Things that Irritate Me

By looking through the list of 501 (a) class "charitable organizations" with the word church in their titles, there are 491 tax-exempt churches in Philadelphia alone. [editor's note: I used my discretion to include the churches that were listed in "Philiadelphia," "Philedelphia," and "Philladelphia."] I think it's absolutely reasonable to continue extending this exemption to churches that actively provide services to the community. Still, it's also reasonable to start a nominal tax rate for those organizations simply spreading the word of gods.
[Side note: churches are not explicitly defined by the IRS, but refer to religious establishments of any creed. It does not include schools or separate business run by churches.]

I dislike the practice of those who can only fall asleep while the TV is on.

Photoshopped images of models in magazines should come with a health warning.

All Congressmen, after five years of service (at a base rate of at least $174,000 a year), receive lifetime fringe benefits, including a pension and healthcare.

Public Transportation in America is widely unailable and inefficient, though increased usage would annually decrease environmental emissions 11,450 pounds of carbon dioxide for just one standard sedan off the road. This availability would also decrease incidents of fatal alcohol-related traffic deaths, in which drunk drivers are responsible for 12.8% of all fatal crashes in the US.

It's really hard to judge how many chips constitute one serving, because the serving size is usually measured in ounces.

Allowing unlimited campaign spending for corporations is one of the scariest things that has happened in modern politics. Corporations are not people, are not allowed the same rights to free speech as citizens, and generally are not the best interest of public welfare. In the words of the great social commentator, Stephen T. Colbert, "A corporation is just like a person. They do everything people do, except breathe, die, and go to jail for dumping 1.3 million pounds of PCBs into the Hudson River.”

Equality of Opportunity is a key component to defining the American ideal; I understand this and support the concept infinitely. However, in the aftermath of slavery and the lingering hostilities, blacks migrated into cities as the white flight was moving white business out and taking their affluence with them. This led to the decline of "inner city" [see: black] schools, which have failed to provide the same standard of education as wealthy suburban schools. While black students would still be the primary beneficiaries of a revised plan, Affirmative Action should be basd on economic disadvantage, rather than race.

GM should've been allowed to fail, and AIG shouldn't have gotten a $170 billion dollar bail out.

People who want to deny terrorists the basic American right to a fair trial. Applying those basic liberties to everyone is the foundation of the Constitution, to give every group, including those from the majority, the extemes, the dissenters, and the undesirables, equality under the law to prevent a tyrannical state.

A government body should not be allowed to determine if someone lives or dies. Capital punishment is not only wasteful in its expense, but in its gross ability for an intangible entity to determine whether someone gets to keep their life.

On that, jueveniles should never be tried as adults, the American prison system is deplorable, and the American legal system is overburdened.

Part of that burden is that the system is clogged with nonviolent drug offenders possessing "soft drugs." Marijuana should be legalized and regulated along the lines of tobacco. I realize that it would be a difficult industry to manage, because nearly anyone can grow it, but the "War on Drugs" is estimated to have cost tax payers over $19 billion dollars in 2009, not including the production cost of wasting the time of the courts that could be better spent otherwise.

Medical Marijuana also makes sense and should be legalized.

The College Board is a non-profit organization that has a $55 million dollar surplus, and their top 41 officers make over $250,000 each.

Cable companies only offer bulk packages. More appealing for consumers, and less profitable to the company, would be to allow the consumer to customize packages to include only the channels they wanted. Besides the convenience, this would create competition among the channels, prompting them to create better shows to capture more viewers to capture more advertising funding.

Professional sports and the money poured into them is absolutely astounding to me.

If a gay citizen wants to serve in the army of the country that won't allow them to marry, they should be able to do so without fear of hiding and demonizing their sexuality.

Gays should be allowed receive the full legal and economic benefits of marriage.

Zero Tolerance laws are demeaning overreactions that prevent a student from getting a quality education and haunt their behavioral transcripts forever.

If people stopped signing up for the army, there wouldn't be anymore war.

"The trouble with her is that she lacks the power of conversation but not the power of speech."
-George Bernard Shaw

With each encounter of literary witticism, whether Shaw, Twain, Shakespeare, or Wilde, I jealously shamed by my own inabilities. Authors must have spectacular friendships and even better rivalries.

He has never been known to use a word that might send a reader to the dictionary.
-William Faulkner

Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words?
-Earnest Hemingway

Dreaming of Warmer Climes

"Because of you, the heady perfumes of summer pain me; because of you, I again seek out the signs that precipitate desires: shooting stars, falling objects."
-Pablo Neruda

I asked my dad if he ever remembered his dreams. He said he doesn't dream so much anymore. Back when he was married to my mom, she complained that he laughed in his sleep. The source of his laughter is one of those eternal mysteries.

I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
— Jonathan Safran Foer

Summertime, laughter, dreaming, naps, the Brandywine, shooting stars, stencils, bonfires, grass, smiles, balloons, Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close, Viv's away messages, pancakes, fireworks, clementines, acoustic guitar, candlelight, satin sheets, dried flowers, local history museums, bare feet, blonde hair and a sundress, warm breezes, the Gristmill, stained glass, dappled sunlight, idea book, Sharpies, singing, screaming, sneaking out, lemonade, cloud watching, God rays, monkey balls, Bright Eyes, free stuff, my necklace, songwriting, hammocks, little birds, cats, homegrown, gardening, farmer's markets, smokey whispers, apples, hayrides, barns, running through a cornfield, windchimes in harmony, holding hands, crazy socks, M&Ms

"things are so easily lost. things just can't be kept forever."
-Bukowski

At one point, JT K. lived down the road from me. He was out skateboarding in the funeral home parking lot, and I invited him to have lemonade with me. We talked for a bit, sitting on the top of my picnic table. I'm sure he doesn't remember it.

"The charm of the past is that it is the past."
-Oscar Wilde

Just for Sharing

• Lawyer: "Doctor, before you performed the autopsy, did you check for a pulse?"
• Witness: "No."
• Lawyer: "Did you check for blood pressure?"
• Witness: "No."
• Lawyer: "Did you check for breathing?"
• Witness: "No."
• Lawyer: "So, then it is possible that the patient was alive when you began the autopsy?"
• Witness: "No."
• Lawyer: "How can you be so sure, Doctor?"
• Witness: "Because his brain was sitting on my desk in a jar."
• Lawyer: "But could the patient have still been alive nevertheless?"
• Witness: "Yes, it is possible that he could have been alive and practicing law somewhere."

P.S. I have never seen a baby squirrel.

"Respect must be there in order for love to grow. One cannot love someone or something one disrespects or hates, or is unable to communicate with."
-Simple English Wikipedia on Love

I'm a failed communicator. Though I write, though I speak eloquently when required, I am crass and offensive. I do not make efforts to extend myself to others, partly for ignorance, partly for contentment with myself. How do I initiate conversation? How do I maintain it, or better yet, discover it in new people? There are only a few people who have ever been worth deep conversation with. Some, I speak to occasionally, forgiven my lack of correspondence due to external circumstance. Others, I am at fault, and striving to recreate those connections.


"Once freedom has exploded in the soul of man, the gods no longer have any power over him"

Hotcakes, Griddlecakes, Pancakes, and Flap Jacks

"How on earth are you ever going to explain in terms of chemistry and physics so important a biological phenomenon as first love?"

After enhancement, on my way to lunch, I stopped by Cartwright's room to put my binder in his class for fourth period. Unfortunately, Dave was already there, sitting in my seat, so I elected to delegate this action to Wasiq. Cartwright is the third teacher to compare me to my former heartache, though I'm the version for dummies without any of the "cool." It's a shame I freeze up when I see him, but I don't believe we could manage an aquaintanceship, much less on friendly terms. If not first love, can second love be explained in terms of science? At what point will cynicism guide me to accept that love is a bunch of hormones and social conditioning. It's not yet, and please, not in my youth. Jimmy is certainly intelligent beyond any standard of norm, kind, a comedic genius, and talented in his aspirations. I feel evil looking back on my treatment of him, which I don't think he would want me to do, but regardless. To defend myself, I was scared and hesistant and utterly unexcuseable. There was no way I would let myself fall in love with him, despite the laughter and romance. Now, I'm all a waste of blue M&Ms, but still grateful.

"There are four words to describe flat discs of cooked batter, but only one word for love."

I've been aching, physically and otherwise. It's a very specific kind of hurt. I don't sleep well, and I don't eat well, and I don't see people. Excepting the 6 hours of sleep I get each night, I have been home and conscious for ~25 hours this week, and will be home for another 10 hours this weekend. There is hardly time for talking, let alone hanging out with people. I miss everyone.

I am the GV anomaly. I've had my license but not a car at all to drive. One some level, I am a fraction grateful I do not have to face my fear. My family has bad luck with cars:
Dad- osteoarthritis and aggravated back pain because of an accident
Mom- job loss and recurring leg injury because of accident
Uncle Chris- died in mysterious crash in his Toyota two years ago
Me- hit by car as small child
Jack- hit be car as adolescent

I feel ignorant to reality, but I mean well.
Good intentions, nothing but good intentions and honesty...

Two Lost Souls

I'm a leech at photo club.
I'm a girl (see: idiot) at HiQ.
I'm not good at science or math at robotics.
I'm politically backwards in Gov.
I'm uniformed, irresponsible, and permissive in Speak Up.
I'm a pariah at band.
I'm lazy and incompetent at school.
I'm a whorish drug user on my free time.


I'm a lot of people's ex-friend, so don't worry about it.
I've gotten used to this.

Dismal Science? More like the Jizz-mal Science

What was our Macro homework?

For tonight or the one i was doing in the library? Cuz there isnt any for tonight...so ill assume u want the library one...and that is...questions 2,6,7,9,10

Nope, already turned that one in. Thanks, Was! I think it'd be a good study application if I came over and studied how to satisfy your unlimited wants sometime.

Hahahaha. Well technically that wouldn't be studying economics,would it? I mean last time i checked u didnt possess scarce resources...so ud be fulfilling

Haha, you're making it sound like a dismal science! We've both only got limited time and we should allocate it efficiently.

Good idea. I say i start at the bottom of ur production possibilities curve for a bit...and work my way up top.

my unlimited wants with..ur unlimited resources? Dayummmm. ;)

:] But you've got to be running at full production to satisfy those needs. Luckily, the only opportunity cost is missing out testing your elastic bed springs.

Hahah. Damn. Im outta ideas. Nice one.

The Giver/Receiver

"I love you to outter space! Outter space goes upupupupup!"
-Overheard in NY

Friday into Saturday was an excellent time, and perhaps the most absurd twenty-four hours of my life. I completed the first resolution of my list, to go streaking, as well as a number of other firsts, including eating uncooked ramen, which was nasty. After returning home to my mom's, I watched Forrest Gump for the first time, a resolution from the previous year I never got around to completing. Certainly entertaining, but a mystery as to why it's famous, I reflected through a majority of the film. I considered all the boys I'd loved, the hands I've held, and the disparity between the two. Before Friday, I didn't know what to do about a hook up buddy. I assumed I'd feel guilty. Instead, I wound up appreciating the past even more, pink scars, the way our hair contrasted, harmonic wind chimes, and the differences between every other time I'd snuck out. I'm young, and there's a whole lot I haven't experienced, several experiences I don't even know exist yet. There's a point in the future where it's more difficult to make mistakes. For now, I'm learning.

Newton's Third Law: F- Society on Girl (Girl Pushes Back)

I used to giggle and turn away when he made eye contact with me.
Now there is just turning away.
What a shame.

"Women's virtue is man's greatest invention."
There is a certain sadness to sexual enlightenment. My body is a biological miracle, to maintain functioning for more than a minute, let alone seventeen years. Fantastic and horrendous visions from my imagination can never match the awe of human contact or the ecstatic pleasure derived in processes I do not understand from single cells working together to create some intangible heaven I cannot express.

"Rose is a rose is a rose." Human beings do not live by that simplistic mantra of simplistic existence. A body is not a body, and a body touching another body is a completely different matter entirely. For a girls, it seems simple enough to give pleasure and accept pleasure. In modern society, it's difficult for a man to restrain a woman from using her body as she sees fit. To do so would be illegal, ignoble, and nothing any modern woman would stand for. And yet, this patriarchal ideal of virtue has been so long ingrained, that women turn against each other. Women hold each other to inhumane standards of moral purity, resulting in a choice between satiating a physical, biological desire, or preventing pariah status. Even after liberation, there is social stigma in the words "slut" and "whore." We've set in place bureaucratic rules of restraint and silly head games that prevent any straightforward interactions between men and women. I still complicate things for myself by reverting back to this mundane system. If something is as straightforward as "it feels good and I am kind," I subject myself to moral interrogation. I do not allow myself to contentedly accept well-being and happiness.

TAL #374: Somewhere Out There

There isn't just one special person for everyone. If things don't work out with my current interest, I'll just find another. There's probably 10,000 people out there I could fall blissfully, eternally in love with. It's a small number, in comparison to the 6.5 billion other human beings on this planet. Still, from the other side, no man will ever need me. There's not much I have to offer, in terms of uniqueness. Every other woman on the planet has a body, quite a few speak English and are in the right age group. Even of those women, a lot of them are pretty smart, pretty funny, or regular ol' pretty. If things don't work out, there's nothing to lose but me, and I'm replaceable. In memories of a shared past, there's no substitute. But for the future, it could be anyone.

I'm No Hero and You're No Beauty

Like fraternal sons of New Jersey, The Gaslight Anthem is all nostalgic rivers and road trip spirits. Listening to either Springsteen or these Jersey punk rockers makes me dream of summertime and being alive. Even though I'll legally be an adult, this summer is a last vestige of childhood, getting in the last of the not gottens. Though swearing to it now will have no use, I vow to never waste wakefulness, except in the hammock and under the stars. There are stories waiting to be made in that still-warm nighttime.

Never Have I Ever

After robotics today, there was a party at an alum's house. Besides the road there being very circuitous, and the ride back being even worse, it was an entirely enjoyable evening. Actually, even the car rides were really fun with Matt and Trisha. Tim's (the alum) basement was perfect for parties, minus a strobe light. He had surround sound stereo, at least six black lights, two ceiling mount disco ball lights, foosball, ping pong, air hockey, and two of those giant work out balls that really don't make any sense except to be awesome and take up space. His mom made us a real dinner, with teriyaki steak, ham, potatoes, broccoli, corn, carrots, and orange slices. Upstairs was Wii MarkioKart and Mario SmashBrothers. As the party wound down, we got to playing Never Have I Ever, count down from ten. I lost the game. Not by a very large margin, but none the less. Unless it has to do with alcohol, travel, certain exotic activies, or going to restaurants, I pretty much corner the market on lewd, illicit, and generally adventurous activities.

So No More We'll Go a-Roving

"object with infinite volume but finite surface area"
I wonder how long this can stay in my search browser.
I think I look prettier after I've cried.
I am so blessed.

If you had asked, I would've said "no."

College

Instead of applications and following them on the internet and having that fail miserably, I would much rather it be determined by a massive obstacle course or battle of wits or talent show or combination of all of them.

Relativity of Simultaneity

"I always knew looking back on my tears would bring me laughter, but I never knew looking back on my laughter would make me cry."
— Cat Stevens

I currently have the second most popular story from the last month on onesentence.org. However, without ill will, I still voted up the most popular. I've been thinking a lot about time. How according to the concept of relativity of simultaneity, things in different places cannot never occur definitively at the same time. Even so, we're all dying at exactly the same rate, some of us are just closer to the end.

Today, the English prompt was, "If you could forget any moment from high school, which would it be?" I spoke an exact date, but would not inform the class what happened. It gave me an air of mystery, but I didn't mean it. I hope I will not forget the day.

F*CK THIS SH*T

I censor myself. I hate the action when perpetrated by others, even more so when I do it to myself. Consider the audience and their easily offended sensibilities, the lurkers and the ones who may stumble over treacherous statements. Of course, there is perfectly good rational and reason for censorship. Action is more fun than talking them.

Weekend and Weak Start

"I only know that summer sang in me
A little while, that in me sings no more."

Saturday night was fun. Carley, Jeff, and I went to Tom Jones, orange pleather heaven, and were completely surrounded by scene-sters enjoying a late night snack. Carley slept over, and during the night we talked about the difference between pro-life and pro-choice, our lives, and the disgusting sense of entitlement at GV. Waking up, we made bacon and toast and sang during clean up,

"Doin' dishes as a team
Gonna make them squeaky clean
do doo do do doo..."

and so on an so forth. After robotics on Sunday, I went over Kacey's to talk about her trip to Ireland and have a generally good time with a friend it's tough to keep in touch with. When Steph came back from work, I made her tell me about her Ireland experience, because it was very different from Kacey's pubcrawling of the brogueish land. Unfortunately, I had a severe need to study for HiQ, as we had a meet the following day, so I had to leave a bit early after some very yummy cake. Studying for HiQ was not awesome, but we won with a 59 today, tying us in second place with Haverford. It was a fairly easy meet, pretty much all of the questions we got wrong came from my section. However, I pulled out the toss-up math for the second meet in a row. It's fairly ridiculous, but I'm proud. Friendly's was awful. I hate going to the HiQ Boys Club. I'm not in AP Physics or Stat or Calc, and I'm good at art and have a vagina. The hostility is subtle, admittedly, but there is conversation I am ashamed happens while the sweater is still on. It's not something I'm proud to go to anymore, because I don't feel a part of it.

Quotes: Three Years of a Secret Blog

They're all this and pages and pages of texts from Jimmy and sickly sweet musings I am too embarrassed to post.

"I screamed so much. I tried so hard to be normal, just until the end, so I screamed in anger and sadness and there was a catch in my voice and I hoped they lost so I wouldn't have to face another third quarter alone."

"This morning was awkward and tragic and frustrating. The new year is dawning."

"It was blue and we fell skyward..."

"If there is a time in the future where we can fall responsibly in love, I will be lovingly and devotedly head over heels for him."

"I want to be better, but hopefully he appreciates the eager enthusiasm and innocent desire to learn. "

"It felt so good and my will melted to him, though not all my anxiety."

"My existence does not include potentially scar-inducing activities. Therefore, I am a bit lacking in crazy/dangerous, easily recountable tales with the evidence always with me."

"He was worried my dad would walk in and discover his baby girl engaged in devious sex acts with the scruffy pothead. He didn't phrase it that way, but I got it."

"It was about me, and this full body tension, and the thrill of dangerous sexuality that had evaded me..."

"It hurt so much to say with confidence,..."

"I feel like I'm taken for granted, but not worth getting back."

"he'll never love you in public and he'll never love you when it's inconvenient for him"

"Loving you means I'll always be scared you'll stop. And every day I realize, someday, you won't love me, and we won't be friends."

"Somehow it makes it easier not to be ashamed."

"And in realizing that my happiness with him was the reason for her non-smile, acknowledged that someday I will wear that sad indifference."

"This morning I cried because I couldn't believe how wonderful things are with me and how happy and different and strange I was and how my everything is so crazywildperfect."

"My heart will break for you, and I will do anything in my power to save you from your evils, but my power is small against the world of pain and suffering we will live and die in."

"I really like people and it makes me sad sometimes that nice people are sad and I don't understand any of it
I feel so young and naive and I don't know why I walk all the time"

"I don't question her faith so much, because it gives her comfort, but it's hard not to."

"my Aarfy, your Michaela
what's one more dead among millions"

"You are more ordinary then I used to think"

"Please, stop! Your words are stabbing me!"

"We can discuss politics and math and science and humor and Wikipedia forever, but not philosophy or how your childhood made you who you are. I know this is simply the product of a sentimental late night pity-fest, but I've never shared anything really important with you except what was relevant to yourself."

"I don't want any of your monogamy, girls who make you happy, make you happy."

"I don't want to say that of my day, I look forward most to talking to you; that I giggle and grin when I think about lying in bed together or looking at you..."

"I pine softly for moments, rather than lifetimes."

"and I'm fantastic at keeping other people's secrets
but not my own"

"I keep falling for boys who do not need me"

"I am so worn down and tired. Time passes, I pass with it. My mom hugged me extra tight on Tuesday. She knew I was sad. I knew she was sad too."

"I berate myself in scathing letters and allow the sentiments to resonate in my silly little head. "

"My biggest regret is how much I believed in the future."

On blue M&Ms, I wish for opposing extremities. Either end provides more comfort than the in between.

I lack gross feminity. I consider college a possibility to run off into the sunset in high heels and hooker make up, to be a bimbo or an object or someone to be loved and wash the floors, at least for a little while. Giving up freedom for security works.

Ontology and Honesty

I'm ignorant and inexperienced!
I cannot believe myself into or out of a position except by state of mind and not physical or sovereign state. A glass of water doesn't change if you think happy thoughts at it. A human might, if you happen to smile during your telepathic direction of good will. "There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face." Beyond any seemingly sincere smile may lie misgiving and insecurity. I cannot prove that anything exists beyond my consciousness, and yet I trust the spoken word as promise. It's about about connotation and insinuations. To say, "You are my rock," is generally accepted to mean that the person in question is a source of stable security. For me to say, "You are my rock," would imply that I am being weighed down. I speak honestly to the best of my ability, usually in a blunt fashion, but I'll doublespeak more accurately in the implications. Because I utilize the nuance of language, I expect that others can and do, on occasion. I discover fine details of literary craftwork and sift double meaning from language that was not meant to hold any. While it serves itself well in academic passage analysis, it is an abhorrent practice to apply to text messages and love letters from time past. And yet, from every insecurity and momentary gasp it has elicited from me, I am rewarded with the occasional unveiling of an intent they did not mean to express. It is not worth it.

Dad

Being little, my dad was the strongest, oldest, smartest person in the whole world. He could hoist me and my Cookie Monster balloon up on his shoulders. He could beat up anyone or save me from anything. Now, he is older and a little broken, but wiser. On the way home tonight, we talked about musicians drinking to excess, keg parties in the woods, the slow-creeping, inevitable college, and an idyllic past. We sang "For What It's Worth." His voice is more pleasant for never hearing it in melody. I know he doesn't sing with Jack.

M&Ms, Spray Paint, and Sex Toys

Glitter is Evil!

Othello won Desdemona not with witchcraft, but storycraft. She was young and innocent and charmed by the words of the scarred and hardened old general. Oh, the power of language.

I'll love you when you to go prison
for a starry-eyed idealism
But someday when we both get old
We'll wish we'd been more scared than bold

New Year's Resolutions 2010

Go Streaking
Go to Philly and NYC
Learn Stairway to Heaven
Get a working copy of a Stones, Dylan, and Zeppelin album
Send a letter to Jon Stewart and Stephen T. Colbert
Become a member of NPR
Donate to the ACLU
Start a webcomic
Build a snowman
Build a wall mount CD rack
Learn to tango
Learn to change oil and tires
Cook two meals from scratch a month
Write apology letters to everyone I've wrong
Write letters to all the guys I've had crushes on
Watch the launch of a space shuttle
Learn to roller blade backwards
Send a message in a bottle
Plant a tree
Go to a protest
Sleep under the stars
Learn to juggle
Go to college

Read the Following Books:
One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
Wide Sargasso Sea
Pride and Prejudice
Pride and Prejudice and Zombies
Heart of Darkness
Cat on a Hot Tin Roof
A Streetcar Named Desire
The Age of Innocence

Watch These Movies:
The Godfather Trilogy
Lawrence of Arabia
Singin' in the Rain
The Sound of Music
Annie Hall
The Deer Hunter
Schindler's List
A Clockwork Orange
Rebel Without a Cause
GoodFellas

2KX

Yesterday, I set about making my New Year's Resolutions without much inspiration. While my '08 resolutions were born from the idea that "with every broken heart, we should become more adventurous," this year was devoid of motivation besides self-improvement. However, with last year's list in hand, I pulled out a sheet of paper and a gel pen. The goals came more quickly than I anticipated, especially after my dad lectured on the decline of creativity and basic self-sufficiency. In all, the list is longer than last year, with more specific goals.

After helping Jeff with his poster, we called up the co-conspirators to go to Longwood. Student Tickets, FTW! I'd never seen the Christmastime gardens, and was awed very much so. Unfortunately, we went a little fast, but I got to see the whole park, including the residential DuPont manor. In this former home, now museum, we walked through the display rooms, reading informational blurbs and generally educating ourselves. However, in the last room, there was a very large cat splayed across one of the chairs. Sleepy and fat, we later found out this pudgy cat's name was Beumont or something, he was one of nine cats that inhabit the gardens, and that those cats have a better health care plan than any of us could ever hope to have. Around 9:10, we hurried over to the fireworks viewing area. Despite the rain, they were beyond spectacular and synced to classical orchestrations. My favorite rain like falling stars. Standing at the peak of the sloped lawn, we could see that particular kind of firework was falling through the sky and landing among trees and fountains. Being young assholes without parents, we ran to the exit and through the parking lot.

To Viv's! Everyone else has places to be, so Jeff and I hurried over for pancakes and to meet her boo. There was an exchanging of YouTube videos. Jeff saw "Two Girls One Cup." I saw the reaction, but kept a fair distance from the computer screen. Dick Clark is an animatronic zombie and Ryan Seacrest has a funny nose. I got dropped off at 1, my brother already asleep and dad reading away in his room. My last meal of the decade was Viv's pancakes, an obviously good end to the first decade I managed to live all the way through.

~

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.