Lie down in darkness

And since death must be the Lucina of life, and even Pagans could doubt, whether thus to live were to die, since our longest sun sets at right descencions, and makes but winter arches, and therefore it cannot be long before we lie down in darkness, and have our light in ashes; since the brother of death daily haunts us with dying mementos, and time that grows old in itself, bids us hope no long duration;--diuturnity is a dream and folly of expectation.

-Sir Thomas Browne, Urn Burial

A little Kandinsky goes a long way

"Color is the keyboard, the eyes are the harmonies, the soul is the piano with many strings. The artist is the hand that plays, touching one key or another, to cause vibrations in the soul." ~Wassily Kandinsky

Year in review

Take the first sentence (or 2 or 3) from the first post of each month of 2006. That's your year in review.

January: I still haven't bought a new power supply. I will once school starts. That can be my resolution for the new year.

February: I read about 30 pages of Kellan's book tonight. I am a horrible person. I should have read it long ago. But at least I'm doing it now. I'll finish it by Monday. Redemption!

March: Happy Birthday to Mikey.

April: I hate this daylight savings time bullshit.

May: People are so patterened. Patterned patterns pattern. Like little cutout body warmers for babies made in summer, ready for winter long before winter rears its ugly head.

June: I miss my cat.

July: Sniffling and sneezing about on a Sunday morning. The World Cup was on. Like a true American, I fell asleep in front of a fan during it, and then when it got to OT, I went and did dishes and then took a cold shower.

August: If ever I am yawning and lean my head back, I feel like a werewolf. Not the whole violent out of one's mind part though.

September: It's close to 5 am. I only have another good hour before sunlight, so I should start getting sleepy soon. When the urge to start changing blogs strikes, well, there's no escape.

October: Sunrise. Red Bull. Math. Frustration. Potenza. Discovery. Wrath of God. Dr. Seuss. Bleach. Chaucer. Cobb. Abbey Road. Chivalry. Achilles. Lamentation. Chef. 900 years ago.

November: R.I.P., Mr. William Styron, an "awfully good" novelist. 81 is quite a feat.

December: Sometimes I pound on my desk and pretend to be Nancy Grace, CNN's bitch of a former prosecutor turned talk show host. I bark, "Where were you? Why aren't you telling us where you were that day? I'm Nancy Grace! Nancy Grace!" It's the little joys in life that really make it special.

Sing the siren song

The trip to McMinnville was all right. There were highs and lows. I often felt like I was stopping myself from saying things I would have said freely here in Corvallis. On occasion I did not stop myself, and I saw the exchange of glances, the narrowing of eyebrows, words left unsaid, but most certainly thought. My family is used to me, but I suppose the rest of the world isn't quite yet. Sometimes I can't help it. I just have to exclaim in regards to Easter, "Ooh, I love Zombie Jesus Day!" I tried to stick to Muffled Marjie mostly around others, but sometimes it's hard not to be you, especially when you is all you know how to be effectively.

It was nice to see family, especially visiting from afar. My schwester Scarah and Marion gave me a voice recorder, upon which to record my many ingenious ideas. I have the unfortunate habit of lying in bed thinking up stories and ideas and remembering things, and I am far too lazy to write anything down when I'm all cozy under the blankets. Thanks to them and Panasonic, I can keep up with myself. Perhaps. We can hope at least. Steve gave me a binary clock, which I just set up. It shows seconds as well, so the face changes constantly and the blue lights, when dimmed slightly, are very comforting. I do love geeky toys.

I haven't read as much as I would like lately. I've said this before. I am still only 2/3 done with Lie Down in Darkness. It's beautifully written and very enjoyable, which is precisely the problem. I get sucked into it and find myself awash with a sort of malaise. I find characters in books far too sympathetic. At times, strangely more sympathetic than those in real life. But I suppose that's to be expected. How often people find things which surprise them a great deal only to say, "Well, I suppose it's to be expected." Is it? Or only after it has occurred? Expecting the unexpected is a novel pastime, but on the whole, it isn't terribly practical.

Last night, I had an odd dream. I was in the White House, and I really wanted to go see all the rooms in it and visit whatever I liked, but there were guards stationed at some, and they refused to let me in. So Doc and Laura thought up clever ways to get around them for to further our cause of touring the historical house of America's presidents. This is an odd dream because of the people in it as well as the ways in which we got into some of the more historical rooms in the White House. Inventive. And entirely illogical. They'd never work in real life.

At Starbucks the other day, a lovely girl named Nina tried to upsell an espresso machine to Marion. "Pumpkin scone? Fresh ground coffee? Espresso machine?" It was capitalism at its finest, as she attempted to turn an eight dollar purchase into an eighty dollar one. Makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. America makes me laugh.

Decemberness

I'm about to head to McMinnville. to visit with family. Not used to getting up this early now that I've been sleeping in all the time during the break. Not used to being away from home for days at a time. I'm used to burying my nose in a book, getting up early for my groggy walk down to the bus stop on my way to school. I am putting great faith into my vanilla yogurt. It shall wake me up. It shall. I just know it! "If you believe it, you can achieve it." Or so the poster on the wall by the bathroom in my middle school would have had me believe. Also, zero tolerance for violence.

The weather forecast says snow. How dreadful. There's a reason I don't live in Iowa anymore. Snow is not the reason, but it certainly could be a bit of it. I much prefer the rain here, but the winters have gotten steadily colder as of late, and it's not at all pleasant. I'll leave the blustering winds and ice storms to the midwest. One of my happiest memories is from winter in Iowa--November of 2002. It had been a dreadful and degrading stay in Iowa, and I left town after work, around 10 pm, my car stuffed full of all my earthly belongings, dozens of Subway stickers for free sammiches along my way home, and a dozen roses from my boss which would die quickly in the back seat, strapped in with a seatbelt. It was dark and just starting to snow. I cried and drove my way through the snow storm that developed towards Nebraska until I got to Kari's dorm, and collapsed in a heap in her room, proceeding to sleep for twelve or so hours. Escaping Iowa was more than wonderful. I was tired of being told I was a bad influence, when really, I was just the only one being observant and honest and willing to own up to my mistakes. I've made so many, it's second nature to me now. In Wyoming, that vast expanse of cowboy country, I laughed and cried again with joy when I heard the first Zwan single on the radio. New Billy. The dawning of a new age. My z00my baby made it all the way from Iowa to Oregon in just a few days, and I was back home, in the land of the unbelievers, the dreamers, and of course, the tree-hugging hippies. ;) A vegan tofukey sammich from that place in Portlandia across from the tasty tea shop never tasted better, and I'm not even a vegetarian. I walked around Portland for hours and hours, and when home smoking on the porch in the rain on the SE side, Kelly and I made plans to turn our shed into a smoke room, with red velvet ottomans, cognac, and rotary dial telephones. Aww, what a touching story!

The last few days have been a flurry of shopping, present wrapping, and preparation. I will hold down the fort, as they say, while Steve is away. Let us hope he sends many interesting pictures from his phone as he celebrates the holidays in L.A. and Las Vegas. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas. Except when it gets emailed to Miss Marjie. Oh my.

The yogurt didn't wake me up, so now it's Jimi Hendrix playing the Star Spangled Banner. If it doesn't dispel grogginess, at the very least it will make me smile and feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I've been reading Lie Down in Darkness by William Styron. It's sooo well-written to the point of being quite depressing, as I know I'll never be that good. Another Southern story, a family falling apart. It sucks you in. Wonderful descriptions, and the dialogue is to die for. The copy I'm reading is from the library here. It's ancient. Brown and worn, parts falling away a bit. The pages smell like dust and forgotten houses. It makes my eyes itch if I hold it too close. Looks to be a well-loved book, and it is a very much deserving book.

Dense fog

There was a nasty storm. I had plans to make popcorn and watch Ali, but the power went out. And it stayed out for days. We dug up candles. We could only find my LED one, some smelly blue thing, and three tiny halloween candles (ghost, cauldron, and pumpkin). Even with the candles fairly close, it was difficult to see the suits on cards, so poker was forgotten. Too dark to read comfortably. The toilet stopped working. After six hours of boredom and waiting for power, I Advil PMed myself to sleep. When the next day did not bring power, we went to McMinnville, where we were graciously housed for two days. I'm happy to be home now. The power is back. Connected to the world once again.

I haven't read nearly as much as I meant to this break. Too many things to get done. I have watched many movies in the past week though. So maybe I haven't as much to do as I think or pretend. Too busy in thought, if not in deed. Lately watched, Miami Vice, Borat, The Devil Wears Prada, Talladega Nights, Rocky, World Trade Center, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Delicatessen. Some new, some seen before.

I shan't compare apples, oranges, pineapples, and apricots, but I'll blabber a bit. Delicatessen was wonderful. Miami Vice was a bit underwhelming. Michael Mann disappoints me at times. I love Heat, The Insider, and Ali, but I don't see why women don't matter in his movies. The women only exist to leave or be left. The Devil Wears Prada should have spent less time trying to be cute and clever and more time developing characters. Talladega Nights was sort of funny, but most of the funny things were seen in the trailers over and over for months, so it didn't have much of a punch to it. In fact, it was kind of lame. World Trade Center is impressive (sort of. I'm fairly noncommittal it seems), especially all those scenes beneath rubble, and it does seem an important movie to be made, but as far as movies go, it wasn't the greatest, nor the most interesting. The actual story is great. Huzzah for rescuing people. But I felt like I was waiting 2 hours for the movie to end. So, see Delicatessen if you haven't. Jean-Pierre Jeunet made it. He made my favorite Alien movie and The City of Lost Children, too. Good stuff there. :) Borat is pretty funny as well. I watched it all on youtube. The internet is a marvelous thing--full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. Full of girls who think they're funny, and so what if they're not, they're Time's Person of the Year for 2006.

We trade music and go up in holy smokes.

I can imagine doing time in Heaven. 3-5 of the longest years you ever spent folding white robes, making license plates for clouds, and checking back in Gospels and Chick Tracts. Muttered curses and Harry Potter books surreptitiously hidden away beneath dinner trays and in holes carved into walls of gold.

It's gotten colder and colder this evening. Winter is a bitch. I've been slathering lotion on my hands every so often. I feel all aslimed, but I have high hopes for not having dinosaur skin hands. Suellen: Look at my hands. Mother said you could always tell a lady by her hands.
Careen: I guess things like hands and ladies don't matter so much any more.

Sometimes when I'm really tired I put prepositions in the wrong places in my sentences. They still make perfect sense, but they don't flow as well as they might. I'm tired right now. Right now I'm tired. I'm tired now, right.

Clyde Bruckman's Final Repose

RIP, Peter Boyle. He was teh awesomeness and shall most certainly be missed. :(

"You'll find a woman tomorrow morning by the fat little white nazi stormtrooper at Glenview Lake."

Why I hate AIM

This ad always pops up on it. What the hell could possibly compel me to click on Eugene Tooms eyes saying I'm being watched?! The eyes move. Even the tampon or Gilmore Girls ads are better than this. No way I want anything freaky-eyes is selling.

Nothing to say

Yesterday, I sold back my Chaucer book. I took the twelve dollars and we ate tofu teriyaki bento and gyoza, and the world was brighter. It felt like a fair trade. I tried to like Chaucer. Bawdy rhymester.

School is finished for the term. Done. Out of sight, not quite out of mind. In a week perhaps, with grades dispensed, it can be given a little shove.

Now, I can read any book I wish. I have a list a mile long. Staying up late last night reading The Violent Bear It Away, I thought, if I could choose how to die, I think a sudden heart attack or aneurysm while reading Flannery O'Connor wouldn't be half bad. Beats pit bull attack. Oh, how easily it beats pit bull attack.

You have mail

Today, I stopped Stever as he walked down the hallway saying, "Name the motto of the United States Postal Service, or you shall not pass." He said, "Through wind and fire, sleet and hell." I think I could really get behind a postal service with such a motto. It would inspire confidence. Anyone can get through snow or rain, but hell? That takes effort.

Unfortunately, I just read this at the National Postal Museum website:

What is the postal service motto?
Actually, the U.S. Postal Service does not have an official motto. The phrase which most people associate with the postal office is that which is engraved on the outside of the James A. Farley Post Office building at 8th Avenue & 33rd Street in New York, New York: Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds.

This phrase was a translation by Prof. George H. Palmer, Harvard University, from an ancient Greek work of Herodotus describing the Persian system of mounted postal carriers c. 500 B.C. The inscription was added to the building by William Mitchell Kendall of the architectural firm of McKim, Mead & White, the building's architects.

I guess I should have asked, "What is the phrase most commonly associated with the postal service and engraved outside the James. A Farley Post Office in NY?" Comforting, though, to know that not even gloom of night could stop them!

I also learned that the Post Office Department was reorganized during the time of Nixon (Remember him? "I'm going to campaign up and down in America until we drive the crooks and the Communists and those that defend them out of Washington. And remember folks, Eisenhower is a great man, believe me. He's a great man. And a vote for Eisenhower is a vote for what's good for America.") That is when the eagle came a-knockin' on the door. Before the eagle, they had a running pony, but it all began in 1782 with their first symbol, Mercury, the Roman God of commerce and travel.

There used to be this show on TV about the Pony Express. It was one of the worst things ever, but I still watched it. There was a large, inebriated man named Sweetwater on it, who always had to sober up fast to be able to deal with the trying conflicts that came with operating the Pony Express. Gloom of night didn't stop them. No sirree. They were stalwart and true, and there was a woman in disguise as a man so she could be a rider of the Pony Express! Oh my. I also used to watch a show called Covington Cross, and I seem to be the only person who has seen or heard of it. Did it really exist? I remember the crossbows so clearly...

ALL IS REVEALED

I should be busily making timelines, reviewing themes of early American literature, and stuffing my head full of relevant examples for essay questions tomorrow. Instead, I'm watching football, and messing with my blog in miniscule ways which probably only I or the Prophet will notice. I'll get to the studying later. I should not put it off though. Only 26 hours remain (And that was 7 hours ago).

Mannequins weird me out, especially when they're in commercials where they come to life. It happens every Christmas, and sometimes in between. It is most unfortunate. If anything, these commercials should be around Halloween. Animate mannequins are a recipe for horror, not holiday cheer.

I feel as though I should be happier being done with all these classes this week. I am quite worried however about a few grades which might take an awful plunge with final papers not living up to expectations. Sometimes it's hard to try to make yourself care about Chaucer. Which is too bad, really. I ought to care.

Thus says the man in the wood, "The man who does not believe that each day contains an earliers, more sacred, and auroral hour than he has yet profaned, has despaired of life, and is pursuing a descending and darkening way." Of course, this is while he's not too busy having punch and pie with the man of Concord. Can't say I'd turn him down myself. Sometimes we all feel stuck a mile and a half from somewhere. Oh yes, I'm friends with the trappings of civilization.

In future conversations, I hope to yell, "ALL IS REVEALED!" Which conversations will survive, forging on with even greater vigor? What will be forgotten? Is any conversation safe? Are rhetorical questions all I have left?

If you haven't seen The Fountain yet...

...give it a try. I enjoyed it a great deal and think Darren Aronofsky's labor of love is more than worth the 7 dollars to see it. It is not entirely accessible to a general audience. No, it takes thought, and that is something many people don't enjoy. It felt like Aronofsky spilling his guts, and I agree with some critics who say the perhaps the ideas or experiences already have to be a part of you for you to feel that it is a cinematic work of genius (nevertheless, it can still be enjoyed). It's a little reminiscint of 2001: A Space Odyssey, one of my favorite movies, and a certain amount of soul searching has obviously gone into it. I thought it was beautiful visually, and Hugh Jackman was wonderful. Who knew he could act? ;) I sound as though I'm making a case for it, and I suppose I am considering the broad variety of reviews I've read, many of which were not complimentary. There was a good deal of crying in the theatre, as it's a very emotional and moving film. Stever liked it but said it was somewhat depressing. So much death. I suppose it is, but to me, it seems so hopeful as well. The idea of death as an act of creation greatly appeals to me. Anyway, good stuff there. Worth seeing and thinking about. Go on now. Hop! Quick, like a bunny!

Lions and Tigers and Bears OH FUCK

Sometimes I pound on my desk and pretend to be Nancy Grace, CNN's bitch of a former prosecutor turned talk show host. I bark, "Where were you? Why aren't you telling us where you were that day? I'm Nancy Grace! Nancy Grace!" It's the little joys in life that really make it special.

The dog that turns pages while my computer is searching for something creeps me out. Dogs don't read! Penguins can't fly!

My fiction story is due tomorrow. I should have started revising it earlier. Right now, the more I revise, the longer it gets, and the more I feel has been left unwritten. It feels like the most stupidly absurd thing ever written, when obviously this is not true. At least, not for those of us who have read A Million Little Pieces.