meet You- Wolfmother
Whole Lotta Love- Zeppelin
Sweet Child in Time- Deep Purple
When I Grow Up- Pussycat Dolls
Roadhouse Blues- The Doors
No One Knows- Queens of the Stone Age
If You Seek Amy- Britney Spears
Okay, so maybe I don't have ten

**Coffee or tea,
juice or soda,
two eggs,
two bacon,
two sausage,
two pancakes,
and toast.
$3.79

I Am Making a List of Pros and Cons

[Love makes time pass...]

I'm at a loss for words, so I'll hum you a tune! I feel very small, and that I'm too young for this. I still make wishes on blue M&Ms, and now I feel dirty. It's the most reasonable time to think about what I want, because I don't want to waste magic wishing for something I can do on my own.

Nothing is crueler than children who come from good homes.

I'm going to take all the butterflies and stab them and put them in display cases.

People have some pretty bad short stories. Not sayin' that's a personal reflection on all of their writing, but a lot of the problem is their writing style.

The fuck? TMI. I don't want a Facebook anymore. It's too easy to hear what you never wanted to consider.

Pancakes. Woods. Stories. Enlightening. 18 or older with ID. <3ART.

[...and time makes love pass.]

Not the Baseball Player

"I will never say the things that I want to say to you. I know the damage it would do. I love you more than I hate my loneliness and pain."

"If I lose the light of the sun, I will write by candlelight, moonlight, no light. If I lose paper and ink, I will write in blood on forgotten walls. I will write always. I will capture nights all over the world and bring them to you."

"I will use my mistakes against you."

"When life hands you a lemon, say "Oh yeah, I like lemons. What else you got?"

Brief and Monotonous Thoughts

I'm going to wake up and wonder, "Why did I do that?"

Kira and I'll be checkin' stuff off my resolution list Saturday.

They switched the date of the dodgeball tournament, so now I can't be in it. I forced pull-ups upon everyone for nothing.

Being the only girl on HiQ makes me feel much, much more lonely than I thought I would be.

I have an idea for "art," that is more suitable as a comic. I drew it on one of the letters I keep writing.

Ceci tells stories with grandiose gestures. The word grandiose is always awkward.

If I had finished my art work on time, she would have given me an excellent sticker instead of 50 points off.

Birthday presents still haven't arrived yet. I am sorry. I don't even have wrapping paper.

I have a feeling I'll be crying on the same day, two years in a row, for similar reasons.

The canned food drive was totally lame this year. It makes me sad. Poor people must have very high sodium diets.

Mrs. A. is beckoning me, saying, "This is everything you could be if only you educate yourself! Let your ignorance die so you can grow!" And I think, "It is everything I want to be, except not that psycho," realizing this conversation is interpreted from gestures and gaps of logical mental functioning.

I spoke with my brother for a long time today. I missed him. I miss a lot of people. I am far away.

"We are each a beautiful snowflake that will melt in hell."
PfSC: 233 "Guest Comic" 249 271 277 reminds me of Stasi.

Chloe Who Is a Ghost Who Is Afraid

"There are no boring places, only boring people. Do something exciting! Jump in that fountain! Swim around a little! Take some coins!"
"But they are wishes."

Please, come up to my room where there are boardgames and conversations to be had. We can grow old together and retire and cure the common cold or invent a new ice cream flavor. Perhaps in our old age we'll wind up living in a mansion infested by lethal table settings and colorful party guests. I collect vinyl records, did you know? Yeah, it's pretty rockin'. Sometimes I place the needle on Pink Floyd and ponder the past or the death of Paul, staring at the posters above my ceiling. I've been meaning to get those glow in the dark stars for a long time. Also I play a little guitar. I'll improv you a song if you'd like. I can't guarantee it will rhyme, but it will be original and for you.

"the point is not the communication of truth, but the truth itself. No one should ever say, 'come hear this speaker.' But rather: 'there is nothing you can to make god stop loving you.' Or not saying anything at all and loving someone."

I miss when religion was easy. After I watched the Mummy on a very terrible evening for an eight year old, I was terrified of the scarabs. I would go through my bed-time routine. Brush teeth. Check. PJs. Check. Stuffed animals. Check. Check. Check. The last step in the ritual is to go and flick off my light switch. However, because my light switch is outside of my room, when I reentered my room, I wouldn't necessarily know where everything was. I imagined that the scarabs had been waiting under my bed and were pouring out across the floor. So, I would run and jump across them into my bed. Of course, they could still crawl up over my sheets and me, so extra protection was needed. I would curl up as small as possible, imagining myself encased by a clear, white dome on a blue floor. God would hold me there. But just so I felt safe, he would put all kinds of lions and tigers and bears around the dome so I could see him protecting me. It made me very sad to lose my faith.

"It's okay to do a thing and not know why."

My brother learned to snap today. He's not very good at it, but I am proud of him.

"You did what you thought was best, but it was wrong."

Writing this, I was listening to the moth, which contributed the quote below. The storyteller was fantastic, a woman of "multi-racial, multi-cultural" background who turned down MTV for stereotyping. It forced me to wonder what stories would I tell? Can I go on for ten minutes in an engaging fashion? "Rainy Day Adventure" is too short. I could recount the whole venture of "the pit." There's "Romantic Summer '08" "Adventure Summer '09." Perhaps the many years of HiQ or the emerging English class with Mrs. A. I want to know what stories everyone would tell.

"You better get a chiropractor too, so you can be neckrollin' bitch #1 and neckrollin' ho' #2."

Lux Aeterna

"You are seeing me on the best day of my life," because it is the only day of my life. The past is memory, and the future is that ever distant tomorrow. It has become a very strange thing, to dread going home. School and academic obligations are a bastion of productivity, education, and camaraderie. I'm busy, busy, busy, makin' plans, stuff to do. Surrounded by action and peers, I won't start crying without provocation. I won't waste my life in falling asleep. I do my homework this year, not because it will benefit me educationally, but because it is a distraction from emptiness. This void is increasingly filled by a preoccupation with beauty. Producing beauty is beautiful: art, literature, music. The occasional conscious thought is beautiful. The grand and magnificent cosmos is beyond my comprehension, but I try to appreciate it. This is still a life of emptiness, light and visions and ideas of the ethereal. Substance, contact, action seem like some other intangible dream, despite my efforts to be a productive and useful person. Form and functionality. Utility and aesthetics.

I've paralleled my division of art and function with my duality of reason and emotion. Everything I engage in is unsatisfying to the ethos and a gross outrage of logos. Out of my control is the burning desire to utterly indulge one extreme at the cost of completely smothering the other. As a cynical child, the life of pure rational is my utopia. As a feckless teenager, I demand the selfish satisfaction of my urges in a wild abandonment of reason. As a human, I am aware that I will never live the purity of these desires. Yet, despite this, I attempt to enjoy them simultaneously, to the destruction of both. It is a shameful embarrassment that yields no pleasure and scathes my companions.

This explanation is my excuse, my exemption from responsibility. I am childish and burdensome and still demanding more.

Science Fiction - Sci-Fi - Syfy

"You're the only ones zany enough to agonize over time and distance without limit, over mysteries that will never die, over the fact that we are right now determining whether the space voyage for the next billion years or so is going to be Heaven or Hell."

Vonnegut. Bradbury. Asimov. Clarke. Sagan. Imagination and language were given to these men to expand the mind and humanity of others.

"proof that love's not only blind, but deaf"

Because I don't want to hear it!

This banner is slightly disconcerting to me. Sounds like global domination.

I could love you like Eve, before she got all ashamed
Eve is the transition between happy day and dark night

-It was flattering and heart-wrenching. I want it with a smile.
-It was flattering and sweet, and an infatuation is what I need.

I was shakin' those white girls hips for you (until the black girls started dancing).

I felt like an idiot at robotics when I finally got the reference, "Like Frankie said, 'I did it my way.'" Seriously?! I'd previously put conscious thought into wondering who Frankie was.

Press my buttons. Turn me on. Flip the switch. I try using my imagination, but I think I'm getting to be a guy, where I need visual stimulation. I hate it when female porn stars fake pleasure. Or say things.

Hey baby, are we losing touch?
If you believed they put a man on the moon, man on the moon

Shit, the Pixies are good and I keep forgetting they exist. They're another band that "fit," even if you don't like their sound.

Doughnuts are toroidal.

If I ever write a short story about segregating individuals from a mass into groups "adjective" and "not adjective," the person doing the sorting will be named Maxwell.

[Edit: Oh hipster blog, your sad and apathetic musings are rarely for me, but damn, that is right on for every girl with a cell phone.]

You Did

During the times when friends and acquaintances are struck by sorrow and heartache, the art of comforting them is a delicate and varying skill. Sometimes the wrong words are exchanged, and it stings. In vocal communication, the awkwardness is obvious. In text, the unnoticed sting can fester into resentment. "You're hurting me. Stop." I'm fairly awful at comforting. Most times, I am reduced to silence and a hug, simple words issued as an excuse, "I don't know what so say" or "I had no idea." It's not asking for an explanation, but assuring them they are not alone for this moment. The visible reaction is important too. If someone is in need, or crying, they don't want the added burden of stopping to relieve their friends of having to see their exposure, forcing their emotions away for the moment in order to appease the norm of social conventions.

The sting still festers in me, the resentment at ill-comfort, even after the irritant has been relieved. "I don't want to loose you." "I really care about you." "What happened?" "You did." I remember those moments, where I was, my emotions, my surroundings. It's not something I dwell on often, but the present has resurrected many things to dwell on. I was loosed. No, you don't. I got hurt. Ow. It's also easy to remember the times where I failed in comforting. I'm sorry. I let you down. I was your friend, but I could not be there in your time of need. Those hurt too.

Shoot the Moon

Norah Jones has had her debut album out for a couple years now. It won a bunch of Grammys for a debut solo artist and in the jazz composition, but I'd never listened to the whole album. The lyrical expression is enveloping and personally identifiable, but the sparse accompaniment leave a feel of distance. In this expression, jazz possesses more personality than any other musical styling. It is whole-ly American and the music of my childhood. Jack claims I'm smarter because we stopped listening to jazz when he was two or three. On Ocracoke, the warm tones of French or Brazillian jazz flow over the wooden structure to the open porch, an emblem of lazy summer.

I don't know how I ever appreciated Led Zeppelin's rockin' second self-titled album before last Christmas Eve. In a strange camaraderie of role reversal, my mom and I talked about the expansion of sound and the musical experience while in an altered state. The cacophony of percussion instruments, howling vocals, and brilliant work with stereo dynamics combined with the vivid imagery of Zeppelin lyrics is dumbfounding. Okay, so I actually do know how I appreciated it before, they're still one of the few bands with talent and an electric chemistry. The Doors were similarly a band that "fit."

One of the reasons I took up guitar, besides the Romantic attraction, was so that I could be the "queen without a king" (they say she plays guitar and cries and sings), from Zeppelin's "Going to California," on what I consider their masterwork, LZ IV.

The nostalgia for vinyl is something I am accutely aware of. Physical changes are visibly apparent and have a noticeable effect on the sound quality of the music. The physical world can't touch modern music. Even in the creation stage, computers are more important to popular music than chemistry or talent. While there has been a resurgance in music issued on vinyl, the primary appeal is the artists who originally had no choice in the matter. Springsteen, Pink Floyd, the Beatles, The Doors. I have their albums on pressed plastic, encased in an artful sheath of protective paper. Plus, it's a very appealing "unique" thing, to be able to say that I am a girl who collects vinyl.

It's an intimate relationship between gospel, soul, and blues. "O Brother, Where Art Thou?," a family favorite, released an award winning soundtrack as noted by NPR in Matt's posting of the Decade in Music. My uncle Mike, possibly the most tech savvy of my relatives, got the original soundtrack on CD. On it is the song "Lonesome Valley" by The Fairfield Four. It joined my other recording by Pete Seeger and Joan Baez, my favorite folk singers. Both focus on the musicality and interplay of vocals, rather than instrumentation. The Fairfield Four are an a capella group that I assume is comprised of older black men. There is power and emotion in their voices, a near lamenting cry over rumbling bass. The second is a duet of warbling soprano Baez and the musical speaking of Seeger. It's a religious, old-timey song that reminds me of my easy and innocent past.

"Why I Feel Sorry for Orange."

In English class, our free-writes have become less and less and inspiration for brilliant writing, and more a half-assed attempt at observational comedy, practical use of irony, and attempting to oversaturate our writing with puns. This possibly has something to do with the decline of the prompts, but also to do with being lazy hooligans. In order to spark a fire of literary passion, we had two quick-writes today. The first was a picture of a gender-questionable figure titled, "The Astronmer." The second was the title of this post. Immediately, I knew what to write about. Frightening as it was to find spontaneous inspiration in that statement, it flowed. For some time now, I've disliked the color orange. While generally associated with a fruit, a vegetable, and Trisha of the past, it reminds me of JoeKat, specifically, his social faux pas regarding me and prom. Orange was, and possibly is, his favorite color. It's completely unreasonable to make the association to such a specific event. Colors have never done anything against me, and I'd assume they're unaware of my existence. Still, I insist on this unjustified persecution of orange. Finishing the prompt, satisfied with my answer, Mrs. Arters said, "If you know anything about the word and the English language, you should get this one." and asked the class to answer in choral why they felt sorry for orange. There were two responses.

"Because in English, the fruit was named before the color and it's having an identity crisis."

"Because it doesn't rhyme with anything!"

My blundering response was unheard and inappropriate for the mass of voices saying the same thing. Apparently the only child in the room who had not realized the loneliness of the unrhymed word, it was a "D'Oh" moment. Eric wrote about a girl named Orange, who will never have a song written for her because of her unfortunate fate. While that temporarily issued smug relief (because I have a song written for me), I still ended that prompt with an awkward taste in my mouth.

News and Notes

Today in math, I was writing a letter to myself to organize my thoughts. I'm nearly always writing or thinking about what to write. It was a free day, as our midterm is tomorrow, and Lauren asked me to write a letter to her instead of to myself. It is very difficult to write a letter to someone you barely know, except to express admiration or curiosity at their lifestyle. Despite this, I am an experienced letter-writer, and half the appeal is simply looking at cursive. I'm fairly certain I am the first person in the English language to conceive the phrase "boysenberry razzmatazz," but she giggled all through the letter and was appreciativ, saying she'll work on a response. I spend a great deal of energy in writing an engaging, personal, and sincere letter no matter who it is to. There are five classes of people I send letters to: friends, family, boys I have crushes on, acquaintances, and celebrities I am a fan of. This summarizes to people I adore and people I don't know very well.

Facts about Letter Writing:
Anna asked for a letter, and I have been under obligation to write a post-card response for a week or two.

The last two letters I've sent out via the post were ill-advised, even if one is still in transit.

Stamps are annoying, and I feel I should be personally excused because I'm one of possibly three minors who uses the USPS for letters that are not addressed to Santa.

URLs

http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v229/Trigger_89/070220.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v299/Kanaro/babies.jpg
http://img.waffleimages.com/65d27585a27cfd54990173dd10fd62d9981edea5/2137a9950nf3.jpg
http://img.waffleimages.com/9b2d2bded6f3efef295b55df2c8f4bd04800f96f/t/whatwhy.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v739/farkingbastage/ridindirty.jpg
http://img.waffleimages.com/9673dfe7d3db35441eb86a0a290dbe420127646e/pandas%203.jpg
http://i153.photobucket.com/albums/s238/LimeGouda/turtlemind.jpg
http://img.waffleimages.com/975f528ac51c583cafa09792e55fc944f387f89d/33.6.jpg
http://img.waffleimages.com/d1cf9bc21859697d633764c1512b3c19d4527786/oh-the-huge-manatee.jpg
http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v102/kingofallblahs/523th5vze4.jpg
http://img.waffleimages.com/67f1892a6fff6a2c4ff93488457ccdd9089d10b6/074_apathy.jpg

482

I was going through my drafts, clearing out old ones or adding more to make them post worthy, when I stumbled across this batch of urls. At first, I didn't even bother to look at them, figuring, "If I don't remember, what's the use?" Luckily, I saved this post from destruction. I would've swore I'd never seen any of these photos except the first one. I don't remember, even stranger, if I did, I don't know if I'd understand.

Jesus Never Sent Old Judas to Hell

"Should a body meet a body
Coming through the rye,
Should a body kiss a body,
Need a body cry?"

I still wouldn't recommend the book, meaningful as it is. Though it's encroached upon my conscious thought, the hipster adoption of the alienated man-child, I'll wait until someone else recommends this particular piece of so-so writing from an author who understood the human condition. It's not an enthralling read. It's not a particularly good read, more a collection of separate events that reveal a contrast between adult, child, naive sincerity and hypocrisy. Still, the book has personal meaning because of the way other people use it.

I've Conditioned Myself to Salivate

I'm much farther emotionally removed than I ever recall from my past. Was it drifting? I'm fairly positive it wasn't a sudden shift, but I can't see a gradient. My words are not meant maliciously. Little things go unnoticed until they're big things that barely raise an interest. There's such an emotional gap it's not worth the effort to fix anything. I'm surprised when things escalate, seemingly without provocation, but I'm not angry. I'm not sad. I don't hold resentment. I simply don't think about it. I feel less human for it, but my daily existence is satisfied happiness.

I don't want a job. I don't buy things. At this point in life, I feel that if I get a job, I will start having expenses that I didn't before, and they will be hard to break. My favorite place to shop is Goodwill. It's out of necessity now, but I don't feel awkward there. I don't have a car and prefer to walk. I pack a lunch. I dislike going to restaurants. I dislike going to movies. I'd much rather have a cooking party with friends followed by conversation, with the occasional possibility of popping in a $3 rental. Even in a professional future, I feel so worn down by the Garnet Valley interpretation of middle class that simple aesthetics are more "fit" for me. I want job satisfaction and at least a barely livable salary. Unfortunately, that leads to long stretches of unemployment, as I have to figure out which jobs will provide that first.

In writing that, I realized there's really no such thing as "popping in a rental," because nobody rents VHS anymore. Online movies stream, and DVDs slide in I guess. I don't think it's the same verb, or it shouldn't be. I still need to watch a bunch of movies from my New Year's Resolution list. I think I've only gotten 5 of them.

I used to think this was a meritocracy. That idea's been a long time dead.

Moby-Dick Jokes

If a guy came on to me using a nerdy pick up line, I would be positively responsive. With the right personality, even a terrible pick up line isn't an immediate turn off. However, if I'm not immediately aware it's a pick up line, then I'm taken a little off guard. "Have you ever had a kid?" What? No, I'd like to keep my vagina intact for a couple more years. "Well I'd love to spend 9 months inside you." While slightly off putting, I missed him

In English class, we took the best Moby-Dick test ever. It had nothing to do with plot, themes, or major motifs, but boy, what a unifying force. The whole thing was short answer, no essays. Glancing over the first sheet, I turned to Kira with an "Oooooh, shit!" face. Dropped jaw, bug eyes, the works. Thankfully, she returned a similar look of stupefication, so I was not alone in having no clue. Immediately, I skipped to the second page and fell into a deeper spiral of "WTF." It was the kind of test, where it was possible Mrs. A had made up a question that had nothing to do with the book, waiting for someone to call bullshit. However, none of us read the book. Even if most of the other girls had, I'm fairly certain they don't have the balls to call her out on it. Reaching the end, I calmed down, took a breath. Surveying my entire, encompassing knowledge of Moby-Dick, I could legitmately answer maybe five questions. Luckily, the only thing that keeps me in AP classes is my ability to bullshit. My religious upbringing makes it possible to relate every single question on symbolism to Biblical themes. Hallelujah Almighty. I answered all but two questions. Afterwards, we were a collective of wild gestures attempting to relate our absurd and profound expressions of ignorance and disbelief. I'm fairly positive by the time fourth period rolled around, her other AP class was very, very aware of the titainous and awesome mystery they were about to face.

"Thar she blows!"
"Whale ho!"
"This whale doesn't bite, she swallows."
"He was my passionate bed fellow."

One of the Discussion Questions for Moby-Dick was, "Throughout the novel, it is as though Ahab is trying to conquer something besdies the white whale. If you agree, why or why not, and what is he trying to overcome?"

"It is generally regarded as the bigger the truck, the smaller the penis, I guess the same thing could apply to whales. Of course, I made plenty of dick jokes about this book, so that is probably why that jumped to my head. However, extrapolating on that... whales are really big and phallus shaped. They also have the world’s biggest penis and Melville seems to really, really like talking about them. Humans are imperfect and impure, Ahab was pretty darn close to perfection in his obsession, except he could never be a whole human being and the whale would always prevent him from being pure. He was trying to conquer his own insecurity (and small penis).

My Head Is So Busy and It's Not Even Sunday

[The dawn is breaking]

The first time I encountered "college ruled" paper:
"I'm not smart enough to be in college! I'm not ready for this!"
Now, I don't know what "regular ruled" loose leaf is known as.
I dislike it.
I'm ready now.

{ but then I think...

"no I'm not}

Stab is not a word that sounds like its meaning.
It ends in a very soft B sound with your lips together.
Cut is much harder.

Split ends. If it wasn't for hair and fiber optics, I could think it's a good thing, a branching off, a new division, a separation of fates.

I wish I'd never sent that letter, but what a waste of a blue M&M.

I save PostSecrets. Only the meaningful ones. The ones that make me cry, or the ones I could've written. One, that I saved from this week, I misread. It was only one letter substitution, and I thought I'd found a fellow soul. Now, I think it's cliche.

I'm consciously aware of my over-usage of the word "just."
It's very limiting. It denies all connotations and accessory motives.

Kisses lost their meaning, right?
That feel of breaking morning light?

[Now you've gone and broke it forever]

Philophobia

"...But it’s hard to stay mad, when there’s so much beauty in the world. Sometimes I feel like I’m seeing it all at once, and it’s too much, my heart fills up like a balloon that’s about to burst… And then I remember to relax, and stop trying to hold on to it, and then it flows through me like rain and I can’t feel anything but gratitude for every single moment of my stupid little life."

It's astounding
how far one can fall

Tonight,
I realized I don't know what it means
"to be over someone"
I've moved on (I guess)
(Why all these prepositions)(about him?)
(over him)
(with him)
(on him)
(inside me)
(before him)
I don't think about "him"
I can't think when I see "him"
However
It's the same for every boy I've loved
(I suppose)
How ever can this be



[ o||%|> ]

(canned bee)
(cannitbee)
(canitbe?)
(really?)
(E)

Words for Men and Boys

I don't know who you are. I miss the boy who loved me. I can't remember what color your eyes are.

Sorry, I've always tagged along and you hurt me, so farewell.

I am mixed up in our regards. I don't know what anything means or if it has a meaning at all. I'll just wait, even if I'm terrible at it.

I don't like your stories, but Stasi speaks well of you.

Treat her well. She deserves it.

Thank you for supporting her, even if I don't like your petty alliances.

You are a better addition to a party, but not by much.

I'm sorry I can't harass you anymore. I'm not going to be in drumline.

This Romanticized idealism has to stop, even if I can't keep parallel with Kira.

I'm disinterested, but available.

You're interesting, but boring in text.

I'm glad you write.

Stay safe. Please.

You have stars on your ceiling. I miss when I idolized the boy who loved flowing water and flying things.

You're hot and philosophically awing, but I have my loyalties, oddly enough.

I wish we'd been better friends before and can be in the future. Being with you is pleasant, and I get to admire your idealized lifestyle.

Good luck next year. I am going to miss you oodles.

Good luck next year and the year after. You're a good kid and will be a better man.

I say things for you. Out loud, so that you can wonder about me. Comic books and LotR? Who is this girl?

I am perplexed by the why of this relationship, but that's not what it's about. Don't hurt her.

Uh... she's totally not what you described...

Man, you're my favorite (*wink* at Rose)

You're so alive. Please don't destroy it with heartbreak and recklessness.

Maybe you're a lil' creepin', but I still like who you are and will be proud of your grown up self.

I love you.

I Wondered What It Would Be Like to Bomb Your Houses

And for all your fiery brilliance, you cannot see your warmth and passion being conducted away into the uncaring and empty void that encloses your figure.

Today, I wrote a volunteered letter to the girl I have obligated myself to serenade. I will be singing "Whatever You Like." I don't know all the words, but I do have a boom-box.

Girls are notorious, for leaving secret messages in song lyrics, whether as status updates or music selection, and I still don't think it's common knowledge. They always want you to read deeper into the meaning, "Take the whole mood and tone of the song into account." Sometimes, it's just an accident. They were suddenly struck by a line and went, "Oh, goodie!" For sad songs, it's usually not the case.

Nearly everyone I know has a particular song that reminds me of them. Obviously, other people also have these associations. I feel intrusive when I attach a person to a song and believe someone else has already developed that intimate association.

There is a story about an Italian noble who had a prodigious art collection, but there was one piece that was housed behind curtains for the majority of its existence. It was controversial. It was offensive to the senses despite its meaning. Guests who knew about it understood why he had the good sense to keep it covered. Yet, when giving tours of his art collection to these critics, he would lead them to the curtains, full of mystery and anticipation. You see, the curtains weren't there to hide the piece, but to reveal it. For now, I have a green silk bathrobe from Victoria's Secret to make my curtains.

[Edit: Oh my lord, there is someone who understands echopraxia on OneSentence. Beautiful.
[Edit, edit: "I say now, that while there is a lower class, I am in it; and while there is a criminal element, I am of it; and while there is a soul in prison, I am not free." This is one of my favorite quotes, and it's by my favorite socialist, Eugene V. Debs. It was the Wikiquote of the day. Just sayin'.]]

Talk, Sex, Nemesis

"I want to be a part of something, not apart of something."
-Stasi, damn girl

"I don't really take something for truth unless I discover it myself."
-Chris

"Be water."
-Bruce Lee, via Gary

Intimacy. We talk about it, and in that, we create it.

Flaws:
arrogance
-intellectual elitism
-scorn
-exclusion on intellectual terms
obfuscating
ignorance
-close mindedness on certain issues
emotionally detached
-insensitivity
-brutal honesty
-causing unnecessary pain
jealousy
-occasional persecution complex
socially awkward
emotional/rational duality
impatient
inappropriate
sexual indifference and promiscuity
attention seeking
judgmental
proud

There's no reason to list my good qualities. The list would be much longer, and I believe my talents are, as a whole, more obvious.

Three nights ago, my dream was of sexual violence.
Two nights ago, my dream was of sexual anxiety, trauma, and fear.
One night ago, my dream was of a gorgeous autumn field.

Ohio is a fantastic song. Not many verses.

On that note (ha), I made a rockin' playlist and can't wait to share it.
I'm out of blank CDs.
:(

Singing, screaming, same thing. They serve the same release.

Things to Remember

Rimbaud- I embraced the summer dawn.- what a sad poem to fancy myself the dawn
Is it in these bottomless nights that you sleep, in exile
I found I could extinguish all human hope from my soul.
Baptism enslaved me.
I who fashioned myself a sorcerer or an angel, who dispensed with all morality, I have come back to earth.
The only unbearable thing is nothing is unbearable
mondegreen
the Wikipedia article of the Colonization of the Moon had fascinating links
I haven't read non-classic non-fiction in such a long time

Questions to No One in Particular

When did I start thinking in disconnected sentences? When did I start crying all the time? When did Matt and I stop being friends? Why is it so awkward to get a ride home? Why do I want to cry whenever I get out of the car? Why did Molly and I fall apart so completely? Why does that Valentine's Day feel so far away? When do people learn how to make friends? How did I miss that part of life? When will the trees be totally without leaves? If a president got divorced and remarried while in office, would she be the second First Lady? Why do I have three copies of the same poster in varying sizes? When am I going to finish watching Firefly? Why do I feel guilty about watching it with AJ instead of Matt? Why is sexual liberation lonely? Sometimes, thinking about the next generation, I wonder, "What could they possibly do to shock and offend my generation." I think they're all going to be conservatives. "Annie, are you okay? Are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?" Why has everyone in my family been hit by cars? Why does my mom have to clean this filthy house? Why has my mom had such a shitty, shitty life? Why I am so terrified of ending up like her? Why is my life so blessed? Why is there no better word than blessed? Who is the person who left their library receipt in the book I took out? Why do I wish Sarah lived farther away, so that walking to her house to apologize would hurt more? "Why he do dat?" Why haven't I been able to get strings for my electric guitar? Why do I keep calling my electric acoustic mandolin an electric mandolin? What would that even sound like? Why is my room absolutely perfect (besides the temperature)? Why this petty persecution? Why am I so interested in touching? Why don't I run away? "Which would you rather be, the person that you hope to be, or the person you fear you already are?"

For all my lonesome, I have no regrets.

Know1ng (not the Nicholas Cage movie)

As Big B once explained to me, there are four types of knowledge:

Known knowns: the things you know you know
Unknown knowns: the things you don't remember you know
Known unknowns: the things you know you don't know
Unknown Unknowns: the things you don't even know are possible to know

"The more I learn, the more I learn how little I know." Until very recently, I couldn't really figure out how this quote worked. Obviously, Socrates was a wise and educated philosopher, a giant among men. However, even established philosophers probably bullshit out their ass sometimes. Suddenly, I got it. Wikipedia was absolutely the catalyst for this epiphany. Praise be to the internet. The thought that struck me was, "Holy shit. I never knew this concept existed. Oh my gawd. There are bajillions of thoughts I haven't thunk! Ideas I've never come across before." And with that, my universe expanded, even if I couldn't see most of it.

As a snot-nosed, know-it-all teenage punk, I was, and still am to a slightly lesser degree, conceited. Oh, how I scorned the ignorant who had not sense to look around them. Fools, who did not realize their mortality put limits on the amount of time and amount of material they could learn. Bah. While that's an extreme exaggeration, I continue to get frustrated when kids in "upper level" classes do not live up to my expectations of the course requirements. In my self-absorbed, elitist appreciation of knowledge, even though I think I know "a lot," I realize there is a hella-lot more information I cannot conceive of. Despite the arrogance, I strive to continue the expansion of my knowledge. When an unknown unknown is forced into the realm of a known unknown, I can and will say, "I don't know, but I can find out."

This is not to say I think ignorance is necessarily evil. While I wish everyone could throw off the shackles of their ignorance, I know that most people will never be exposed to certain concepts, and I don't expect them to. Very little "knowledge" is relevant or necessary to daily life. Even in a professional occupation, the scope of understanding is usually confined to that particular field.

PS. "The more you know, the less you understand." I still don't really get this one. Also, Smash Mouth said something similar, so I'm a little biased.

PPS. Unrelated but awesome: Make your conscious act your conscience act.

Things On My Hand & Other Observations

transgressive
Amor Omnia Vincit
Bellocq
Code Noir: art 18?
invidious consumption
Danni: (WS(J)GGS)
the curtain was to reveal the painting, not to hide it

My new insurance kicks in today!

There are times when I am more brutal than honest.

It felt good to not let Shana put down Emily without calling her out.

Stasi's Halloween party was otherwise very fun.

It's not about the people who will always be "there" for you. It's about the ones who will come and get you when you can't get "there." Thanks, you guys.

I'm not seeking forgiveness, but there will be an apology.

On that note, I rescind these other apologies.

However, I would like to extend a retrospective apology to Nicki on how terribly awful her senior year show was. At least drumline made up for some of it?

I'm fairly awesome at impromptu speeches.

I can go for my license Nov. 5th.

I will not be going for my license on Nov. 5th.

Whenever I mention a specific date from last year, I don't mention that I remember because I was dating Dave.

Whenever I share a Dave related story in English or Psychology, I wonder if Brianna knows I'm talking about him.

Occasionally, I think about how my perspective of him has evolved from 6th grade to 12th.

Today, I watched A Prairie Home Companion. I'd seen it before, but it made me cry this time.

During my recovery from illness, after I'd slept for two days straight, I woke up to find my family had installed in our home a George Foreman Grill.

The George Foreman Grill is AWESOME.

"Hata's just jealous."

I don't like referring to Jack and me + Parent as family. It would mean we have two different families, even if I know it's more true.

Yesterday into today was some of the best Wikilinking in a loooong time.

My most defining feature is my love of learning. I can imagine a possible life for myself in changing every other aspect of my life except this one.

A cumulative pit history from my point of view is slowly taking shape. I want to include commentary from everyone.

Multifaceted. That word has so much possibility.

Senior Skip Day Monday!

I have a story to write about my mom and me, but it's personal.

Touch

I love the callouses on my finger tips, the delicate pain of accidentally brushing against the desk. Unfortunately, in my recent thought acquisition of pondering the sensation of touch, I have no desire to touch or to be touched. AP Psychology is, by far, one of the most interesting classes I have taken, on par with Euro.

Brook Farms without the Communism or Smallpox

Under the new made clouds and happy as the heart was long,
In the sun born over and over,
I ran my heedless ways.

ho' shit. this worked out sorta. let there be conversation. we need to come up with a name.

get a lot of comfortable, one book at a time

"I'm afraid that pigeons don't know right from wrong to not go out into the street. They don't have the kind of memory as we humans does to know what to do and what shall not do. They must don't know the danger their lives are being jeopardized. They must don't know what can happen in the human knowledge and sense. They land just about anywhere they can find a land on surface.

People are fearful of me, which I wonder if they think I'm so terrible or if they think I'm not human at all. I may be a stranger, but that doesn't make me a created monster or something like that. People aren't human. They act like ignorant dogs with their tail in back of their legs. They don't think whose feelings they hurt at all. They just do it. No consideration for whatsoever. People don't think about my feelings.
They don't give a hoot.
They don't give a crap.
Fear if you never knowing if you ever going to lose your mother is very sad and scary experience you have to learn from and you wonder why she has to die. I love her, and I have loved her once while she was alive, especially if she was the mother that raised you. You only wish that you could do all you can to save her life. There are gonna be worse times and hard times for Michael Bernard Loggins and his brothers and sisters too, especially on Mother's Day.
Afraid this is the last thing that will ever occur to me."

I want somebody here to appreciate NPR and PRI and storytelling and politics and vinyl records with me. There is far too often an idolization of ignorance in high school.

My thoughts have become such that I post in my secret blog more than this one. I have nothing to say to a group, and nothing happening day to day worth documenting.

Take Pictures

I don't take pictures of my friends.
There won't be pictures of me in high school.
I couldn't remember at the right times to get the buddy picture on Thursday.
There is one picture of just me and JoeKat.
There are maybe 5 pictures of Dave and me together at all.
There are only prom pictures of me and Jimmy.
There are no recent pictures of my little brother and I.
There are no pictures of my mom and I together since I "grew up."

Never Dreamed/Always Dreamed

I know that other people have experienced this. (I think.) But where are they, so we can go, "I know! Isn't it the best?! Isn't it all totally worth it?!"

It is more, but not the most.

I wrote John Hodgman a letter to tell him a few things and generally profess adoration. Then I couldn't find a mailing address for him. Then I scanned the letter and be-doodled envelope to send him a picture of the letter via email.

Every time you reached over to change the volume or the heat, it caught my eye.

My copy of Moby Dick has a black whale on the front cover.

All bets are off. I can wait.

I will find words to describe, but it will be too intimate.

Bad Dream

I had my first nightmare in a very, very long time. Friday night, I watched Quarantine with my mom, and it was so-so as a movie, but it was exactly the scary I was predicting. However, that night, I was having a completely ordinary dream, not a single hint of ominous forewarning, when it startled me awake. In the dream, I'd been talking to Joe M., who was standing close enough to fill most of my frame of vision, when over his right shoulder, one of the "infected things" crept towards him. It was probably less than two seconds of that image to shock me awake. The thing that distinguishes this dream from my usual zombie nightmares, is that after I woke up, I couldn't shake the fear. "I know it's not real. I know it's not real." It wasn't working. For minutes I consciously focused on the outline of Fred Flintstone and Peter Griffin. How would I draw them? What makes their cartoon character distinguishable? Images from the movie would interrupt these distraction thoughts to scare me. After I couldn't focus on the animated men, I went over my memories with Dave. I can't remember how much it hurt. I can't remember what being naively in love felt like. I didn't ever cry in front of him. Eventually, I fell back asleep.

songs I listened to recently

Australia
Poison Oak
Lime Tree
Napoleon's Hat
As Time Goes By
Teeth in the Grass
In the Valley
In the Sun
Honey and the Moon
Tangerine
Going to California
Us and Them
Time
I've Just Seen a Face
American Pie
The General
Mr. Tambourine Man
Within You
Vera
I'da Called You Woody, Joe
1930
You Keep the Diner, We're Getting a Divorce
Mr. Larkin
Day n Nite
Hero
She's Got You High
Everlong
No One Knows
Bonfire
All My Days
Wait
Orange Sky
Crinan Wood
The Twist
Modern Leper

Analogy and Tautology

"I won't dare give this hideous imitation a name. That would legitimize it."
"Giving Frankenstein a name wouldn't have made him any less a monster."

"Good! Fucking goddammit! You didn't deserve to see it. It would have been too good for you."

When the lightbulb went out, I sat for days, weeping in darkness, lamenting the loss of a good bulb and lack of a new one.

I watched the moon turn into the sun and the bats turn into birds and the transmutation of night to day was over.

production is consumption

and all your brilliance washed over me, blinding

the sun's light has to travel 93 million miles
I could never travel that in lifetimes
and I will not remember this moment of sunlight that has traveled so far for an instant

how many fucks didn't you give?
Zero. I gave zero fucks.

and in this mad and rushing collective, resentment

Has it sunk this far? Is it me you don't trust? or yourself? Can you even believe this? Can you even fucking believe it. Pussy.

I'm writing, writing, writing letters. It's for my health and not for you.

Call me out, but
please
please
please
call me up sometime

the spiral is exciting
I know I will not die
the plunging rush of failure
is how you start to fly

didn't listen to the song
just thought the plot was good

the night is so cold and the shoes are too small and the dress is too big and the quiet hopefulness growing too fast

pull out that list, baby

FUCK YOUR CONTROLS!
(this was written for somebody else, but I have adopted it)

Chloe likes limes and Lime Tree and where did those girls go?

let's hope somebody just turned off the light
rather than the bulb being burnt out

I do not respect martyrs for their death, but their life.

yes, yes, this smug smile's for you

"I poured my heart out"

Who the hell are you? Definitely not the savior I knew.

One of the reasons I am an atheist, besides my worship of reason, is seeing my mother beaten down by the god she follows so faithfully

You are ugly and so are your heart and your shoes!

[edit: I am going to replace you with pictures of older you, when you looked happy.]

Found/48 [no more, no less]

And so, now that there is no more hand holding, I am going to let go, and there will be nothing to stop me.

Two days ago, I woke up at 5 AM so that Matt's dad could pick me up on our way to Jersey for Duel on the Delaware. Because of my early attendence, my assigned volunteer position was that of parking staff. I wore a nifty orange jacket and sat on a chair and nearly fell asleep. Sometime around 8, I was dismissed, and left to my own wandering devices. There was lots of food with sugar in it. Therefore, I ate lots of sugary foods. After I realized I could go to the pit area and talk with the functioning team, it was much more enjoyable and less absolutely tiring. My job was stake out the competition and take notes. Eventually, I made a friend. After we got eliminated in semi-finals, it was much easier to talk to people, especially as the SAT kids had arrived. Cleaning up was alright, because it kept me busy. The ride home was pleasant. That night, I snuck out. 'twas fun.

Yesterday, Viv invited me to travel with her to Michael's and Target, a lovely ride in Earl, and then a return home where we would commence making rainbow cupcakes. While we were sidetracked by super-gluing her sister's leg shut from an accidentally self-inflicted knife wound, I eventually settled in to watching last week's episode of house and eating cupcake batter from the bowl. Chase took off his shirt, James Earl Jones is talented, and cupcake batter is delicious. The show was playing over Viv's Mac (go PC), on her counter, so we could both watch. I, leaning over the counter in a pulled up chair, watched Viv organize bowls and dye and utensils. It made me feel like a little kid.

Today, Matt, Gary, Kate, Hannah, and I went to Linvilla Orchards to try and get class-worthy photographs for Matt. Unfortunately, Linvilla is not the place for artistic or scenic photography, but still the family-friendly stomping grounds of my childhood. Besides it crawling with small children, I had a splendid afternoon. Everyone went on the hayride, tried "cider doughnuts," looked at chickens and fancy pidgeons. Afterwards, Matt and I went to Clayton Park so he could finish up his roll of film. We hopped a chain link fence. Behind the fence were rusty construction vehicles with plants growing over them. Photogenic! Band was chilly. I make up words to America. It feels subtly hostile to be there and there's really no reason for me to stick out the season. But, I still kick butt and it would be pointless to switch out now, even if I want to go to the football games as a spectator.

The Twilight Zone

"Martin, I only wanted to tell you that this is a wonderful time of life for you. Don't let any of it go by without enjoying it. There won't be any more merry-go-rounds, no more cotton candy, no more band concerts. I only wanted to tell you that this is a wonderful time for you. Now. Here. That's all. That's all I wanted to tell you. God help me. That's all I wanted to tell you.

Martin, age thirty-six, vice-president in charge of media. Successful in most things but not in the one effort that all men try at some time in their lives - trying to go home again. And also like all men perhaps there'll be an occasion, maybe a summer night sometime, when he'll look up from what he's doing and listen to the distant music of a calliope, and hear the voices and the laughter of the people and the places of his past. And perhaps across his mind there'll flit a little errant wish, that a man might not have to become old, never outgrow the parks and the merry-go-rounds of his youth. And he'll smile then too because he'll know it is just an errant wish, some wisp of memory not too important really, some laughing ghosts that cross a man's mind, that are a part of the Twilight Zone."

This is how I want to write; these are the ideas I want to write about. It's not about the past, not any past I long for, but the innocence. The Twilight Zone is my favorite television show, for this episode, for others, the writing, the memories- the New Year's Eves of childhood watching a marathon on Sci-Fi. I want to share beautiful, meaningful things, and this show is one of them.

7/21!

Birthday shout out. ~<:D

Strange Things Are Happening to Me, Ain't No Doubt About It

Things have been so very strange emotionally. Friday night back at band, I felt like to be alive was powerful.

I invited someone to see my secret blog, the third person to ever see any of the blog, let alone all of it. We talked about it, about the universal nature of heartbreak, regret, hope, defeated resignation, because sometimes, even if it hurts, there's nothing you can do about it. We spoke about the freedom of summer, the things we missed, how we could've done it better and still have everything.

I'm looking for flattering associations, something that will make me feel sexy and playful and casually cool. This year, I have become something more than I used to be. It's startling, to be a sought after personality, somebody people might actually want to talk to. I waxing poetic on how my brother got all the cool in our family, and I got the academic smarts. Kim very warmly chided me, saying that she thought I was cool. I meant "the Fonz" cool, "wearing aviators because you think they are a legitimate fashion statement" cool, leather jackets and cigarettes. It was still a pleasant notion.

I'm listening to Alexi Murdoch right now, my adventure music, my peaceful music, my "this feels like the first warm afternoons of summer" music. I wouldn't change anything, but this is the first time I have dealt with regret for any length of time, however extremely short it's been.