When I am old, my kids and my grandkids are going to buy me broches for Christmas and for birthdays. I'll have so many, and I'll wear one of them on my cardigan, changing it every so often. -Just like now, with all my little pins. I'll have all kinds of stupid broches-rhintones and bumble bees, gold plate seahorses, art nouveau, hearts and Easter bunnies. It'll be awesome!
...
Tuesday, November 30, 2004
Sunday, November 28, 2004
The Guy Who Runs It
So, I was going to post another part of the T.S. Eliot poem, but, funck that. The first part is the best one. I'm just sort of trying to kill time on this boring day at work. I've been reading this but, my headache is not allowing me to so much. There, I turned the lights on over the desk, there, I feel instantly better! I am healed. I wish that I could play music while I worked, you know, play music in the library. You know, the library. I could also just sit and stare blankly at something, like for instance this here newpaper bin.
Speaking of the library, does anyone else know about the TOP SECRET ROOM? You know, The Room?
I think that I was told that it's up on 8th stack. There's this room that holds all these rare and expensive books, first issues and signed copies of things like War and Peace and Lord of the Rings and such. There's old old old Bibles, there's official government documents from way back. I bet there's a signed, original copy of Mein Kampf, right next to George Washington's Bible. The room is temperture controlled to be 70 degrees all the time. And, there's only one person who works there. He has the best job in the whole world. He just sits there all day in this temperture controled room with the tablets from Mount Sinai chilling in the back. There's supposedly Persian rugs on the floor, (and a pin ball machine, a Slushie machine, and a 52 inch TV with a satillite.) No one is allowed up there, unless they are a librarian and they have a reason to go in there, but they have to know exactly what it is they want, and it has to be for something like research. You have to call at least a day ahead of time and make an appointment with the guy who runs it. You can't just show up, like, I couldn't just show up and want to look around. Plus, I bet the guy who runs it sits around in there in his undies and watches cartoons and eats Cheetos all day anyway. No one wants to see that. You have to give him time at least to put his pants.
Well, someday, when I get a degree in historical archiving book conservation whatever, I am going to get that job. That job-that job-that job...
Speaking of the library, does anyone else know about the TOP SECRET ROOM? You know, The Room?
I think that I was told that it's up on 8th stack. There's this room that holds all these rare and expensive books, first issues and signed copies of things like War and Peace and Lord of the Rings and such. There's old old old Bibles, there's official government documents from way back. I bet there's a signed, original copy of Mein Kampf, right next to George Washington's Bible. The room is temperture controlled to be 70 degrees all the time. And, there's only one person who works there. He has the best job in the whole world. He just sits there all day in this temperture controled room with the tablets from Mount Sinai chilling in the back. There's supposedly Persian rugs on the floor, (and a pin ball machine, a Slushie machine, and a 52 inch TV with a satillite.) No one is allowed up there, unless they are a librarian and they have a reason to go in there, but they have to know exactly what it is they want, and it has to be for something like research. You have to call at least a day ahead of time and make an appointment with the guy who runs it. You can't just show up, like, I couldn't just show up and want to look around. Plus, I bet the guy who runs it sits around in there in his undies and watches cartoons and eats Cheetos all day anyway. No one wants to see that. You have to give him time at least to put his pants.
Well, someday, when I get a degree in historical archiving book conservation whatever, I am going to get that job. That job-that job-that job...
Saturday, November 27, 2004
T.S. Eliot
Burnt Norton
I.
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know. Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
This is only part one of this poem. The rest will be posted later, if anyone cares. It's a really good poem. And no, I didn't type this all up myself. My pet robot did. My pet robot does a lot of things.
I.
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future,
And time future contained in time past.
If all time is eternally present
All time is unredeemable.
What might have been is an abstraction
Remaining a perpetual possibility
Only in a world of speculation.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know. Other echoes
Inhabit the garden. Shall we follow?
Quick, said the bird, find them, find them,
Round the corner. Through the first gate,
Into our first world, shall we follow
The deception of the thrush? Into our first world.
There they were, dignified, invisible,
Moving without pressure, over the dead leaves,
In the autumn heat, through the vibrant air,
And the bird called, in response to
The unheard music hidden in the shrubbery,
And the unseen eyebeam crossed, for the roses
Had the look of flowers that are looked at.
There they were as our guests, accepted and accepting.
So we moved, and they, in a formal pattern,
Along the empty alley, into the box circle,
To look down into the drained pool.
Dry the pool, dry concrete, brown edged,
And the pool was filled with water out of sunlight,
And the lotos rose, quietly, quietly,
The surface glittered out of heart of light,
And they were behind us, reflected in the pool.
Then a cloud passed, and the pool was empty.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
This is only part one of this poem. The rest will be posted later, if anyone cares. It's a really good poem. And no, I didn't type this all up myself. My pet robot did. My pet robot does a lot of things.
Friday, November 26, 2004
"Do you believe in Santa Claus?"
In arms of bleeding dear, I feel warm. They're reading me stories about princesses in burgundy velvet in blackstone castles under tranlucent suns, while I concentrate on boiling ruby blankets swimming cirlces around us all--sharks see blushing clouds and their stomach growl.
Thursday, November 25, 2004
Heights having been Wuthering
"I lingered round them, under the benign sky; watched the moths fluttering among the heath. and bare-bells; listened to the soft wind breathing through the grass, and wondered how anyone could ever imagine unquiet slumbers for the sleepers in that quiet earth."
...
...
Wednesday, November 24, 2004
Lord of the Fly in the Ointment
Heathcliff indeed stands unredeemed never once swerving in his arrow straight course to perdition from the time when the little black haired swarthy thing as dark as it came from the Devil
...
Heathcliff portrays one solitary human feeling and it is NOT his love for Catherine which is a sentiment fierce and inhuman as passion such as might boil and glow in the bad essence of some evil genius a fire that might form the tormented centre the ever suffering soul of a magnate of the infernal world and by its quenchless and ceaseless ravage effect the execution of the decree which dooms him to carry Hell with him wherever he wanders.
~By Currer Bell
...
Heathcliff portrays one solitary human feeling and it is NOT his love for Catherine which is a sentiment fierce and inhuman as passion such as might boil and glow in the bad essence of some evil genius a fire that might form the tormented centre the ever suffering soul of a magnate of the infernal world and by its quenchless and ceaseless ravage effect the execution of the decree which dooms him to carry Hell with him wherever he wanders.
~By Currer Bell
Tuesday, November 23, 2004
U2- new album out today!
Grated pop spintster venting about seas haunting the plains.
"Eat what you love and lose"
What are you listening to right now? (a BBC favorite)
-the machine shutting itself OFF--
(No, none of this had anything to do with U2. No U2's were harmed in the making of this entry.)
But I will comment on the album later. Just, not now as I am about to leave work and go on home home home. I need to listen to it more closely. So far, however, it rocks. I will say that I am pleasently surprised. I was worried, slightly, that it would suck. Though, I should know better. I can trace my U2 adoration and interest as far back as the Achtung years, 2nd grade? I recall watching the "One" video, the version where Bono is smoking in a skeezy bar. That sounds rather silly, I do beleive so myself, that is, to say I was an 8 year old fan of the band. That also sounds incredibly pretentious, that way I worded the sentence. Fiddlestix! I do recall likeing the song "Desire" when I was about 12 or 13, because I remember listening to it over and over on my radio bootleg tapes, that summer before 7th grade when we moved. And then I remember 7th or 8th grade, when Pop came out, and they had that whole "Discoteque" thing. See, at the time I didn't know or understand much about homosexuality...They frightened me slightly, though, I learned, lots of things, soon enough. U2 aren't gay! Well, the real deal came about in 9th grade, when I really started listening to "Sunday Bloody Sunday." That's when their Best Of 1980-1990 came out. It was one of the first cd's I had. That was also back when I didn't know what the word "cynical" meant, and I was really into the whole political thing. Though, they were young when they wrote those songs too. Not to say that they have slipped (or risen?) to cynism. Not to say that I have completely... I slowly started compiling the collection, and so it continues onto today!
Ashley, and friend that I commented on whose blog earlier, I will have a fully detailed arguement concerning my stance on the issue of How to Disassemble and Atomic Bomb later this evening-8-10 pages, double spaced, default margins, 12 point font Times New Roman, and a Works Cited page. *heart* ANGELA
"Eat what you love and lose"
What are you listening to right now? (a BBC favorite)
-the machine shutting itself OFF--
(No, none of this had anything to do with U2. No U2's were harmed in the making of this entry.)
But I will comment on the album later. Just, not now as I am about to leave work and go on home home home. I need to listen to it more closely. So far, however, it rocks. I will say that I am pleasently surprised. I was worried, slightly, that it would suck. Though, I should know better. I can trace my U2 adoration and interest as far back as the Achtung years, 2nd grade? I recall watching the "One" video, the version where Bono is smoking in a skeezy bar. That sounds rather silly, I do beleive so myself, that is, to say I was an 8 year old fan of the band. That also sounds incredibly pretentious, that way I worded the sentence. Fiddlestix! I do recall likeing the song "Desire" when I was about 12 or 13, because I remember listening to it over and over on my radio bootleg tapes, that summer before 7th grade when we moved. And then I remember 7th or 8th grade, when Pop came out, and they had that whole "Discoteque" thing. See, at the time I didn't know or understand much about homosexuality...They frightened me slightly, though, I learned, lots of things, soon enough. U2 aren't gay! Well, the real deal came about in 9th grade, when I really started listening to "Sunday Bloody Sunday." That's when their Best Of 1980-1990 came out. It was one of the first cd's I had. That was also back when I didn't know what the word "cynical" meant, and I was really into the whole political thing. Though, they were young when they wrote those songs too. Not to say that they have slipped (or risen?) to cynism. Not to say that I have completely... I slowly started compiling the collection, and so it continues onto today!
Ashley, and friend that I commented on whose blog earlier, I will have a fully detailed arguement concerning my stance on the issue of How to Disassemble and Atomic Bomb later this evening-8-10 pages, double spaced, default margins, 12 point font Times New Roman, and a Works Cited page. *heart* ANGELA
Monday, November 22, 2004
You Know
That Fire, that was Unforgetable. The days before the fire, the days after...
You know, the Fire. The Unforgetable Fire.
You know, the Fire. The Unforgetable Fire.
Saturday, November 20, 2004
Jacket Dance!
There's a new dance in town kiddies! It's called Jacket Dance...
All you gotta do is, you get your favorite jacket, see, and you put your hands in your jacket pockets
*like so*
and you swing your swanky hips and you bounce on your boots and you cha cha cha with your hands in your jacket pockets
*like so*
and you have to have music, right, you gotta have some dancing dance dance (revolution) music, so you use your little angel voice box and your mouth and your licker and your INFLECTION and you sing all swanky such "do do do do do dodo dododododo do do dod odododododododo"
*like so*
NOW YOU TRY
yeah, okay, good, a little more swing, oh yeah sweet baby, Good Job!
You and your jacket are Salome-a-GoGo
...
Oh, another lovely time with Jacket...
All you gotta do is, you get your favorite jacket, see, and you put your hands in your jacket pockets
*like so*
and you swing your swanky hips and you bounce on your boots and you cha cha cha with your hands in your jacket pockets
*like so*
and you have to have music, right, you gotta have some dancing dance dance (revolution) music, so you use your little angel voice box and your mouth and your licker and your INFLECTION and you sing all swanky such "do do do do do dodo dododododo do do dod odododododododo"
*like so*
NOW YOU TRY
yeah, okay, good, a little more swing, oh yeah sweet baby, Good Job!
You and your jacket are Salome-a-GoGo
...
Oh, another lovely time with Jacket...
Question-
Why do people look like they are seeing a movie star / animal at the zoo?
In the meantime, it's a rather quiet day at work so far. Outside, the sun is missing and the air is cool and wet and the leaves are so beautiful. Their colors are hightened by the heavy dew, though I guess it wouldn't really be called dew, since it's all from the rain yesterday. Whatever, it's pretty. What a minute, the sun isn't missing. I apologize, that sounded totally lame. It's there, just covered up by the clouds. It's like me in my bed this morning, only I eventually got up. I should have just stayed. But, I got up, for work, oh shit, and no one go the newspapers, and I can't because I am the only one at the desk. I will just have to wait to do anything about it until somebody asks me where the Saturday papers are, and I say, the delivery man is in the trunk of my car. And they say, "Angela, you don't have a car." Right, right, I say, I mean he's in the trunk of his car, which I will be drving home from work this evening.
I have "Your Blue Room" stuck in my head. It makes me feel a little creepy.
In the meantime, it's a rather quiet day at work so far. Outside, the sun is missing and the air is cool and wet and the leaves are so beautiful. Their colors are hightened by the heavy dew, though I guess it wouldn't really be called dew, since it's all from the rain yesterday. Whatever, it's pretty. What a minute, the sun isn't missing. I apologize, that sounded totally lame. It's there, just covered up by the clouds. It's like me in my bed this morning, only I eventually got up. I should have just stayed. But, I got up, for work, oh shit, and no one go the newspapers, and I can't because I am the only one at the desk. I will just have to wait to do anything about it until somebody asks me where the Saturday papers are, and I say, the delivery man is in the trunk of my car. And they say, "Angela, you don't have a car." Right, right, I say, I mean he's in the trunk of his car, which I will be drving home from work this evening.
I have "Your Blue Room" stuck in my head. It makes me feel a little creepy.
Thursday, November 18, 2004
Last minute
Skull face face down on blue stones water beating waking up with dried blood on hands while sirens mononote costa-gutteral banschee mock pinch wind.
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Holy Crap
Not to brag or anything, but I am a little freeeeking out today. Here forth is a list, for my own mental un-entanglement.
-----------------------------I got a fucking C+ on this paper I did.
-----------------------------which then lead me to believe I may lose one of my scholarships on account of my poor grade.
-----------------------------which I may just be overreacting abote, aboat, about.
--------------------------- fuck this French test, madamoiselle
--------------------------and I got a new boss at work, and though he seems like a bit of a push over, it's only a matter of time until he "meets with each of us" and flares those fanged teeth and flares those orange eyes he had. yeesh. I'm always so paranoid about bosses that I dont know.
+++++++++++++but then again, I think that I am uber paranoid about a lot of things. I think I really am, guys, oh no, I think I am, holy crap...............................
Hey! No one needs more than one set of elipses...One set is three periods...
[...]
-----------------------------I got a fucking C+ on this paper I did.
-----------------------------which then lead me to believe I may lose one of my scholarships on account of my poor grade.
-----------------------------which I may just be overreacting abote, aboat, about.
--------------------------- fuck this French test, madamoiselle
--------------------------and I got a new boss at work, and though he seems like a bit of a push over, it's only a matter of time until he "meets with each of us" and flares those fanged teeth and flares those orange eyes he had. yeesh. I'm always so paranoid about bosses that I dont know.
+++++++++++++but then again, I think that I am uber paranoid about a lot of things. I think I really am, guys, oh no, I think I am, holy crap...............................
Hey! No one needs more than one set of elipses...One set is three periods...
[...]
Monday, November 15, 2004
Best of Summer continues...
I used this lotion today that I haven't used in a while, this one kind that I used all summer, and all this summer I lived in the apartment on Atwood. Now, I miss it. I didn't really miss it before. It's the soft, clean smell of the lotion. I feel like I should be in that bedroom with the big window sill that I can sit on, and have records playing and the loud drunken assholes and the Cathedral lit up. I will most likely never be back in there again, and that makes me a little sad.
Sunday, November 14, 2004
Holmeswork
I.
The possiblity of black holes was between
simply flirting and mundane fucking.
Today:
everything is just
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaa
no flirting no fucking. On
July 22
Globes of Boston
QTD--
"I am sorry to disapoint
science fiction fans, but if
you jump into a black
hole, your mass energy will
be returned to our universe,
but in mangled form. There
is no baby universe branching
off, as I once thought" (Hawking 40).
Nutshells cracked and powdered
on the floor like spilled milk.
II.
Then
I recalled
while -- "sitting
at my window
today
watching
the rain I felt
very happy." --
Maybe like Mary
had, I believe, when
she saw
something on TV
with rain...
III.
And on March 1--
there was a girl somewhere in the World -such an odd word- somewhere in time who was quite alone in her head and nothing to no one, lost a baby, not by accident, she takes care of a man who has no identity, the World dropped him- Uninmaginable in tangible being, but somehow I found it fathomable on an Ohio Turnpike, West, skypinkpurple, while something like shoegaze the kids call it played in the tight car, And As Far As I Thought, I felt safe. I put a handmade bookmark on page 76 and traced playing constellation[s]. --I only know one.
The possiblity of black holes was between
simply flirting and mundane fucking.
Today:
everything is just
Blaaaaaaaaaaaaa
no flirting no fucking. On
July 22
Globes of Boston
QTD--
"I am sorry to disapoint
science fiction fans, but if
you jump into a black
hole, your mass energy will
be returned to our universe,
but in mangled form. There
is no baby universe branching
off, as I once thought" (Hawking 40).
Nutshells cracked and powdered
on the floor like spilled milk.
II.
Then
I recalled
while -- "sitting
at my window
today
watching
the rain I felt
very happy." --
Maybe like Mary
had, I believe, when
she saw
something on TV
with rain...
III.
And on March 1--
there was a girl somewhere in the World -such an odd word- somewhere in time who was quite alone in her head and nothing to no one, lost a baby, not by accident, she takes care of a man who has no identity, the World dropped him- Uninmaginable in tangible being, but somehow I found it fathomable on an Ohio Turnpike, West, skypinkpurple, while something like shoegaze the kids call it played in the tight car, And As Far As I Thought, I felt safe. I put a handmade bookmark on page 76 and traced playing constellation[s]. --I only know one.
Jus' Excavatin'
I was sitting at my window today watching the rain and I felt very happy
That's from the July 26 2004 entry I have come across. That's nice.
That's from the July 26 2004 entry I have come across. That's nice.
Saturday, November 13, 2004
Saturday morning at work...
That older man comes strutting in as usual, he says, "Oh no Angie, I don't have any goodies for you today." I say, "Ah, that's okay," and I try to remember his name. My co-worker comes in, "Just you and me today," he says, "Just you and me and Shakespeare." Then, he goes to get the newspapers.
Wednesday, November 10, 2004
Homework again...Angela goes Tropico
This is a poem I have done for my class, and I just really like it, so I am sharing it with the world. It's in the style of the Tropico, which is a form consisting of 22 lines, that is, 11 unrhyming couplets, no puncuation but a period at the end of the last line. I figured I would try one, and this one is about Heathcliff from Wuthering Heights, which today is my favorite book.
The Last Hours on the Moor
Sparks burning bloody rope are stories that start at the end
the gentleman tenant “watched the moths fluttering around the heath”
cold watered-down anemic fields cracked by a reported goblin
a ghoul a vampire a Melmoth sort of waste of existence
and an existential fairy tale about the selfish and sadomasochist
nature of that gypsy having vengeful mono-vision
and glaring at Catherine in mirrors but only mortally desiring
the feel of a corset’s whalebone waist under his own hands
Lovecraft wrote in 1945 a description on the event
of the gnashing gray pus sloshing living corpse
sleeping in the juicy graves of dead girlfriends and wailing
melting plate glass to chunky molasses
that is the Brood was pealing himself open on vast choking grass
and rolling like black Jell-O in a Moor winter
somewhere circling 1801 on loose soil under spastic kinetic
eyelids and presenting something more vicious and visceral
than my 2004 when I found the event slightly dry and just on the
edge of the cliff of horror’s orgasm with its mere knocking on casket doors
is just a small thrush of disappointment but just the same a suggestion
to what really happened in the scandalous last hours on the Moor
when he chewed off pieces of himself only to return in a few days
grinning as stiff as the isolation hill he made his and her bed.
The Last Hours on the Moor
Sparks burning bloody rope are stories that start at the end
the gentleman tenant “watched the moths fluttering around the heath”
cold watered-down anemic fields cracked by a reported goblin
a ghoul a vampire a Melmoth sort of waste of existence
and an existential fairy tale about the selfish and sadomasochist
nature of that gypsy having vengeful mono-vision
and glaring at Catherine in mirrors but only mortally desiring
the feel of a corset’s whalebone waist under his own hands
Lovecraft wrote in 1945 a description on the event
of the gnashing gray pus sloshing living corpse
sleeping in the juicy graves of dead girlfriends and wailing
melting plate glass to chunky molasses
that is the Brood was pealing himself open on vast choking grass
and rolling like black Jell-O in a Moor winter
somewhere circling 1801 on loose soil under spastic kinetic
eyelids and presenting something more vicious and visceral
than my 2004 when I found the event slightly dry and just on the
edge of the cliff of horror’s orgasm with its mere knocking on casket doors
is just a small thrush of disappointment but just the same a suggestion
to what really happened in the scandalous last hours on the Moor
when he chewed off pieces of himself only to return in a few days
grinning as stiff as the isolation hill he made his and her bed.
Tuesday, November 09, 2004
Angela doing her homework at work--
Let's see,
Quand les tigres parlent dans les robes bleues, they are desperate and humid. That Cat is a fish and its home is being de-fuminized with anti-kindness and other human natures. A netted black veil gives up as Cat spectates its own funeral. Lead puddle bear-clawing its translucent fence. Blaming opaque Tigers who wear rosy oblivious masks for the sorry conviction of uneasy fish.
And,
Ou je vais?
(Elysium)
Between yellow lines,
bells cheat
by tapping on asphalt.
Looking on white
space is lying about
leaving dead notes.
The workings of bells
are late, coldness chimes
rivers, trees feel sympathy.
Workings in charm
are a given in red
shoes, naivity.
The late Elysium
times my ride and
cheats me icely.
Quand les tigres parlent dans les robes bleues, they are desperate and humid. That Cat is a fish and its home is being de-fuminized with anti-kindness and other human natures. A netted black veil gives up as Cat spectates its own funeral. Lead puddle bear-clawing its translucent fence. Blaming opaque Tigers who wear rosy oblivious masks for the sorry conviction of uneasy fish.
And,
Ou je vais?
(Elysium)
Between yellow lines,
bells cheat
by tapping on asphalt.
Looking on white
space is lying about
leaving dead notes.
The workings of bells
are late, coldness chimes
rivers, trees feel sympathy.
Workings in charm
are a given in red
shoes, naivity.
The late Elysium
times my ride and
cheats me icely.
Monday, November 08, 2004
ANGELA: Mistress of the Crocodiles
I am going to have this big, burgundy velvet throne, circled by a muddy mote filled with crocodiles. It will be brimming so full of crocodiles, they will be flapping and gnarling all over each other. GRRRowling and snarling, snappy snap snapping their bleeding jaws. Steve Irwin will come to the Lair believing that he will rassle the crocodiles and overtrhow ANGELA: Mistress of the Crocodiles, steal my crown, and red velvet gown, and reign Anti-Narnia for all time. But, Steve Irwin sucks, and I will order my reptilian minions to devour him before the eyes of children. (Ha Ha Ha Ha) Once the carnage has ended for the time being, my most dear crocodile, Gromit, swings up to my throne and nuzzles his blood caked nose onto my lap, where I will pet and stroke his head until he falls asleep, snoring softly like the children that witnessed the bloodbath...the mud tainted scarlet...
Sunday, November 07, 2004
Grandma Death wrote a book
So, Holmes, says Natalie,
I read that Clockwork
is painfull. It's also harmful to rodents on Cartesian balconies.
***
Also, I read that...
"It's 10 o'clock at night--do you know where your clitoris is?"
It's actually 4:37 in the PM I am in the new computer chair at work, waiting for 5 o'clock I am wearing a new skirt I bought for $12.99 at Target God Bless the Little Children and Target Happy Birthday Megan I always fantasized about smart skirts that Andy calls stylish clothing stylishly dressed young women and I imagined their dangley earrings smiling and drinking red wine even if I'm not crazy about red wine just red shoes I like the pink wines but I like the pink shoes too only red is more my color as far as the shoes go. That is, as far as the shoes walk.
Tuesday the Lady Pilots stomp walking in the sky blue airplanes paint chipping synonomous carjack while singing courtesans to sleep on bleak dairy farms in 1805 winters with maids immune to blotchy red smotches and probably hickies, though I would contest that.
--Well, that killed some time!
I read that Clockwork
is painfull. It's also harmful to rodents on Cartesian balconies.
***
Also, I read that...
"It's 10 o'clock at night--do you know where your clitoris is?"
It's actually 4:37 in the PM I am in the new computer chair at work, waiting for 5 o'clock I am wearing a new skirt I bought for $12.99 at Target God Bless the Little Children and Target Happy Birthday Megan I always fantasized about smart skirts that Andy calls stylish clothing stylishly dressed young women and I imagined their dangley earrings smiling and drinking red wine even if I'm not crazy about red wine just red shoes I like the pink wines but I like the pink shoes too only red is more my color as far as the shoes go. That is, as far as the shoes walk.
Tuesday the Lady Pilots stomp walking in the sky blue airplanes paint chipping synonomous carjack while singing courtesans to sleep on bleak dairy farms in 1805 winters with maids immune to blotchy red smotches and probably hickies, though I would contest that.
--Well, that killed some time!
Friday, November 05, 2004
It's 3:14 in the AM...
Stacy, it's The AM,
do you know where your children are?
Are they wandering around Kennywood with crayons in their overpriced Tommy Hilfiger purse?
I'm chatting with Ashley, who is probably more awake than I am. I'm actually feeling a little dizzy, but somehow I don't want to go to bed yet. Ashley is far away in Nebraska until Xmas, and she's lonely. She says she's surrounded by right wing Christians. Ashley is a nice girl, but she's not unreasonably PC. She's frustrated by the lack of spirituality among the religous there.
It seems to me anymore that being PC gets out of hand and when I read things like "the world has not reached equality among men and women" I get annoyed by the whole thing. That's a broad statement, too broad for real consideration. Stone me if you want, but even really, really, desiring "equality" seems pointless in itself. It seems to dismiss individuality. But, I may be looking at this in the wrong way. I have to keep in mind politics.
And, stone me here too if you please, but I don't think it's possible to really extinguish such things as rape. If it is an act of violence, and violence is part of the irrationality human nature, then though it's irrational and people should be rational, it's still a part of human nature. It would be unnatural then, for there to be a race of humans who -absolutly no person, no human being anywhere to committ rape. You can't stop the act, but you can change the law's punishment. So, again, let's stay with politics.
Well, on that note, I am going to sing a happy song, and go to bed, maybe after reading some of Wuthering Heights. And then take a nap, with my teddy bear. Get up, maybe see some peaches in the sky, and have some cereal, shower dress water plants. ...
Stacy, it's The AM,
do you know where your children are?
Are they wandering around Kennywood with crayons in their overpriced Tommy Hilfiger purse?
I'm chatting with Ashley, who is probably more awake than I am. I'm actually feeling a little dizzy, but somehow I don't want to go to bed yet. Ashley is far away in Nebraska until Xmas, and she's lonely. She says she's surrounded by right wing Christians. Ashley is a nice girl, but she's not unreasonably PC. She's frustrated by the lack of spirituality among the religous there.
It seems to me anymore that being PC gets out of hand and when I read things like "the world has not reached equality among men and women" I get annoyed by the whole thing. That's a broad statement, too broad for real consideration. Stone me if you want, but even really, really, desiring "equality" seems pointless in itself. It seems to dismiss individuality. But, I may be looking at this in the wrong way. I have to keep in mind politics.
And, stone me here too if you please, but I don't think it's possible to really extinguish such things as rape. If it is an act of violence, and violence is part of the irrationality human nature, then though it's irrational and people should be rational, it's still a part of human nature. It would be unnatural then, for there to be a race of humans who -absolutly no person, no human being anywhere to committ rape. You can't stop the act, but you can change the law's punishment. So, again, let's stay with politics.
Well, on that note, I am going to sing a happy song, and go to bed, maybe after reading some of Wuthering Heights. And then take a nap, with my teddy bear. Get up, maybe see some peaches in the sky, and have some cereal, shower dress water plants. ...
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