I Wondered What It Would Be Like to Bomb Your Houses

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

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

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

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

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

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

Talk, Sex, Nemesis

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

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

"Be water."
-Bruce Lee, via Gary

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

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

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

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

Ohio is a fantastic song. Not many verses.

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

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

Things to Remember

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

Questions to No One in Particular

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

For all my lonesome, I have no regrets.

Know1ng (not the Nicholas Cage movie)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Things On My Hand & Other Observations

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

My new insurance kicks in today!

There are times when I am more brutal than honest.

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

Stasi's Halloween party was otherwise very fun.

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

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

On that note, I rescind these other apologies.

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

I'm fairly awesome at impromptu speeches.

I can go for my license Nov. 5th.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The George Foreman Grill is AWESOME.

"Hata's just jealous."

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

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

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

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

Multifaceted. That word has so much possibility.

Senior Skip Day Monday!

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

Touch

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

Brook Farms without the Communism or Smallpox

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

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

get a lot of comfortable, one book at a time

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

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

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

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

Take Pictures

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

Never Dreamed/Always Dreamed

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

It is more, but not the most.

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

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

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

All bets are off. I can wait.

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

Bad Dream

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

songs I listened to recently

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

Analogy and Tautology

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

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

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

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

production is consumption

and all your brilliance washed over me, blinding

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

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

and in this mad and rushing collective, resentment

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

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

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

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

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

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

pull out that list, baby

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

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

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

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

yes, yes, this smug smile's for you

"I poured my heart out"

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

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

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

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

Found/48 [no more, no less]

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

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

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

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

The Twilight Zone

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

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

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

7/21!

Birthday shout out. ~<:D

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

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

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

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

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