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.

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.

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...

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!

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. ...

Wuthering Heights

So, I'm reading Wuthering Heights for my Victorian Lit class, and I'm at work, all alone. I have no class notebook with me, so I will "jot" down my thoughts here, so as to make sense of it. I think that this semester, my brain is refusing to fully work, or it's just not as enthused as it was before, because I read this book, and almost everything else I am assigned to read, and I feel so indifferent about it. Perhaps too much relativism? God damn Post-Modernism. God damn it. I think I just need to have some more free time.

Wuthering Heights. As of chapter 12, Catherine and Heathcliff love each other, even though Heathcliff is a mean, horrible person. Catherine married Edgar, though, since her brother Earnshaw would never have accepted her marrying Heathcliff and most likely would have killed him. Earnshaw actually almost killed his own son. So, years later after Earnshaw banished Heathcliff from the house, Heathcliff comes back, brooding as ever, yet he and Catherine are delighted to see each other. Meanwhile, Isabella, Edgar's sister is infatuated with Heathcliff who is probably taking advantage of her. Even though Heathcliff is an unsavory character, Edgar would allow Isabella to marry Heathcliff just to get him away from Catherine. This, I think, is a selfish move. So, right now, everyone seems to hate each other, and it's always cold and dark. Drama, drama, and drama, pronounced short "a."

It seems hopeless! *Throws hand to forehead and wilts* I imagine Heathcliff puts on this hard ass, dark front as a defense of his character and social status, while all he wishes is to be with Catherine unconsequentially. All because of a good dead that the late Mr. Earnshaw (Catherine and Earnshaw's father) did, Heathcliff is stuck in this circle of people and memories, and love for Catherine, and there's not much else that he has any connection with, while Catherine and even Edgar have an embeded roots and rich families. As upper class Victorians, they're expected to have stabilty and order, while Heathcliff being of the lower class would be expected to foil that. However, we see that the Earnshaws don't have that, though it could be because of Heathcliff's presence too. Did Mr. Earnshaw make a wrong move by bringing Heathcliff-disorder-into this ordered system? I think I have a term paper topic! Elements of order and disorder in Wuthering Heights.

Rough Draft

Last Night with Salome and Lorelei

My mama said I can have anything I want.
My girl Lorelei and I go out to the club
looking for tastey minds.
We're hungry zombie's laughing
at Snow White through the mirror.

In taxed whore joints I win the $200
cash prize every time.
Lorelei holds 'em with her hexing
freezing wolf-en visages
into drowling portraits.

This Sabbath, we went to Pussyfooter's.
Pennsylvania sacriliged its state rule
as I cried on my bruised knees, so
I could dance this night like I'd die Monday.

I had a funny feeling deep in my feet,
for shadows never lie.
(One last go before I go.)

Perhaps it was the cliche full moon
and my full moon and its odor, which
is like the odor of bleeding necks.
I dismissed Marion the trapeze angel
foretelling her broken neck last
full moon of her high swinging
in favor of the smelling salts of decapitation.

I smashed their last bottle of Hemingway's cognac
over my bare feet.

Erect metal, malleable snake.

The grand plan commenced--

Lorelei spied meeklings until
their heads exploded against walls,
smiling. Shards of brains twinkling like stars.
All I wanted, now, were the stars
in my pockets to put in jars labeled
My Power of Mankind
and line them on shelves
next to sorry deer heads on plaques
and between gun racks and swords.

Herein, Herod took my Lorelei
by the neck, she peeped a screech
in my direction,
a flash of Judith Slaying Holofernes
cut through my mind.
My dress fell from gold to blue
to gold to nude, the viral
spectators were bulging and as I drew
my hands for slaying, disguised to the beat
of music. Visions of lost brains danced
in my head.
John the Baptist as the Headless Horseman
mocked my new dance move. Herod
cheered "Voila" to the heavens, exposing
purple bruises on Lorelei's neck, which
hurt less than her scream c/o dead German
sailors of accumulated centuries,
--as John the Baptist ran off with my head.

Dear Jacket, again--

Hi. You will be under the control of my daughter, Shontae, this evening. Don't worry, I trust Shontae for the most part. It's only for an evening. You see, this is very special because if any kind of clothing should be passed down from me to my daughter, it is you Jacket. But, like I said, only for this evening. You will be back on my arms again...

Love,
Angela

Love Letter...

When I came back from class today, I found a letter under my door on Carlow stationary that said,

“TO: Resident Students

FROM: Mary Beth Halferty (and signed)
Residence Life Office

DATE: October 28, 2004

RE: Ghost in Dormitory"

Apparently, there were girls running around, freaking out on the 6th floor last night about ghosts being about the floor. There were girls who refused to go into the bathroom alone. (If the girls like to watch each other pee, among other kinky bathroom acts, they shouldn’t try and cover it up with a ghost story.) Mary Beth wanted to clear up the rumors about a ghost of a Sister of Mercy who committed suicide “years ago.” Sounds like a spooky tale to me! The story is supposedly false. However,

“The crosses above the doors on the 6th floor were put there by the director of the residence halls in the early 1990’s. She put them there to stop the very same rumors that we have now.”

So, she put crosses up to prove the rumors about ghosts were not true. Yeah, okay. If they weren’t true, there’d be no need for crosses. Actually, no there was no ghost when she put the crosses up. Later, that former residence hall director hanged herself in the 6th floor bathroom, where the freshmen girls watch each other pee.

Also, if there are any concerns, Sister Maureen Crossen will be in the lobby of FWH November 3rd, 7 pm for exorcism requests. I don’t think that a Sister is qualified to do this, but she’s all we’ve got in this time of need. If anyone is learned in exorcism, help a Sister out.

By clicking on the title, you will find a link that takes you to a list of haunted places in Pittsburgh. Carlow is on there, but it’s room 947 that is specifically listed.

But, I know for a fact that room 942 is haunted in the dorms…

These titles usually don't have much to do with the entry itself.

There is a box of fake flowers, a flower box of plastic purple flowers on the top of a cubical next door in the IT department. That makes me happy because putting fake flowers in front of a window is a mockery of real flowers. It takes up space where real flowers should be. I always prefered real Anything over fake Anything, so maybe I'm just biased. So, the fact that those fake flowers were placed in no line of sunlight and in no convienient way of watering -not like they would need it- makes me feel better about fake flowers in general. Someone realized where the flowers' place is, and didn't attempt to simulated beauty on their window sill. Still, the flowers can't help that they're plastic, so it wouldn't be fair to banish them all together. Therefore, in the most unlikely place for a real flower box to go. Now, as for plastic surgery--

Yellow Violet

Ashley was talking about me! She said,
"yea... there is just a general memory of sitting around laughing... which i think is great... i'm reminded of a time when angela said that she judges a friendship a lot on whether you can just sit around and laugh and that when that happened, she knew it was good... i think she was right on the money."

And then I said,

lasanges: aww
lasanges: thanks for that

And then she said,

Ashpearson: no, thank you

It's true, it's true. I believe I may have said that this summer when Ashley visited me at my apartment, but it may have been long before that. It most likely was when we were sitting around laughing, or maybe we were standing around crying hysterically. With Ashley, most likely the former. I might have said it one of the insane mornings we had been awake for more than 24 hours, and we agreed that the sun rise looked like peaches. Maybe we talked about our plans for the land canoe that day. Sitting around sounds lathargic, and I think that maybe out of some sort of ennui, friends end up doing something like sitting around and laughing, so that's when they may not feel so empty. Hmm, that's what friends are for!

The Continuing Story of Hugo Ball and others...

"There was nothing particularly original in this notion of an exhausted and perscriptive language."

So, next time, Angela, continue your assigments with this notion. Use the handout. You know, the handout.

TO A SKYLARK--

No one here but the "German guy" and his magnifying glass...


We cannot wait to mandate the candidate. --Kate.

Mary Bellows met Richard Slay

"Oh, Mary thought that she might die,
when she saw the ocean for the first time."

"Slay tipped his hat
and winked his eye
and turned away without goodbye."

'"...with the sea breeze whistling all alone..."

Dear Jacket,

Hello. It's been a while. I missed you more than I realized. I suppose I've been neglecting you, why with Blazer and all. Blazer is new, that's all, and stylish, and cute. Target rocks as far as Blazers go. However, don't forget, Jacket, you're still my number one. Blazer doesn't have a zipper that goes all the way up. Blazer doesn't have homemade pockets to keep my hands warm and occupied. Blazer doesn't have cool patches and pins from all over the world. Blazer doesn't have nearly 8 years of history with me. I remember when I got you, that one Christmas, 7th grade. Oh, it's been a long time, Jacket. Though, you're clearly not for winter, I wear you anyway. I layer, and you oblige. My scarfs all look so good on you. My found pennies fit so well in your little arbitrary pockets, homemade, thank you. I remember when I cut my hair to above my shoulders senior year, and then I could decorate the back of you, Jacket. Remember when I got really overly creative and sewed Barbie dresses on you? Everyone has their bad fashion phase. When I went to the Rock 'n Roll Hall of Fame a few years ago, and walked through the display of rock stars' clothes. I imagined you there, Jacket. Hey, maybe we'll even make it to the Smithsonian someday, next to Mr. Rodger's cardigan. Everywhere we go, people turn their heads to see this lovely jacket wearing me.
I just want to thank you for keeping me warm this morning, our first morning in a while, and first for many to come. You're like the arms of a sweetheart, though, so much more cordoroy-y.
I thank you, Jacket. Even though you're stuck in the employee closet right now, I'm thinking of you. See you outside after work!
Love,
Angela

Homework

Tell me about your day

I pinched myself today--that old trick. Then, I thought, it only works because of the acute surge of nervous orgasm for one second. In that second, my brain twitters out of my nose and onto the student desk or the dashboard or the cutting board and does this song and dance: "It's purely psychological! Yeah Yeah Yeah!" while kicking up its gray legs and swashing its gloved hands in a jazzy form. My brain knows forms, but not ideas.
So, after that second was over, I felt the lack of lucid feeling I've been feeling for a while, Doctor, er, I mean, (fellow pedestrian stream-lining Forbes Avenue at 8:10 pm trying to walk home from work before the beggers come out.)
Auras are high, but gray tinted and illuminated with moldy fuzz. It could be as delightful as a Civil War sweetheart photograph on bended metal in the back pocket of a dead drafted kid, doesn't matter if he's blue or gray, because, at this point, all is an isolated gray from bleeding and blending, there is no North and South. They can't be auras...
Time is in a bad dream. When I sleep, I'm always late for job interviews, beginnings of semesters, and birthday parties. Time is a banshee laughing five times faster than a New York business person can drink coffee. I never win in my dreams: man's sadist struggle against nature--
Time.
In so called waking life I have similar experiences with time, but time also simultaneously moves like molassus in January. "Molassus in January" is something Ashley said once, oh, I don't know when. I say then, when I meet this paradox at the vicious lines out West, that time can't really exist then. If I wear a watch and eat grilled cheese at 12:15, the world is a watch. But, I was at The Point, I saw and didn't see, and so on. So, I can't live in a watch if time doesn't exist, because I didn't eat at 12:15 when the watch clicked, because the watch never clicked...
I spent sixteen oh four today. I came home and opened the jeweled case and realized I never saw a price tag and didn't recall putting three ninety six in one of my pockets. We opened them like packages of sweaters on our 23rd Xmas morning. I am undecidedly back $16.04.

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?
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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?
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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!