October!

It has been brought to my attention, recently, by myself, and slightly others, but mostly myself, being that I am usually sickly self aware, that I have been pacing and fleeting about back and forth everywhere like a crazy girl. Note the record number of commas in the last sentence.

Well, It's almost October, and (which I can't help but say "and the leaves are stripped bare of all they wear, what do I care...") and October is the best month of the whole entire Roman calender 12 month year. Perhaps in some other universe where lunar calanders rule, October is not the best month, but for purposes now, it is, oh how solarly it is.

Yesterday had the first taste of autumn weather in the air, and it made me quite excited. Soon there will be red, orange, yellow, brown leaves, 21st Birthday and birthday in general!, blue lemonade skies (like NOW), smell of jack-o-lanturns that includes all of Halloween, and even Donnie Darko Days.

So, I promise, Angela, to buck up, clean my contacts a little better. Which reminds me, I ought to go to the eye doctor. My contacts always seem to dry and cloudy lately, and all I see is slightly blurier images of what I would normally see, with white auras. Perhaps there is too much computer staring-at, which does give me a headache. Sleep is fine and good, perhaps it's just the change in weather making my eyes all wacky like.

Whether I can see or not, I have a list of Things To Do. Mentally at least. I should mark everything down on a Post-It and stick it on my aquarium, while I watch the pinkyorange fish with their big black bug eyes blub blub with nothing else to do. I always thought animals did nothing but think enourmously deeply about things us people think about to an extent, that animals just understand a little further than we can. But, now I can only limit that to at least cats and dogs, or my cat and dogs I know for sure. Fish, I think they just bleet bleet their thin fins and wait for food to trickle down. I would like to be a cat, but not a fish.

I would like to be the little girl I observed while I was on my break a little while ago. This girl, may have been about 12, skipped on into the library to return something, her long wavy dark blond hair bouncing around, completely oblivious to -just stuff, I assume. She wore a light blue turtle neck and jeans and saddle shoes. I wish I were her, in that very second hopping up the steps to the library. But, I suppose that could be not much different than floating around waiting for freeze-dried worms to trickle down into my fishy mouth.

In context...

Though, in context this phrase is meant to mean something else, I thought it was nice on its own,

"To be fond of dancing was a certain step towards falling in love..."

It's from Pride and Prejudice.

Back in the Saddle Again!

Boy, am I bored.

School starts on Monday!

But, for now, it's back to back episodes of Rosanne on WPN.


Hmm, what should I wear for the first day of school? In elementary school I used to pick out what I was going to wear and have it all sitting out ready for the next day. It usually was a dress my mom splurged on. Like, the one with the pink skirt and the bubble design on the bodice. Bodice? I suppose that's the right word. It seems a little too racey of a word for a elementary school dress. Anyhow,

school starts on Monday and I am excited to have something to do instead of watching sindicated sitcoms on cable TV.

Cut a rug--

Yep

Take the quiz: "Which'>http://www.zenhex.com/quiz.php?id=2424">"Which Pop Princess are you?"

Cristina
CHRISTINA!You are dirrrty! You have one power-house of a voice, but are often questioned about how far you take you sexuality.

Corey Feldman

I had a dream last night where my brother and I were in the car with my mom, and it was raining outside. (Meanwhile, it later switched to us driving through what seemed to be a wormhole, but I think that's because I read and watch too much about time travel and other nerdy things...)

So, we were in the car and we were talking about fate. Allan was describing a situation with a friend of his where the friend had got in a car accident and immediatly called his girlfriend, and he hadn't called his girlfriend to tell her how much he cared about her if he hadn't been in that car accident. That's what Allan said. Then I said, It's fate. Allan disagreed, he kept insisting it wasn't fate, didn't give any other suggestion or explanation, just that it wasn't fate. I thought, in the dream, that it was because he didn't know what "fate" meant.

Then, I sat back in the car, watching the gray rain (and the blue speeding light inside the wormhole!) and thought to myself, "I believe in fate."

So, I suppose I do believe in fate. Things are supposed to happen, at least, that's a nice thought.

It's a Mystery

Stacy and I are watching this movie called "Mystery Alaska," and it's in this small town called, Mystery, Alaska - go figure. Almost all the women in it wear very little makeup and dress in conservative sweaters and pants. They're very plain, still pretty, but plain. I wondered to myself then if one of the women got herself made up, wore a sexy dress, sultry makeup, stilletos, etc, would it make a big stir in the town? The characters are initially very simple and classic, teenagers in love, children look up to their fathers. They are all so simple, like Crayola's box of 8. I put on makeup and sort of dress up everyday, and things are not simple, there are layers and layers of translucent and opaque layers. Complicated! And I think about what a little makeup would do for a woman who would most likely care less about Cover Girl. There's me walking down the street with my clothes and my makeup and my sexual politics among other pretentions, how fucking jaded I am! I am part of this jaded and apathetic land of 18-25 year olds. I looked out the window, since it was in my view, it was all dark, which made me very depressed to be stuck, or feel stuck in such a pathetic niche, if it can be called a niche. I don't feel like talking about this anymore. I'm feeling better. There are things to live for, that old saying, cliches, things to live for like love. I do believe that only from experience. Skeptical, add that to jaded and apathetic. No, skeptical is good. Skeptical cannot be apathetic. But skeptical could be just cynical. Ah, shit.
There is a good line from the movie:
"What the fuck ass fuck of a bum fuck shithole town..."

Black Holes Spin!

Squirrel Montoya

"How can I be bored?" I thought.
So, here I am, back in the saddle again, doing what I did best in the "saddle," so to speak.
I am staring at things while sitting at the desk, and listening to music.

"...an email to..."

"...It always seems Carmine makes such a scene, even when he's not there, physically. I can argue that he was there in spirit, but he would shoot me down. He's doing it right now, he's shooting my theory down about him having a soul- in spirit."

-Angela, in an email to Stacy, August 18th, 2004.

Mary Mary Mary

So, while I was shelving books, I came across Warhol: The Biography. I thought, ooo, I might like this. Now, I look through the pictures, and they're nice, he was cute when he was really young. Then he got kind of funny looking, probably from messing too much with himself, being too self-concious. I start reading the book, from the first page, first paragraph, and it's boring. I flip through, and I read "The Carnegie Museem classes were split into two groups. The Tam O'Shanters, names in honor of the Scottish-born Andrew Carnegie, were the younger members..." Who cares, man--

If I become famous, I really hope no one wastes time researching and expelling mundane details about my life like it's that important. I suppose that's what a biography is.

Also, if I become famous, I want people to write all sorts of things about me that aren't true, and I want them to make exagerations and make everything sound considerably glamorous and wild. There will be forged black and white pictures of me and good looking people that knew me for a few days, make them all look like lifelong friends in my battles with drugs, alcohol, and stardom. "Candide" black and white pictures of me smoking with Lou Reed outside Max's Kansas City, -is that what it was/is called?---

Kids will read books about me and think I was really cool.

The Moral

...of the story is, you can't control your own future. You can't control your own destiny, just like Doc says in the first movie, but no, they had to make two more.
If my calulations are correct, then for as many times as Marty, Doc, Jennifer, Biff, Einstein, etc. traveled through time (6, I think) in the DeLorean, no matter what, there will always be an alternate reality they will end up in. At the end of the 3rd movie, Marty and Jennifer end up in 1985X and will live on to 2015X, which may or may not have been the 2015 they desired (as in, from attempting to stop their kids from becoming "assholes.") This serves them right because, like Doc said, you cannot control your own destiny. He also says, "the future is what you make of it," -without a time machine, that is. But, Doc is a big hypocrit, for at the conclusion of the trilogy, he goes flying of with his new family to travel time as if he's taking the fam across the country in a station wagon. Very nice Doc, way to fuck up the space time continium.
To be continued...

Or your money back...

Holy Shit

This made me physically uncomfortable. Click "Holy Shit" and read on!
Thanks to http://jddblog.blogspot.com/ -The Velvet Blog

Cordifesto

Dana and I started some hardcore packing today. We listened to "up beat" music such as Gang of Four's Entertainment! and some Souisxie. Aside from probably spelling Souisxie wrong, I have "Happy House" stuck in my head.

So, I wore my "Sugar Never Tasted So Good" shirt today. I shouldn't get mad if people, namely dirty old men, think it means something more than it does, because I don't have to wear it. It really is just a White Stripes song, and I don't recall why I put it on the shirt, I wish I hadn't now. It's a cool shirt otherwise, very homemade, just poor diction.

But, the other topic of discussion lately pertains to the dirty old men. It doesn't bother me that much that guys supposedly do "check [me] out" a lot, but it worries me that maybe I look a certain way to draw their attention. The other night when I was out with Jeremy, I had on a black shirt and a pair of tan cordoroys. I didn't notice, but he said there was a guy blatently checking me out. So, what is the big deal boys? OOO cords are sexy, I know. I don't know, but it annoys me a little thinking about it now.
On my way to work today a boy was walking passed me and he smiled. That's all. He couldn't have even been flirting with me or hitting on me, just being nice. More of that would make me feel more comfortable. There's really nothing I can do if a couple of nasty, horny, bastards get off on a girl in an old t-shirt, jeans, and geeky glasses, except maybe complain about it and get over it.

What really bothers me is when I ignore the person-who is blatantly Staring At Me and saying "Heeeey Baby Girl," - and they act pissed off when I ignore them. Seriously, what am I going to do besides 1. ignore their crude ass or 2. beat the shit out of them. (I have never resorted to 2, but someday I will). The only girls who would stop and take it either have little self esteem or are hookers.

Going back to the 2. When I walk home from work, I sometimes pass Cumpies, a bar. I pass it when I forget to cross the street. Conviently, there is a counter and no windows right at the sidewalk, so lots of dirty old men have lots of free air to waste on really pathetic attempts to expell some hopelessness.

To make a long story short:
There is a Vaginga Monologue called "My Short Skirt." Basically it talks about how a girl can wear whatever she wants and shouldn't have to be treated like an object. I can't remember any of the exact words from it except something like -my short skirt "doesn't mean that I give it or want it." So there. I relate to that. I do like to wear mini skirts. When it's hot, it's really comfortable to just wear a skirt with just undies underneath. I like to wear my favorite skirt-a black mini skirt- because it's comfortable, fits me perfectly, and I like the way I look in it. IIIIIIII I. That's it there, the I. I really don't care when Dirty Old Man thinks of me in my skirt, but I like what I like about it. I control who can baske in my skirt wearing, for I am wearing the skirt. It is not your skirt, or else you would be wearing it. Would you like to wear my skirt, Dirty Old Man, you seem to like it very much---

So, when someone has to let out their sexual energy like a lonely dog, I have every right to let out my frustration like a confident woman. -Of course my short skirt or [unintended] suggestive shirt or glasses or cordoroys give you the right to express yourself verbally or physically just like I have the right to express myself by wearing them. But, I also have the right to give you a mean, smart ass look before turning away.

I hope I see more boys that simply smile at me, if they feel they should. Or, more that are more discrete about admiring, like Jeremy. Admitedly, (admitingly?) I do like the attention, when it doesn't piss me off, which would be almost all of the time. So, I will continue to wear my clothes, conciously as always, and maybe someday, just someday, I will get that Dirty Old Man. Someday, I will kick him in the balls.

I feel like I am forgeting or missing out on something--

like there is something I have to look for, or that's hanging around here--

and I keep forgetting what it is, then I

remember. And I want want want it--

I want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want

want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want
want want want want wwant want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want

want want want want want want want want want want want want


want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want

want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want
want want want want wwant want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want
want want want want wwant want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want
want want want want wwant want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want wwant want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want wwant want want want want want want want want want want want want want want want

want

want want

want want want



want want wantwwant wantwantwantwantwnatwantwnanwatwantwanwtanwanttnwawatnawntanwtawntawtnttwanwantwantwatnwantwantwantwantwatwant


Iwnnt, I want it.

Good hair day

Something struck me on TV with rain, and I thought it would be nice to walk in the rain. And then I thought of the time in the rain, an insignificant time. Natalie and I walking down Forbes in the rain, the gentle, constant sort. I was really happy, like giddy happy, as in, in love happy, and I jumped in the puddles at each corner. I was wearing my black dress with the gray lacy slip that was longer than the dress. It was ruffley and moved like waves when I moved. When I splashed in the puddles, the ends of it got wet. I didn't care about that. I don't usually care to get my feet wet in shoes, but I had my boots on and didn't think I would get my feet wet. However, they did, the eyes of my boots gave way. I was so happy jumping in the puddles. That whole night I can remember as being good. My hair looked really good too.

This is what I did at work today, take this quiz

You have a mysterious kiss. Your partner never
knows what you're going to come up with next;
this creates great excitement and arousal never
knowing what to expect. And it's sure to end
in a kiss as great as your mystery.

What kind of kiss are you?
brought to you by 0 comments

We are losing them to

Word of the Day

APATHY

Definition: lack of interest or emotion

Example: The APATHY of voters is so great that less than half the people who are eligible to vote actually bother to do so.

Synonyms: disinterest, indifference

Here's to Existing

If it were possible, would travel to an alternate universe, in which you would have never existed?

I wouldn't. I have trouble being satisfied with just thinking, therefore I am.

It's a scary thought, imagining you don't really exist.

That's why I enjoy getting things in the mail, like letters addressed to me, and cards. I enjoy getting phone calls and emails. I love my birthday because that day everyone says "Happy Birthday Angela" to me. All these personal things, that varify to me that I exist. I need other people to prove my existence. When someone calls 2 times in a day and is wondering if you are okay because you weren't somewhere, that says to me, "Oh! I exist."
...
The above is from the link in this entry's title. I always imagine what it would be like to go back in time to my younger self. I wo---Another argument of impossibility is called the chronology principal. This principal states that time travelers could bring information to the past that could be used to create new ideas and products. This would involve no creative energy on the part of the "inventor." Imagine that Pablo Ruiz y Picasso, the most influential and successful artist of the 20th century, were to travel back in time to meet his younger self. Assuming he stays in his correct universe, he could give his younger self his portfolio containing copies of his paintings, sculptures, graphic art, and ceramics. The young version of Picasso could then meticulously copy the reproductions, profoundly and irrevocably affecting the future of art. Thus, the reproductions exist because they are copied from the originals, and the originals exist because they are copied from the reproductions. No creative energy would have ever been expended to create the masterpieces! 3 This chronology principal rules out travel into the past.

I wouldn't devulge too much information to my younger self-I've seen Back to the Future (and many times), I know what would happen if I exposed myself to information only time has the right to tell. This passage talks about the problem with that too.

I don't know man, but it would be nice to have some comments, I may not have said any of this stuff, ever,.

Thanks Shontae

Your Homicidal Rampage! by crash_and_burn
Your name:
Weapon of Choice:	A broomstick
Your Favorite Target:	Nymphomaniacs
Your Kill Count:	657,729,470
Your Battle Cry:	"Mutha fuckaaaaaaas!"
Years You Spend in Jail:	42
How Much Money In Damages You Cause:	$86,738,099,497,433
Your Homocidal Insanity Level:: 72%
Quiz created with MemeGen!

The story about the end of the world and more--

we all know

there's no hell and no hiroshima

chernobyl was a cover up

the world is really all in love

 

Ah, how true. But you know, there are no such things as parallel universes. Stephen Hawking said so. Once upon a time he claimed there were such things in weird science as parallel worlds, (note I said science and not imagination). So, after almost 30 years of perfecting his whole idea about black holes and such, Hawking was like, uhh, nah, it's not really what I said.

 

Hey man, I donated $1 to the Lou Gehrig's disease foundation thinking of you Mr. Hawking, now you've burst my black hole bubble. What a great time to live in when the possiblity of parallel universes could be proven by a really, really, really smart guy with his graphing calculator. Even them being only a scientific theory-halfway between science fiction and fact-is most interesting. It's like when you first start to fall in love with someone and you're all hearts and stars, in between simply flirting and mundane fucking. 

 

The Possibility of black holes was between simply flirting and mundane fucking.

 

Now everything is just blaa. No flirting, no fucking, no sci fi, and no interesting facts but that Hawking said this:

 

from the July 22 Boston Globe,

 

"I am sorry to disapoint science fiction fans, but if you jump into a black hole, your mass evergy will be returned to our universe, but in mangled form. There is no baby universe branching off, as I once thought."

 

So, Donnie Darko is all fake? Shit.

What about the shelves of books at the library about black holes? How disapointing indeed. Way to sell out man, way to sell out.

 

And you know what, most of all, I am taking this too seriously. Ha. Really though, for someone who sits and looks for information on websites about such things, not to mention time travel and wormholes, and who took notes while reading The Universe in a Nutshell last summer, you bet this is an issue for me. Who the hell is John Kerry? What? Some guy won over a million dollars on Jeopardy? A murder/suicide in Edgewood?

 

Perhaps an extra-terrestrial from the planet Vulcan, names Darth Vader, promised to melt his brain if Hawking delved anymore into the black hole--

 

At least another physicist, Andrew Strominger of Harvard says that he doesn't think the issue is closed. Phew. There is more to learn! The world is not going to end...

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

yet!  

 

 

   

An After Thought, by Angela Bayout...

I realize, I you need the key.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
(think about that, really, you need the key. The key. You know, the key)
 
 
 
 
(But, sir, we lost the key in the fire. You know, The Fire.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
(Oh, man, The Fire. How long ago The Fire was. That was before the war. You know, The War.)
 
 
 
 
 
(What a horrible war. It was tough times then. That's when the flood happened too. You know, The Flood.)
 
 
 
(We lost our favorite wicker rocking chair in that Flood.)
 
(No, that was The Fire. We lost our favorite wicker rocking chair in the Fire.)
 
 
 
 
(No, The Flood.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
(No! It was the Fire. Remember, we used to have it out on the front porch, until it got burnt, and we had nothing on the front porch. We used to sit out there all the time and feel bad when we couldn't anymore. Then, The War started, and Daddy had to go away, you know The War.)
 
 
(Ah, yes, and then Mama didn't want to sit out on the porch anymore anyway because then she felt the man would come with the news that Daddy was dead. You know, The Man.)
 
(And then he did come with news.)
 
(That Daddy was okay, he just lost an arm. You know, An Arm.)
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
(Yep, Daddy, he lost his arm in The War.)

The Best of This Summer

Wow, this summer was really cool! Anyway, I thought I ought to stop and reflect before I forget, because I am a dork and have always done things like that. I am always one to reminisce. So, this being the first summer away from home, it is necessary to log each and every wonderful moment down to the most minute detail.

The first thing that comes to mind is when Dana and I went to Scotland and saw the Loch Ness monster. That was great.

Then I went to Paris.

Then, we moved into the Atlizzle homestead where we lived off of Fantasy Fudge and french onion dip, from Paris.

There was the time Dana and I went to the museum through the back door, and I realized after about a half hour there that the museum is closed on Mondays, and that explained why parts of it were so dark.

I still haven't returned that movie to the White Hen after a week, that was pretty great.

Working at the library is actually pretty great too. I like to read.

I went to the dentist and had no cavities, that was pretty great.

Well, as you can see, the summer was pretty great. I was all gung ho about logging all the good things that happened-for real- but i lost the interest. Some of this stuff really did happen. Can you circle what happened and put an X on what didn't?

I will retire later to my diary, the one with the pink bows and the lock, and jot down everything with a purple sparkly gel pen. If you really want to know the truth, go to 244 Atwood, apt. #3 and look under my pillow case, there will be Dana's Erotica collection, the KY warming liquid, my pjs, and my diary.

Have a great day!  

I am Always right-o

Last entry I said that I felt that things were going to pick up, that things were going to start happening. I do believe I was meaning that great things were going to happen, and they are, but not all neccessarily. What prompted me to write this here is that I was talking to Ringa today and I said to her, validly, that I was right, my intuition is always right on.
 
Basically, I just had a very nice weekend, nothing extravagant, just a good weekend. All I was, was happy. I woke up Sunday morning to the radio playing "Because the Night" by Patti Smith, which is a very hot song. All weekend was very well for me.  
 
Sunday, Dana came across these vanilla flavored cigarettes, and even though I care not to smoke too much, they are damn good. I smoked 8 of them between yesterday and today, and don't feel a thing from them. They really are smooth and creamy, like the box says. Heh. Well, I was sitting at my window today watching the rain and I felt very happy, all at ease, just sitting there in my pj's smoking tasty cigarettes and thinking. I felt this happy about this time last year, maybe a little later, when Natalie and I sat outside the library talking, and I felt very content, and happy. 
 
Dana and I just got back from a bus ride to Monroeville to indulge at Evergreen Chinese Buffet. The pouring rain was worth the trip. 
 
Ealier today, Ringa did call with unhappy news. I wasn't very affected by it, but I was sad to hear Ringa sound sad. A professor at our college died over the weekend. She was both Ringa's and Dana's advisor, and Ringa worked with her on her tutorial. I can imagine how it must be to lose someone like that, who you were intellectual in touch with. Especially, for Ringa, this is to be her senior year when she must put together portfolios and projects, and she has to do it with someone she hasn't worked with for the passed 3 years. She was very sad. 
 
Speaking of Ringa, she's had Hepatitus A for the last month. She will be fine, getting a lot better. Ringa has had a busy month. There have been a lot of changes for all of us, and it's all hitting us now. It's a big wave, and I knew it was coming. No suprise spoiled, I am actually very excited that I was right. Like, I sensed it or something. I have the 6th sense! I was telling Ringa, when I started 9th grade, I wrote a note to my friend Nicole telling her that 9th grade would be a big year for us. A lot of things did happen, normal 15 year old stuff, but that was also the year Columbine happened, and it was pretty traumatic for us. 
 
I was thinking a lot this weekend about where I am and how I ended up there. I looked around my room in my apartment and really thought about where I was. I closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself in my room when I was 15, in that gray tank top I always wore writing about, probably the same stuff I am now. That's how I really felt that I was where I was right then. I am here, 20, living in an small apartment in Oakland. Sometimes, don't realize anything I am doing, and suddenly something hits me and I realize that I am quite alive and I exist. 
 
So, here I am, here, and there, and doing stuff, like existing. So, yay.   

The "Pepsi" above bothers me.

Yum, Brains

 On the verge of things I always feel so anxious, but a good kind of exciting anxious. Perhaps it's just that I will have to move in a month, out of ol' Atlizzle and at Carblow. A change of space, something new but familiar too. But I do feel that something rather good will happen to me soon if not in a while, and I usually am right about things like that. I have a very accurate and strong intuition. (See, I was distracted by my co-worker who was silently sneaking up behind me, only to find a mildly- mildly suprised Angela.) 
 
I have ideas as to what my future holds, but like Doc Brown says, knowing too much about your future can lead to disaster. A time paradox! (Search my blog and you will find links to nerd sites that talk all about time physics.) So, I will erase all expectations and go in blindly so as to not be disapointed or unenthused. I think Edmund Husserl wrote about not having any previous knowledge about something, and only then can you truly have sympathy. I think I am getting that a little twisted, but that's the way I used it in a Theology paper I once did. There are a lot of philosophers that have similar ideas about expectations, it's probably one of the essential themes of philosophy. Being a real philosopher and a good philosopher, you ought to be as pure as possible. That is, not having any premature expectations, also not believing what others who have put themselves in power say. You really ought to trust yourself, if your honest enough with yourself to be trusted. So, listen to your intuition, your gut that is, or heart if you will, because it's probably right. Don't listen so much to your crotch so much, (I don't know a better word in this case to use than "crotch.") You can't listen to your brain, because that's what's doing the listening to your gut, so if your being cerebral and logical, you're probably not listening, which in some cases may be right. And, in some cases, listen to your "crotch," otherwise you may miss out on something. The thing is you have to know when to listen or not and to what. But, I guess there's no way to know, except that it's intuitive, so really what I am saying is, your instincts should or do always rule. But it's that logical brain that is allowed to rule in certain circumstances. See, I have been reading! I never understood the Empiricists until now- around 6:30 pm while working at the library. 
 
Since I have been keeping fish, I think about people like I would fish. I sit somewhere, like here at work or at a restaurant or store, and imagine I am really watching fish in an aquarium. They're like different species of barbs- I have tiger barbs in my tank, but there are also cherry barbs, rosy barbs, all kinds of colors, shapes, aggressivness, activity, etc. There are white people with dark hair, light hair, big, little, there are asian people-Korean, Arab, ect. All have different food "requirements"- the otos and plecos only eat algea-are vegetarian just like a Hindu or a Buddists, or a vapid PETA minion. Just imagine a giant Something keeping us in a "tank" and watching us, -oh how cute, the kids are playing hide and seek-just like the tiger barbs play hide and seek among the rocks and ornaments in my tank. I think, all these fish do is swim around, play so to speak, and eat. I really can't think that they do anythink else. Maybe my betta seems to have a familiar affection for me, that is, when he "sees" me looking at him, he thinks I will give him food. We have staring contests, me and the betta, and he probably gets bored when no food comes. But then I have staring contests with my cat, and he gets bored and starts to meow and rub up against my leg for food. But, my cat also looks out the window like he's watching TV, and I think somehow he is really thinking about stuff. My dog too, he has a very strong personality like my cat, and I think that while he is laying in the grass looking out into the yard with his eyes half closed and his breathing very steady and relaxed, he is thinking wonderful things, even if its about chasing bunnies or chocolate. (Dogs aren't supposed to eat chocolate by the way.) But fish, I really can't see them thinking much at all. Of course we know that fish are not as developed as dogs and cats though. But, just like I can lay in the grass and think of chocolate, I am still more developed than my hippie dog Bailey. (I just said something very obvious.) What makes me and [most] humans more developed, common sense, logic, or rationality. 
 
Then there's free will, which I think can be connected to common sense, well yeah, because if your brains do not have to listen to your guts, then your guts can tell you what is supposed to be one thing, but your brain activly choses not to do as your gut. So, if a goose had a free will or common sense, he would have the ability to not migrate in at the start of spring. He can stay in Florida or where ever if he wanted to if he had the ability to choose. But, too bad, he doesn't. 
 
So there, I just went over basic philosophy while I work. Have a good day and be excellent to each other.                         

Chicken Chow Mein and Chop Suey

I have to admit, that if I could, right at this moment I would fly to Florida, go to Disney fucking World, and get myself a Mousekateer Bar. They were so good. The white vanilla icecream was so creamy and the chocolate was so sugary and sweet, it melted in your mouth. 
Meanwhile, I am going to get fish tomorrow! yay! wooooo! fish! they swim! in water! 
 
Evidently I can now do color text. 
 
I did not know this until now.  

Oh dear GOD--

This may be the most boring day at work ever. Ever! And suddenly the settings are different on my blog, there was never any color before. How exciting. I thought I would dress sort of nice today, wear a skirt, look like a real lady. How nice. I walked down the street with my umbrella and bag, feeling real sophisticated. I have on lipstick even. OOOOO. Ever! 

Andrew and Shontae

I bet Andrew is chilling out in his little jelly jar. Maybe he's playing DragonTails! I hope he starts to look better soon. Perhaps Buddha will give him the strength. I'll say "Andrew, rub his belly for luck."
...and way to go SHONTAE.
You called us, yeah, okay. But, next time, make sure your cell phone doesn't suck. That's why I use a good old pre-rotary type phone, you know what I mean? Those ones where you pick up the reciever and the mouth piece is like, on the the phone, like, in the 1920s. Yeah, I have one of those.

SHONTAE

Hi Shontae! how the fuck are ya? I was so glad to get your message. That was really cool. I didn't know you could post comments either. Awesome. Woo. Oh yeah. Rock 'n' Roll. Cleve-land is a drag I bet, but it is the place where mid-90s musical artists Bone Thugz and Harmony hail from, so it can't be that bad. Yes, call us. I will post our phone number, which is a really dumb thing to do on the internet, but no one but you and me read this anyway. Talk to you soon. Call me *wink wink* 412 687 0372...

Bonesaw McGraw

Dude, Spider Man is so cool.

My So Called Life...ANGELA-

Ahh, fuck me. The night is full of Angelas.
I came across "My So Called Life" reruns on the bounded satellite @ casa de bayout. Dear old "Angela" with her red hair and high school drama. I watched the episode when "Angela" admitted to Jordan Catalano that she was not ready to have sex with him. When I look back at those days when I was 13 watching this show for the first time, I think they all had to do with "Angela" freaking out about not being ready to have sex with Jordan Catalano yet. Still, God, it made me feel all fuzzy and nestalgic inside for about 4 minutes. Probably about as long as Jordan Catalano would have lasted anyhow, what the hell was she so worried about? Perhaps, it was that very fact?
And then there was a Greyhound commercial...
Girl-African American-curly hair-headphones on-perhaps soulful alto sweet lovin?-Greyhound assumes this is their demographic. Oh, but anyway, an invisible, giant hand scralled her name, "Angela" across the bus window like John Madden at the Halftime show. It was really dumb.
I have come across these "Angelas" 2 times. 2, Twice my dear. Only one more time, a third time, will break the spell-

Subsiding

Angela, another random thought broadcast. Pink sunglasses, they ask, why are you taking up all this cyber space. And I say, cyber space, what a cool phrase. It sounds so Star Trek, I love it. Maximum warp speed, Jordie.
Meanwhile, back at the glands, it's damn hot in here. I came here for air conditioning, and now you give me nothing. God hates me, he sure does. He hates Dana too. But maybe, if we didn't make so many horrible jokes, we wouldn't be on our way to hell. But if hell is a place where people just hang around, play cards, and make horrible jokes, then okay, I'll but my security deposit down today.
That is why I just can't believe there is such a thing as hell, or heaven anyway. Ha, mere mortals, it's so cute how smart you think you all are. Things are much more than you think, they have to be, or else, what would be the point, if one at all. So, I will go on enjoying rasberry cream-cicles, if I had any, and listen to the birds at 4 am.
Hehe.

Working for the Man

Though, I feel less guilty. Oh! I get paid today!
--But when I am working alone in front of a computer, do you expect me to do work? Probably, yes, but I have been doing it for 2 hours now, and I am hungry, but I can't go on break until my co-worker comes back from whatever he was doing. We are mutual slackers who must learn to respect each other's slackery.
And what is this guy doing with all those phone books? Crackhead.
I'm glad those kids decided to draw. They looked so bored waiting for their parents. I gave them two pieces of paper and pencils, and they each said, kindly, no thanks, but I left it to them anyway. The boy pointed to his little video game thing, or mini TV, whatever that is, I suppose showing me there is no way he could be bored. Well, HA! I see you kids drawing and using your imaginations! Yay!
Crackhead just informed me the toner is low on the copy machine.
The lady who works at the circulation desk just spilled her drink on the carpet.
Who is Anthony Biggins anyway?

Ooo, that's horrible

I just witnessed a scene on the Lifetime network- I suppose I should go no further - where a a dad and his two children witnessed the mother getting horribly, horribly fucked up by a truck.
Anyway, it's amazing what I'm missing. Fortunatly, I have never been in a situation like that, but I did take my dad's car out for a Sunday drive today. After a nice picnic with some old friends, I decided to take my favorite roads before it got too dark. Those being Saltzburg leading into Oakmont/Verona and New Texas Road in Plum. Long, hilly, and windey, (windy?). The car is a little big and clumsy for the tight curves -tight curves like a hot woman, heh- but it was fine, with a driver like me in control. Vroom.
I just pretended I was in my super car, the 1970-ish Comet, Corvette looking little guy with matte sky blue exterior and beige leather interior, me in my pink sunglasses singing (horribly) along to my luck of the radio, which always seems to include "Brown Eyed Girl," left arm testing its streamline ability. So, if I were rich, I would buy a car like that and drive around on Sundays. THe roads are quiet then, less cops to ruin your fun with a speeding ticket. I've tried it on a Wednesday, I know.
But remember in the sometimes silly words of Bono- "Always wear a safety belt. Always."
Back to the Lifetime movie--

The totem Pole Blues

And so, the carnival ended and the Bates had to go home. Green light on the pale boy was too much to take seriously, night of the waning moons. Chigen, barfly, and Siouxsie whales.

Porchlight, Neko Case. We were drowning again. What was it that I said? Yes, he was near drowning, arousing. Pounding, spent, feverishly. Precise tiny lettering in purple ink.

---And the Ohio Turnpike. But next time

Who says that Murder's not an Art?

...only you pay with your SOUL.

The secret yellow door, my friend, may lead to freedom. But indeed, it only leads to HELL!

...

:)

eh-- As if it matters, here it is kids. I am typing an entry in the blog. Blog Blog Blog Bloggy Blog. Bloggity Bloggity Blog. Napalm and cornerstone.
And and if I can get any more random-

I've found that the stacks (the area where the books are shelved at the library, Carnegie Library, Oakland, yah)

-they smell like toasted marshmallows. And I walk through the aisles and while I am working and go, Ahh! Marshmallows, toasting. Lovely.

So, yesterday, on my break I grabbed a Hershey bar and took it home with me. As Dana napped, I made S'mores, since I have an abundance of marshmallows. They were delicious, to say the least. Even the gob of chocolate that accidently gobbed on the carpet was delicious. Hmmm- Anyhow, I wasn't in the girlscouts for nothing. Oh geez.

--------------------------------------------------------------

This is Theeee EEEEeeeend

Jim Morrison said so. But, it's only sort of the end. You know, I don't feel like being all technical and witty, fuck it. What I really want to say is that I will miss you all, all my friends that are going home for the summer. I'm such a fucking sap. It's true, it's true, I'll miss you.

Top 5 things I did today:

5. Got my Lou Boyle paper done, done and done (for real this time)
4. Watched an episode of the Simpsons in Art History. It was the one where Homer becomes a sort of "Found Object" artist and later floods Springfield. "That one episode of the Simpsons..."
3. Had a pretty decent interview for a job at the library. *Crossing my fingers*
2. Told Stacy how much I will miss having school lunch with her and all my buddies this summer.
...
1. Totally stole Natalie's blog format.

*Baudelaire*

People are ______

Saw a valley this weekend, it scared me, but it was so beautiful. And I had to admit, there has to be some god if something like that can just be. It didn't move, didn't do anything but stared at me staring at it, and probably scoffed. The valley is beautiful and it is frightening, that's reverance. Perhaps it is frightening because it is so beautiful. Maybe it's beautiful because it is so frightening. I'll take the latter. Let me try an analogy- god:valley::beauty:fear. It's been a while since I took the SATs kids.

I also fed cows this weekend. They ate apples out of my hand and had cat-like sandpapery tongues, only about ten times bigger. They mooed rather loud too, and that was the last straw for me. I could take the odd staring competition-all of them, I mean all 20+ cows staring at me, moving their heads at the in sync, but a sudden MOO made me stand closer to my friend and say "let's go now." He laughed at me.

This weekend I also met a kitten named Major Tom. I tried kidnapping, or catnapping her and gray tabby adorable-ness, but that mission failed. I got an icecream cone for 90 cents, waved to two train conductors, and got two Easter baskets.

The best part was relaxing on a bridge. Playing "Pooh Sticks" and almost winning. We took rocks from the bridge and tossed them -two of us one at time, the other bouncing them off the arms of the bridge and then listening for the pitters of handfuls falling in the creek. We talked about Winnie the Pooh and talked about Perspectivism. There were a lot of wild flowers, and I picked two.

:)

Dragging the line, I am wearing a stolen t-shirt. It smells like collogne and is worn (old) and awwwww. Collongne, a little ugh, but toleratable. Meanwhile, "I've been working on a piece that speaks of sex and desperation." But isn't it all that way? The French on telephone, 'ellugh. And they don't seem to be so stuck on the good looking like we are, three cheers for the French. Hear (rather see) that Stacy! 3 Cheers for the French! Those bleu blanc rouge bastards, right Stacy. Stacy Stacy Stacy. But the yellow subtitles continue undeserved and back it is to Dr. Boyle's term paper, which I have wrongly pulled my eyeballs out for while my hair is thinning like patience. Though, like a circa 19th century man, I will blame it on my connection to the moon. Could be true if I was unknowlingly deductive. Enough of this pretentious banter. *I just exclaimed a YES! when I saw the IFC is showing a drag queen film marathon tonight at 10:15. -Hedwig and the Angry Inch and Female Trouble. Female Trouble! John Waters! YES!

voyez-vous bientôt mon ami

You are ThouShaltNot! Walking on the dark side,
you've got a flair for the epic, though some
call you pretentious. Smart and underground,
you're a sophisticated catch!
http://www.thoushalt.net


Which Crazy Nancypants Rock Band Are You?
brought to you by Quizilla


What the hell is this?

Radio Berlin!

Radio Berlin--
Jack sold me a Glass vinyl
and looked like Bono.

Nerds rule!

Nerdslut


What's your sexual appeal?
brought to you by Quizilla

I laughed yesterday. I was wearing green and black plaid pants, but that's beside the point. Natalie and that orange. Kitties outside door number three. And general laughing, high school principal but really not crept behind us and away went the orange. Ah, that's right, I laughed so hard I kicked up my legs from the table, that's the green and black plaid pants. I see them!

You are CLARISSA EXPLAINS IT ALL. She is a rad
chick with absolutely no fashion sense. If you
are a guy and chose this... you are gay.


Which old school Nickelodeon show are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Shout out to Natalie who spent her time taking stupid online quizzes.

Did anyone ever watch this show?

It was cool!

I am the Girl Anachronism!

Word of the Day

ANACHRONISM
Definition:
something out of place in time

Example:
The aged hippie used ANACHRONISTIC phrases like "groovy" and "far out" that had not been popular for years.

Synonyms:
relic, holdover

-My Homepage "Word of the Day"

Yes Dana, I was totally fucking listening to The Doors. I do rock. Thank you.
wink*

Hmm...

The Pyromaniacs are gonna get you! With their extremist artist florist Marxist exist-tents, they will prove, as the supposed superhero said, "Destruction as a form of creation." Art can be seen as a creation, a mimic of a creation. And in part, streams of consciouness haunt you too.

This is neat

Whoa Nat, that's crazy. Tara Reid? [This will be an entry all entirely in inside jokes between me and Slick Biddy N, since, we probably are the only people who read each others'' bloooooooogs.]

Wool, OO doon't Knoo woot tooo toolk aboot. Figures. Inside jokes, inside jokes? Can't think of any, except that Drew is probably all alone at sivisx right about now wishing we would come in to buy things we don't need and blank tapes to make him a mix. Meanwhile, fucking what's his name, uhh, oH, Deeevo the Blasphemous, is eyeing us up for sodomy. I hope you're the only one that reads this! pfft. ooooo sodomy. SODOMY

Natalie, I know you're laughing. So go get your duck and schlob it. It will last for months, you know.

And if you're real bored...

Who's Your Inner Artist?

Your inner artist is Salvador Dali!

Okay, so maybe you don’t dream about melted clocks, but you do share a hint of Dali’s passion for the surreal. Let’s face it -- you’ve got a different way of looking at the world and that means that things aren’t always as they may seem… It’s not necessarily that you have a rich fantasy life – it’s just that you can appreciate different perspectives and points of view. I mean who are you to say something can’t exist? But even when you do come out of your dreamscapes, it’s clear, like Dali, your feet are planted on terra firma. And your unique combination of inspiration and creativity are sure to spell success.

Cool!

Click on "Who's Your Inner Artist?"

I have two Buddhas on my window sill. One is serious and stone, one is laughing and jade. Each of them sit next to one of the two items; my miniature La Pieta or a pewter angel candle holder. And it makes me think,

"I must seek Buddha. I must seek Christ."

~I'm Only Creative When I Smoke Smoker, Half Baked
...See Janeane Garofalo in her most demanding role as a poet with an unfortunate and incurable addiction-to writing bad poetry.

Today---

Word of the Day

KNELL
Definition:
sound of a funeral bell; omen of death or failure
Example:
The loss of Richmond to the Union forces sounded the death KNELL for the Confederate cause.
Synonyms:
peal, ring

Quote of the Day

"Excellence is an art won by training and habituation. We do not act rightly because we have virtue or excellence, but rather we have those because we have acted rightly. We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act but a habit."
- Aristotle

On This Day
Mar 18, 1673, Lord Berkley sold his half of New Jersey to the Quakers.

My Horoscope
Libra
There's no waffling on your part. You know what you want as soon as you see it. Maybe it's an irresistible bargain, or maybe you'll pay full price without batting an eye. Be smart about this along with being brave. Strategy doesn't have to slow you down. Your excellent timing gives you the perfect opening to go forward and claim the wondrous thing that you discovered. The stars favor romantics and treasure hunters. Finding what you deserve means that on some level you always knew it was there. Many people would pay a lot of money for that skill.

Daily Fortune
Your fortune for today...
You aspire to be a Viking.

It's 2 pm, do you know where your _______ is?

I will fill in the blank, but only during the weekdays, that's only when it fits. How do you spell that? You can't spell it. Sometimes words just fail when a simple primal sound can suffice, and does it suffice. It's the afternoon and it's a Tuesday, for the next 45 minutes or so, I will be rather quiet, unless I have absolutely no shame at all, and I have a little, but it's justified. I don't want to offend anyone. But if no one would be offended, I would let her go. hehe

***

"Future Legend." I remember Christmas day, my dad and I played Diamond Dogs on my new record player, it was the second thing we played after part of The Beatles, 1967-1970. My dad was half remembering half forgetting Bowie's speech "...as the last few corpses lay rotting on the slimey thorough fare...red mutant eyes gazed high on hunger city...fleas the size of rats...and 10,000 peoploids..." That was fun. I called home today, and my dad was sick! :( Hope you feel better soon! :)

Update

For those of you who really want to know what "the answer to all the questions that ever were" and will not settle for my, "simple story" (See March 3 entry) answer, here is something for ya.

Brain Greene, currently prof of physics at Columbia U, claims with a school of other physicists, that they have the answer of ALL QUESTIONS. It is called the Superstring Theory, better known as The String Theory.

I am currently reading The Elegant Universe by Greene, where he unites Quantum Mechanics and Relativity Theories, which have been feuding since Einstein created the Relativity school.

For those of you who have no clue as to what I am talking about, well, honestly, I suggest you get into it if it sounds interesting. It is so insane to think that these mathematical equations and theories and all these proven but unseen things exist and by understanding them we can know everything there is to know about everything. According to Greene, the String Theory will consist of just one equation that unites all theories about the universe. That's crazy! But it could possibly be true, and that makes it even more crazy! Science kicks ass!

Maybe I will find a link that could explain this a little better than I have. As of now, relative motion and quarks.

To Janis Joplin, it is Summertime whenever I play that song. So I just watched out the window at that damn rain and cold and gray and listened to that song. Winter is nice, and summer is too. But a taste of them is enough. I am ready for the Coming of Spring (The Rapture) and April Skies (Jesus and Mary Chain), It's Summertime (The Flaming Lips) and of course Summertime, JJ. A easy drip into Summer from Spring, and then some dead leaves to shed and a snowflake, but in abnormal time, so I can sit and watch it happened in something like twenty minutes, but minutes won't exist. Well, tree shakes No. I suppose so.

Someone put two pennies outside my door this morning.
Well, I assume someone put them there.
I thought they fell out of my lucky pocket,
but there were two from before
found in there later,
so I had two new pennies.

Then later, the record stopped
and all was quiet again,
but I think there is someone
around, leaving me pennies.

Late August Sugar By Dana Kaufman

The dry end of summer, the county fair,
where I paraded around with a plain vanilla cone melting in my fist.
I wore short shorts, I thought I was Daisy Duke,
catching the horny eyes of the boys in the hog stables.

I told one of them to shimmy up the oak outside my window around eleven and was home before curfew, in time to wash dust-caked cotton candy from my cheeks.
When Mom came to say good night, I was absorbed in syndicated eighties sitcoms,
the asexual, naive girl she raised to wait until marriage.

My window squealed at moist midnight,
Tobacco-stained fingers at my zipper, hot sausage tongue seared my soft inner lip as
I tossed my shoulders back like an underdeveloped Naomi Harper in his hillbilly hands.
I flung the moral angels from their perches with a haughty shudder.

In the early morning hours, four days before school started again,
I was on my knees, spewing scrambled eggs and rye toast
in a fount to put Regan to shame, but I was possessed
by a stupid soul more apathetic than Satan.

This is honesty

Ms. Kaufman, a personal friend of mine I must say, really has a knack for being honest, but not blunt or attacking. Contrary to the title, which works very well, there is no sugar in this poem about adolescent sexual ventures. Adding sugar when describing something that was not sweet to begin with is, I think, a fault for writers. It can make them sound immature. This experience for the narrator could have been trimmed, shaved, and, shined, buffed, built, and trite. It could have been made into a Hollywood sex scene, which is pathetic. Kudos to Dana for putting together such honesty.

Ambivilance, that's Van Gogh's Night Cafe.

Perhaps someday, grasshopper, I shall explain.

For now, let's make like L7 and pretend that we're dead.

Pragmatic means practical or opposed to the idealistic. I just learned that from my homepage's "word of the day." Words are cool.

***

I had a dream I was on a boat in an ocean that studied aquatic life. I watched seals and dolphins play, until a HUGE Great White Shark comes around. I backed away from where I was watching. That's when one of the scientists went to the edge of the boat and the shark jumped out of the water with its jaws wide open, it could have been smiling. I thought I saw the guy disappear into the white splash of water made by the shark's force, but he came back later with a few bloody scratches on one of his hands. However, after seemingly seeing the man disappear, a woman in a black suit ran around panicking, and fell into the water. Creepy, woman in a black suit, she was dressed for her funeral, heh.

--Dana tells me she had a dream last night about nearly getting chomped on by an alligator. Weird!

***

But, I am partial to alligators. I'll have a pet one someday, he'll be named Gromit or Chris, I haven't decided yet. He'll have his very little red water dish on my front porch with his name on it, and he'll just sit there people watching, slurping his water. And all the kids will be able to come up and pet him and say "Hi Gromit or Chris." and G / C will purr away with all the attention he gets. However, when robbers or squirrels come around, the only purring going on will be in his stomach after he eats them.

***

In my dream I was saying that getting lost in the ocean is my biggest fear. Like the woman in the black, she was without anything in all that danger. I never was really that afraid of the ocean. But it is quite vast and powerful. It's pure nature.

***

But that's not it. In between sleep, thinking about the dream, I thought, if I were lost in the middle of the ocean stalked by a shark, I might as well give up, not even tread, and just sink away. It is nature after all, it's going to win anyway.

***

Though, I think it is more of the vastness of the solitude of being exhausted and surrounded by all that is more powerful than you as a single human, that is scary.

***

So, kids, let go and float and don't be afraid to just float away and sink and prove you are a part of the world. That's the decision based on faith.

Natalie said I can come to her beach utopia! Yay!

Meanwhile...

What is Your Destiny? by Valcion
Name
Color
Birthday
Destiny	Enslaver of all humanity
Date when you fufill your destiny	June 26, 2014
Created with quill18's MemeGen 3.0!

"Enslaver"? ---> dominator ---> Dominatrix!
Secret thoughts of my intentions on becoming a dominatrix, twisted and revealed. I will be the Dominatrix to All Humanity. My minions will be a world (scantly) clad in black vinyl and chains. Whhip-shaw, mweow. Slap. *Blush* "Ouch, heh."

"Learning to Swim" By Natalie Clark

Over rapping tapping waves
She perches
crouched in thought,
searching for the cunning will
She knows she has
to speak.

Raging rapids, pensive chaos
She builds
busied by the day,
hoping for the single moment
She feels is best
to burst.

In peaceful autumnal streams
She wades
half immersed in stillness,
striving for balance
She knows she needs
to live
to smile

to love.

Why won't that post delete??? I am embarrassed by the redundant appearance of my blog. Why won't that post delete??? I am embarrassed by the redundant appearance of my blog.

In case you wanted to know, here's an update on Jack White.

White Stripes Lead Singer Pleads Guilty Condensed and abridged

DETROIT (AP) -- ...

White was accused of repeatedly punching Von Bondies lead singer Jason Stollsteimer and originally was charged with misdemeanor aggravated assault. He could have faced up to a year in jail, but will avoid jail time under the plea deal.

White must pay a $500 fine, plus $250 in court fees, and Judge Paula G. Humphries ordered him to attend anger management classes.
She also told him not to contact Stollsteimer.

The Dec. 13 fight between White and Stollsteimer began shortly before midnight...

Stollsteimer,
of Detroit,
told police that White
punched him
7
times in the face--

--Police said Stollsteimer's right

eye was bruised and swollen,
and he was bleeding
from the nose.

He was taken the hospital,
where he was treated
and released...

In court Tuesday, White gave his account of what led to the fight--

I went up to
him
to say it to me
face to face--

Stollsteimer ignored
me
I spat at him
we
started fighting.

Stollsteimer landed on my hand,
--(which White had recently injured in a car accident
in July)--
I then punched Stollsteimer
in the face
a couple of times
--with the same "injured" hand
Stollsteimer "landed" on.
***
Outside the courtroom,
White told reporters
he regretted the incident--
White's lawyer
said White
had put the incident
behind him...
until he was threatened
with Celebrity Jail Time--

There are so many things I want to say today that I should write down that I forgot to say today that I should write down. Post-its, notepad, pen, pencil, lipstick, napkin, hand, permanent marker, forehead, backwards for the mirror.

But otherwise, today I saw that Jack White is on trial and will be sentenced today for beating up this guy*.
*(It was the lead singer of the Von Bondies, who were in Pittsburgh this passed Friday and I missed because I have no car, trapped at the 'rents home in the 'burbs)

He could be sentenced for up to a year in prison!

AND I HOPE HE GOES TO JAIL!

He ought to. Celebrities usually get off easy. If he wasn't "Jack White" he'd just be Jack White, that asshole who beat up some guy, and go to jail. I mean, if I were playing Monopoly with Jack White and he landed on the "GO TO JAIL" spot, he would have to go, and I would not give him my "Get out of JAIL free card."

Plus, it would be good for his image as a blues-punk-alt country sort of musician. Also for his big thing about going back to the older, more charming ways (the kind of throwing-your-coat-over-a-puddle-for-a-woman type things).
---Writing forsaken love letters with the penitentiary stationary to a lovely girl whose parents reject him and his "sins." The girl sneaks letters through the gate of her home to the lonely letter boy, who then delivers them to the prison guard. The letters, wrapped in red ribbon, are tear stained inside and smell of a cheap, yet sweet perfume...Jack spends his days weight lifting those pallid arms, reading the Bible, making license plates, and writing letters to Miss Suzy Lee, the girl I was speaking of. And since this is supposed to be a quaint story, there is no butt fucking.

So yeah, I think Jack White should go to jail.

hon' est adj free from deceit; marked by integrity; respectable; trustworthy; fair --hon' es-ty n --hon'est-ly adv .

That is also one of my favorite words-the adjective especially.

You can tell people what they want to hear, or you can be honest. That's assuming people don't want to hear the truth. I think that's an honest assumption, huh?

Honestly, think about honesty, and be honest.

And why is it that some people are so offended when others are (saying that they are) being honest?

And when one says she or he is being honest, how can you believe them?

I suppose this all came about when started realizing how
much I dislike a lie.

For now, let's just all agree to be honest
with ourselves
first
because, if you tell yourself things you know are not true
-and you become a lie-
then you can't possibly be honest
to other people--
unless you are an honest liar.

In The English Patient, the young, yet intellectually mature, Katherine says the one thing she hates most is a lie.
And when her lover is asked about a certain bite saw on his body, he says it is from a fall or a fox, he's not sure. Katherine chimes in and says it could be from a woman. And the men laugh, but she was being honest.

Honesty is the best policy. -That's one of few cliches I believe to be true.

I will close this entry with a few lines from a guy who wears vivid green pants up to his armpits and pearls and calls himself Andre 3000:

"I don't want to meet your daddy,
I just want you in my Cady.
I don't want to meet your mama,
I just want to make you cumma.
I'm just being honest."

~"Hey Ya" Outkast

...But I always thought of her first.
I saw my hair being curled with a hot iron, cheeks pink, wearing red meant -forgetfully- for new beginnings. Something sweet was to be presented, and that's all I could think of. Seeing just an image that will most likely never exist tangibly. This picture is a feeling, and it can touch people.

***

Sunday evening radio shows that come and go.

So, here are the main points for my Womanifesto:
-Independence
-Honesty
-Individual

The book Cunt by Inga Muscio suggested every woman write a "Womanifesto." Here she talks about it:

Defining and articulating your beliefs serves you in any context. By taking
that step further and causing those beliefs to exist in the material world, you
contribute to a social climate of cuntlovin' evolution...

A womanifesto does not have to be written. It can be a song, dance, painting or
whatever medium stirs passionnin your heart.
(185)

I think this is a great thing for any woman, any age; any socioecon. status; any religion; any whatever to do. I have done mine (in writing, my favorite medium). I started it after I finished Cunt which was a while ago, and I am still perfecting it. Only part of it I posted above. It can be a lot of fun, but mostly an interesting thought provoking process - thinking about society, gender / sex, but especially deeply thinking about yourself -all this as a woman.

I also greatly suggest reading Cunt. My friend Dana suggested it to me, and I loved it. My personal opinion, some of it is rather radical, Muscio is obviously a man-hater, a little but of a flake. BUT, she writes the book as objective as she can, she "warns" the reader about her predisposition, which has its slight undertones, but does not interfere when the reader is willing to communicate. ***And not just for girls either. I think it is an very interesting book for a man to read. Muscio doesn't suggest this anywhere, and though I don't think she would. Though, I do. Guys ought to read this and be proud of their

so-called
counterparts.

That's Cunt: a declaration of independence. Muscio, Inga. Published in 1998.
IBSN: 1-58005-015-8

See what all this Cuntlovin' is about.

Ambivalence.
I don't have my dictionary on me in order to type out a definition. But it's a cool word. I like double meanings, when words can mean two things, good and bad, and it creates ambivalence. When one says "" and the other hears "" and feels
Picture a wedding dress 5 years old stained with wine. It was a wonderful day save the wine spill, due to a small tiff, small but unresolved. But 5 years later the wedding picture without the wine still hangs in the living room. And the beautiful bride 5 years later still looks at that and smiles and then remembers the wine. That's ambivalence.

look it up, in a thesaurus, I love thesauri
It's a great word. Try it in dialogue.

The suburban mall...
Near the time I was to meet my little brother, who made me take him to the mall, I had my mental radio on The Clash's "Lost in the Supermarket."
"I'm all lost in the supermarket, I can no longer shop happily.
I came in here for a special offer, a guaranteed personality"

I used to spend whole afternoons there, after school before dinner, Friday and/or Saturday nights. I got a a total of ten ear piercings there, ate probably 80 servings of Manchu Wok Sweet and Sour Chicken, and 3000 Basken Robbins' Mocha Blasts, and roughly 45 hundred No. 1 combos at Chick-Fillet. Three pair of shoes I can clearly recall, 2 Adidas Superstars of odd color and 1 pair red Chucks. I've got infinity shirts on sale. 1 pair of plaid pants.
Rain or shine hot or cold. The Mall was my rat hole.

Early on though, in my stroll through the bazaar bazaar I spent about 1/4 of my teenage life at, I grew bored. Passing The Gap, I challenged myself to The Gap Game. My mission: to make it to the back of the store, touch the back wall, and make it out of the store without the interference of an employee. And about halfway through-going strong-I came upon a pair of black straight leg slacks, though a ridiculous $49.50, they looked just like I always dreamed, a pair of fucking plain black pants, and in my size, go figure. Fondling the inconvenient piles of oddly folded pants, still, no one approached me.

Could it be that I was in heavy black eyeliner, a 1982 Goodwill pirate looking shirt, and fading jeans with a flare of safety pins? I fear I was not Gap enough.

I tried on the pants, did not look how I expected, I did not fold them properly, I put them on top of the pile-the size 12 on top of the size 00. I think 00 is an imaginary number.

Still, I browsed. Still, alone. Alone. In The Gap. Utterly, cargo pantsed, alone.

Needless to say, I made it. A triumph I shared...Alone.

Then, I went a few stores down to the Wet Seal, (a clothing store called Wet Seal, but there were no aquatic mammals). They gave me two free shirts, a free pair of pants and a free jacket, an totally insane buy 1 get 2 free sale!

But most of all, the two girls working there were very helpful and nice. They set up a dressing room for me, helped me find black pants, and greeted me just as kindly as they did everyone.

--As opposed to walking into other stores where the kids (most likely younger than I) ignore me and rather greet the kids that look more like them. The girls at the Moist Aquatic Mammal store weren't dressed like me, so what gives man? Say Hi to me! I will say Hi back. But maybe, that's what they are afraid of...

Well, all was lost when I entered an American Eagle Outfitters looking for sandals. I still can't believe it, "Warsaw" by Joy Division playing in the store. Fucking Joy Division!!! I was so out of it, I thought in my head, "Whoa, I believe they are playing Gang of Four." Oh, but no, it was indeed-Joy Division. I wonder if the guy working there, who did not say Hi (and who obviously thought he was on the Virginia Beach Boardwalk) knew that song, that band.

I left the store, (imagining myself) knocking over racks of halter tops...

But, the Cherry Coke from the food court made it all right. The End

Taking off
makeup
black smudges
and even
a little red blood
on white wash
cloth
slightly moist
cold--
you wait
for her to say
something
profound
but she just smiles
silly though it's so
sweet to see.

Professor Stevo and his young student, Ms. A. Jones, departed on a wondrous journey through...The Brave New World, in keeping with the theme of this blogger. IT was a -daunting- task for sake of an adjective, but one quite anomalous.

Aborting the former study, the ESP of carpenter ants under the influence of Tropicana Pulp Free orange juice in 50 degree weather at 5 am-okay this is just getting silly-the two scholars decided to go out for some pizza. Here, at a stereotype Italian pizza shoppe on the Lower East Side, they found the mysteries of the universe, have been SOLVED.

Solved, yes, solved I say, in a simple story. So simple, it will be detrimental to those seekers of knowledge who read astrophysics books in between English classes and during their lunch breaks. It would add a capital "A" to all the capital "Q's" that ever were, and therefore, completion. And completion, why, what would be the point then?

Professor Stevo was devastated, "What have I to do now?" he exclaimed, even his normal flat computer voice was full of sorrow.
Ms. Jones attempted to comfort him amongst her own distress. Nearly 6 years and hundreds of thousands of dollars in student loans were meaningless, and a hunger for pizza brought her to her own demise. "But, there is nothing for me anymore, what do I do Professor? You have so much more than me, you have a family, respect and valor, a cool talking wheelchair. Me, I have a cramped third floor room in South Oakland, an 18th century etiquette book, and past due rent."

And then, from behind the pizza counter, "You have an 18th century etiquette book?"

"Why yes, I do?"

"With a red cover and gold trim?"

"Uhh, I think, yeah sure I do."

"Eureka! I have completed all my searching! I have found the piece to end my lifelong search!"

And Ms. Jones hoped that she was right about the book.

Going home to her apartment, while being hounded by the landlord, she found the book, only with great disappointment. It was in fact blue with silver trim. Was that guy at the pizza shoppe going to be pissed! And, Ms. Jones knew he would be disappointed, that his life was not complete. He seemed so happy, how could she fail him? Going to her landlord, who was also a warlock, she pleaded he conjure the book into a red, gold trim that the man wanted and promised to pay the rent as soon as she could get the guy to pay her for the book. This was a deal, and soon enough she had brought the book to the man, who nervously discussed a payment.

"Well, you see, I have no money," he said. An argument ensued, but Ms. Jones was no good at arguing with hard ass Lower East Side pizza shoppe Italians. So , she just him have it, right in the nose, a swift right hook. Then, she took the book, now full of magic, and hopped a train to Arles, France. Yes, I said train.

There, the book found itself in a tourist shoppe, Ms. Jones found herself awaiting her warlock landlord in Cafe Van Gogh sipping cafe creme, and sure enough Professor Stevo was in England with his family and fellow scholars who respect him, looking for his lost marbles. That's one thing that he never did, was find his marbles that he lost when he started his studies.

Therefore, the pizza man never got his book, the landlord never got his rent, Ms. O never had enough cafe creme and constantly was jumping at every landlord that crossed her path and could never figure out how she hopped a train to France, and dear old Professor Stevo never found his marbles. No one was ever complete.

Nevermind the truth about the universe, we've never found our marbles.

THE END

Re-cover-ree
RE: Monday in the boondocks, I don't know.
Sometimes, I just don't want to be serious, you know? Ever, I never want to be serious. It's so surreal, and it's so real, when there is a woman somewhere in the World - such an odd word - somewhere in time, who is quite alone in her head and has nothing and no one, she's lost a child, not by accident, and she takes care of a man who has no identity himself, not even a face for the people he knows now in this World he was dropped off in. It's unimaginable in tangible existence, but somehow I found it fathomable in feeling on an Ohio turnpike, West, the sky was pink and purple, while something like shoegaze played in the tight car, and I was really safe as far as I thought. I put the handmade bookmark on page 76, and watched what little constellations I knew come out to play.

Oh, but you are to laugh, Ashley's ugga wugga potato is rotting. Have a nice day kids.

RD: The English Patient