Today is the anniversary of Billie Holiday's death.

Strange Fruit Gives Me the Chills

Billie Holiday wrote a song, one of the few she authored herself, after she found her husband with lipstick on his collar. It is titled "Don't Explain." These are the situations were I am scared of the truth. It makes me feel weak, but human.

Stoof

I finally found out why the Liberty Bell is historically important and got my blink-182 tickets. I'm going to start an altered book. I'm not sure what the theme should be. One "Books On the Street," essentially, "read a book, read a book, read a motherfucking book" or "A Collection of Letters." I'm going to muse on it tomorrow. I was also trying to think of relating how books are dying and slow to convey information as compared to the internet. Maybe by making it a dinosaur. I dunno.

[Edit: The book I'm altering is Ulysses, so I might actually do the theme about how books are a home away from home or whatever, because the whole theme of Ulysses is him just trying to get home.]

Today, I had a fucking adventure

12 miles. Plus the tiny hike through the woods from point C to point A, after which point my shoes were soaked.

Rant: Sorta Coherent, Fades in and Out

"before my death I hope to obtain my
life."

I hate that I feel sexier when I wear make-up. I should be able to feel sexy without it. I don't like supporting this fashion industry. In my whole life, I have spent less than $5 on make-up, not including two vials of black and yellow nail polish that I wanted so I could paint my nails to look like bumble bees or the glow-in-the-dark polish I got for Halloween. My eye shadow and foundation were gifts from my aunts. I did not use the blush until I wanted to give Molly's figurine some color. I have not used the foundation. However, I have spent at least $30 of my parents' money to shave my legs and arms and hoohah. I wore no jewelry to prom. It's specifically sexy, though. I'm supposed to win guys with my personality, and I do consider myself on varying scales of attractive, depending on what I'm wearing, or what effect I'm going for. I want to tell everyone that it doesn't matter what you look like, the one who loves you will find you fascinating to stare at. Every curve and color, and it all blurs with tactile facets too. I, in all honesty, can't though, because I am proud of my genetics and lifestyle that have allowed me to live up to this standard of beauty. I love who I am, physically and in all other respects. There was a PostSecret with a venn diagram: "People Who Love Me, People Who'd Love to Fuck Me" and the words, "I fear that no one will be in the overlap again." Someone had replied to it, "My problem is, I can't find anyone I love and would love to fuck." They change everything and are so separate, but both so necessary, at least definitely at this young and raging with hormones stage. I have no experience saying at other times, but I think it's still similar.

Sunday, in the Park

Today, I walked to Bellevue from my mom's for the summer concert series. The band was very folky and from West Chester. They played "It Ain't Me" by Bob Dylan, which is maybe my third favorite song of his. I sang along. In between singing and scoping out two hotties (one with an Obama shirt, another with a Mt. Pleasant Band shirt), I would find this little girl staring at me and we giggled at each other. Eventually, her and her sister worked up the courage to ask me what my name was. I told them, and returned the question. I wasn't sure what they said, but I knew they were speaking French. We spent the next few minutes sitting, giggling, and me answering questions as they ran to their mom for "transduction." The older girl was 8, the younger 6. We played tag, and the only French I learned this whole time was how to call a time out. An older gentleman wanted to give the littlest girl a flower, and I told him they spoke French. He began asking a few questions in French, and they energetically responded. The younger girl had a leg brace and lift, because her right leg was shorter than the left. It was an amazing evening. I gave them my address, and they returned the favor. I'm going to ask Wasiq to help me compose a letter. They gave me pretty much the sweetest ego boost ever, because they took pictures of me for their vacation, and the American friend their parents were visiting told me that they were saying "tres belle," and that those sort of things shouldn't get lost in translation.
:]

Considering a Question Posed in Firelight

While everything said was true, I don't believe in "the one."