Lately I just can't seem to believe

I don't really feel that connected to the world. Perhaps for lack of necessity. Everywhere I go, I feel as though I'm permitted access by some abnormally powerful force of habit. It's not terribly comfortable waiting for ifs to turn to whens. What really worries me is that both sound dreadful. Eventually, the quaintest sight will be that of a letter in a mailbox. Perhaps by that time I'll be doing crosswords with a pen and and getting lost in thought won't be so...

Cast your nets upon the water

Last night I dreamed of Iowa and Oregon mixed together. And, of course, random things. Dale Cooper. Hospitals. Pull up bars and blunts. Pink lipstick smeared across kissed plastic. The cemetery 1/4 of a mile from our house in the country in Iowa (Or is all of Iowa country?). Intercoms and electricity. Invisible Jesus driving a miniature white Porsche. He turned visible outside of the car, and I ran as fast as I could to get away from those floating, sandled feet.

Memorial Day (Observed) Eve

Watching Eraserhead, eating crab cakes, and drinking viognier. I've been reading all day, but I have acomplished very little. I am not an accomplished woman. Why, I can't even paint china, play the piano, or crochet doilies.

Movies I've watched recently:

Pirates of the Caribbean 1, 2, and 3
The Dinner Party
Blue Velvet
Eraserhead

I don't label entries. They all seem to be about anything, but very rarely everything. One moment I'll be talking about school (woe), and the next I'll describe the process of coin flipping to choose a yogurt flavor (indecision). Earlier it was heads--raspberry.

I had to buy a new keyboard this weekend. I spilled orange juice on my ancient one that was loud as hell. It was not a large quantity of juice. In fact, it was only a splattering while I was avoiding spilling juice on Douglas's thesis (which I finished reading, go me). In the process of spilling, I also got a papercut from the thesis. Now I have a smaller, quieter keyboard. It takes some getting used to though. I have to press harder on the keys, and the wireless mouse that goes with it does not fit my hand as well as the one Steve bought me last year. It makes less noise though, and it does not say "018yp" when I type the O key. Nor does it insert /-/ when I press a punctuation button.

Alack!

I sat at a desk today which had "Alack!" written on it. I want to buy whoever wrote that a cup of coffee.

Of Marjies and mosquitos

When I'm bitten by a mosquito the least little irritation of the bite by my nails will make it swell. And how! If I get bitten by many mosquitos, I look like a topographic map. I took off my sweater when I took a nap earlier, and I have found that there is a mosquitor in the house--no doubt a very happy mosquito filled with my precious blood. According to PBS.org, I only have about 6 quarts of blood, so I need every drop of it I can keep in my veins. This is why shaving one's legs is dangerous, especially if you're like me and shaky in the mornings when you haven't eaten breakfast and have used your magic accordian-breath-assauging inhaler. Puff puff. When I was in elementary school I called my inhaler a puffer quite often because of the little puffy sound of air it emitted. The pause after inhaling made me think of Darth Vader, eternally stuck on life support. That's what you get, Ani, for thinking Obi-Wan couldn't chop you up even with the high ground!

Earlier today, one of my coworkers read my poem in the last Prism and said, "I just don't see how this is poetry." A stake through my heart! Well, I never considered myself a poet, though that poem does mean something to me. Perhaps that's enough.

My spider friend, Betwixt, is gone. It is sad. Every time I went downstairs to do laundry I greeted Betwixt, sometimes with a nod, sometimes with a salute to the intrepid spirit of the top-of-the-stairs spider with the strange markings. And now Betwixt has been gone for over a week, and I fear he/she is not returning. Unfortunately, other spiders are popping up. They are not nearly as pretty as Betwixt. Three snakes have been seen near our house as well. The manner in which they move makes me more than a little uncomfortable, and every time I see a snake I eek involuntarily.

This soapbox is getting slippery

I've heard any number of times before that we tend to laugh more or louder in groups (like at movie theaters). In my case, I do not think this is true. When I'm alone, I laugh long and hard at all kinds of things. Maybe it's a desire for sound, even if it's me.

When I was doing dishes earlier, I cut the back of my thumb on a shaker. It's not a bad cut, very thin and superficial, but I can feel the tiny ridges of skin turned up and out. I nod stoically saying, "This is the price I pay for cosmos."

I'm becoming more and more unmotivated this term. Quality of work declining. At least it's a three day weekend, and I can sit abouts and attempt to get something done. My brain is tired of thinking about classes. It's a trainwreck in there--one of Anna Karenina's gloves is shoved so far into the hippocampus, her hand may never be warm again. When I have to write that 15-20 page paper about Barnum's American Musum, I'll sit with a stethescope to my head, saying prayers to St. Francis de Sales. A bad plan is often better than no plan.

I just saw a t-shirt on amazon that said "Body piercing saved my life," and it had a picture of what I can only assume is supposed to be Jesus's hand with a spike through it into a large chunk of wood. Nothing like walking around with a big crucifix on your chest to really brighten up the day. Come now, World, why would you wish, regardless of faith, to walk around with a picture of a man being tortured to death? I bet the same person who buys this t-shirt is going to buy the one with the chickens in leather that says "Biker Chicks" on it. Or maybe the Boston Terrier with the American flag bandana that says "God Bless America" across it with a paw print. Someone explain the god-awful t-shirt phenomena to me, because I'm at a complete loss in figuring it out.

"And I'll be on the sidelines, with my hands tied, watching the show..."

In my usual procrastinating manner, I have been awake for six hours and have only succeeded in creating a file with my name, class number, and the title: Order vs. Chaos in 19th Century New York City. Recognizing you have a procrastination problem is not even close to half the battle. I'm taking pieces of sentences from previous assignments relating to this argument and using them in my paper. Despite the fact that it is my work, the act of moving a slice from one document to the other still feels like plagiarism. I've an overdeveloped superego. It feeds on the souls of the unbelievers. I feel like this paper is a puzzle I'm piecing together, and I'm stuck on a corner of the sky. They say it's not all the same shade of blue, but it looks like it. God, does it ever look like it.

Steve is going to see the Smashing Pumpkins in SF in July with Sammy Cat. I'm sure I've a green tint to my skin. I must school and work, so I shall miss Billy, but hopefully Steve and Sammy Cat shall enjoy it, and their jaunt over to Las Vegas after that to investigate the state of things for living will be beneficial to all.

One of my coworkers was a dick the other day and hurt my feelings quite a bit. Who knew I had any?! He apologized but hasn't talked to me since. The apology was rigid and as if necessary rather than felt. People disappoint me. I try not to expect too much of them, but I seem to anyway. I don't see why civility or respect should be so difficult. I'm not half as bad as I seem. Maybe not even a quarter. Nah... half.

Be still my heart

It's been 7 years. Soon the wait shall be over. Leak, b0lly album, leak.
In the meantime

400th post

A bigot and hatemonger has died.
I'm not sad.
Goodbye to Jerry Falwell.

Feeling the need for beauty

Flatiron Building by Edward Steichen 1904
Today I heard this picture described as "the correlative of a very good martini." It made me smile.

T.S.E

"Teach us to care and not to care
Teach us to sit still"

5 line update

Last night, I had Twin Peaks dreams.
Today I bought Moby Dick.
Earlier this evening, my ace high frush got fucked by quad eights.
Moments ago, I sneezed violently.
Now, I ought to clean the bathroom.

Poptart, what's our mission?

It's a Sunday. Haven't written my paper yet (many distractions), but I have ideas. I'm probably only going to write about "The Black Cat" and Moby Dick. I should buy Moby Dick as well, because the copy I have belongs to my boss, and I can't write all over in it. I've gotten past the no-writing-in-books things. I've decided it's far better to be more interactive, though "passive" bookreading (though none of it is truly passive) for fun is always wonderful, if you have time. Summer cannot come fast enough. So many books are calling me, and if I don't answer them, they may well conspire to make my life a living hell until such time as they are read. Marj^god I want a cookie.

My "synopsis" is five pages so far. I guess I have more to say about Moby Dick than I anticipated. After having read just part of this chapter on Cetology, I find myself wanting to read the book in its entirety. How peculiar. For some reason, I never imagined myself as a person who might like Melville. I'm not sure why. It just never really occurred to me.

When I'm doing homework sometimes I entirely tune out the music in my headphones. I'll go to last.fm, and I'll find that I've listened to any number of songs I don't remember having heard. Or I will have only paid attention to tiny bits of it, hearing a few minutes of "Glass and the Ghost Children" here and a line or two of "Paranoid Android" there. Oh, the powers of concentration! They are mighty and merciless.

My daemon

Mouseover the image to let me know if my daemon is a match. :)

Theodicy

"Through the darkness of future pasts,
The magician longs to see.
One chants out between two worlds,
Fire Walk With Me"

DH: Do you think that if you were falling in space... that you'd slow down after a while, or go faster and faster?
LP: Faster and faster... until after a while you wouldn't feel anything... and then your body would just burst into fire. And the angels wouldn't help you, 'cause they've all gone away.

LL: When this kind of fire starts, it is very hard to put out. The tender boughs of innocence burn first, and the wind rises, and then all goodness is in jeopardy.

A: You listen to me. While I will admit to a certain cynicism, the fact is that I am a nay-sayer and hatchet man in the fight against violence. I pride myself in taking a punch, and I'll gladly take another, because I choose to live my life in the company of Gandhi and King. My concerns are global. I reject absolutely revenge, aggression, and retaliation. The foundation of such a method...is love. I love you, Sheriff Truman.
DC: Albert's path is a strange and difficult one.

Note to self: Write about theodicy later

Flurry of undone activities

This weekend I need to:

Clean the kitchen
Clean the bathroom
Clean the living room
Do laundry- clothing and blankets
Read grammar chapters
Complete grammar exercises
Write paper for Gotham Lit.
Read Gotham Lit. assignment
Read Pericles Prince of Tyre
Buy groceries
Regret never having read Moby Dick

My father and Steve are coming to visit this coming week, and the house is a mess. Rather than getting a head start on homework for Monday, last night I watched the rest of Twin Peaks. I have now seen all the episodes, and I feel a little sad. It's as though I've finished a very good book which, unfortunately, ended with a cliff-hanger. And now, instead of hurrying to the shower or doing grammar exercises, I'm looking at room rates for the Salish Lodge and Spa.

It's Cinco de Mayo. I ought to be getting in touch with my hispanicness. I'll say hola to one of my hippos, call my mother, and eat some salsa later. There's a bottle of tequila in the cupboard, but I was never fond of moldy bread.

I'm listening to "I love New York" by Madonna to try to generate ideas for that paper. It is not going well.

Courrcsheisds

D.H.: There are things you can't get from books.
H.S.: There are things you can't get anywhere. But we dream they can be found in other people.

J'ai une ame solitaire