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Me
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| My Year (in Cities) 2007 |
[Jan. 1st, 2008|11:49 pm] |
2007 has been an excellent year, if a bit strange, at times, during these latter months. I don't think I can face too much recapping and reflection at this precise moment, which means that it will almost certainly never happen. So, all I can offer up is My Year in Cities just like last year, and hope that it speaks for itself.
My Year in Cities 2007:
-Edinburgh, Scotland
-Fuldon, Scotland
-Berwick-Upon-Tweed, England
-Glasgow, Scotland,
-Inverness, Scotland
-Nairn, Scotland
-Stirling, Scotland
-Balado/Kinross, Scotland
-Bordeaux, France
-Perpignan, France
-Port Bou, Spain
-Tossa de Mar, Spain
-Barcelona, Spain
-John O'Groats/Remote, northerly places whose names I forget, Scotland
-Montpellier, France
-London, England
-Nimes, France
-Marseille, France
-Beziers, France
-Aix-en-Provence, France
-Avignon, France
-Lyon, France
-Grenoble, France
-Philadelphia, Homeland
-Atlantic City, Homeland |
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| Things Which Were Awesome About the Kanye West Show Tonight: A List |
[Aug. 17th, 2007|12:15 am] |
1. He played in a venue that is smaller than a high school auditorium.
2. He sang a song (which I had never expected he would bother to sing) which rivals Playground Love as my official favorite.
3. Kanye, (several thousand other people,) and I hummed The Verve's Bittersweet Symphony together; it was very special.
4. Kanye also performed random medleys of songs, his own and others'. I found that kind of hilarious.
5. I managed to smuggle my camera in through the use of my secret spy skills.
Things Which Were Not Awesome About the Kanye West Show Tonight:
1. About thirty seconds into the show, my camera imploded, so in spite of my sneaky success, I have no photographic (or video) evidence of these dazzling events.
2. The McDonald's inside the British Wal-Mart next to the venue closed just as we got there, hungry.
3. Shivering outside in this cold Scottish August, waiting for a taxi because we had no idea how to get home. |
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| Why Am I In The Library? A list |
[Dec. 5th, 2006|12:54 pm] |
I am in the library because:
1. The saxophone player at the top of my street has learned two new songs: Wind Beneath My Wings and Celene Dion's My Heart Will Go On.
2. There are too many distractions in my flat for me to force myself to concentrate: Internet, tea kettle, television shows in which antiques are sold.
3. With Terrance at home, Steph in England, and Charlie at the library, being in the flat feels too much like solitary confinement.
4. Secretly, I love it. |
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| In which I update because typing is my only means of communication now that my voice has been lost |
[Sep. 29th, 2005|05:11 pm] |
So, life in Edinburgh continues, and I have managed to maintain a timetable in which only one of my classes begins before 11:00 am and in which I have Wednesdays off. Off except for French film Wednesdays, of course, though yesterday happened to be a film day. We saw Lacombe Lucien, and all I have to say about that is the film went progressively downhill after he stopped wearing his beret.
English Literature is delightful and fantastic and I love it -- I love hearing proper, erudite looking British men quote the Spice Girls or make sex jokes in the middle of their harangues on the wonders and problems of the world of literary criticism.
I love that in one of my French tutorials, the tutor pointblank told someone that he was "well...fucked" because he didn't know roman numerals.
I love being in a room full of people who are hissing and clicking and looking bewildered as they try to discover exactly where their tongues go when they "ten" and how this differs from "tenth." Though, I really understand nothing that goes on in English Language to be honest. It's far too technical, far too subtle. The view out of the windows at my Eng Lang seminar, however, makes up for my lack of enthusiasm for the subject. It's on the 13th floor of one of the tallest buildings in the city and you can see absolutely everything in all of its Scottish glory.
I love the spontaneity of living in a city -- how a quiet night of reading can quickly turn into that night we all drank too many triple-shot vodka and cokes and ended up flailing about on a stage in some club even though we can't dance to save our lives.
I love that it is chilly and windy but that no one seems to care.
I still, however, continue to miss my fucking garbage disposal |
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| Countdown |
[Aug. 31st, 2005|01:26 am] |
| [ | Tags | | | daily, lists | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  excited | ] |
| [ | music |
| | The Decemberists -- Human Behaviour | ] |
This week: I remembered just how similar my dad and I really are. I also finished with the death and suffering that was my job.
Next week: I turn 18, I pack, and I move to Scotland. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 20th, 2004|09:49 pm] |
On Saturday, I learned the most delightful word:
HEBDOMADAL
It is a synonym for weekly, and as an adverb, it is HEBDOMADALLY. I like it very much -- it is so strange to say and to think about with all of the Ds and the Bs and the M. I cannot find its origins, though I wish I could. Someone probably just created it one day because "weekly" just was not sufficient. Maybe not though.
Life has been slow, but I've had a lot of work. I finally aquired my lisence (I probably mentioned that) but I still cannot drive. I have such difficulty interacting with traffic; it makes me not want to drive, though I do love how it feels -- when there are no other cars on the road, that is. I feel the need to read signs and observe the grass and inspect the faces of the passengers in the cars behind me through my rearview mirrors. I don't think that's really very safe -- I know its not. I almost hit this guy who was crossing the street yesterday. Oh well. I will learn in time if I don't die first.
I'm a bit stressed about all of the things I should be doing but I'm not. I really just want to go to college and be happy, not that college equates happiness, but its at least a change. Quebec will be good for change -- or at least for getting me out of the house. I think I would like to go to New York soon; I miss my city.
I finished Fortress of Solitude this past weekend. The first several hundred pages were a bit bland, but it really came together in the end. I am in awe of Jonathan Lethem's talent -- of everyone's talent. Even Steinbeck, whose novel I hate. His words are glorious -- the way he organizes his thoughts, the way he portrays the world of his characters is awesome (to use the original definition of the word).
To sum everything up:
I like
-words (specifically "Hebdomadal")
-books
-cities
-my vespa-like-entity
I dislike
-cars
-people in the street -- especially small children
-farms / the dustbowl / the subjectmatter of The Grapes of Wrath
-my laziness
FIN. |
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| Words for you to read because I cannot read them any longer |
[Feb. 13th, 2003|07:24 pm] |
The following entry will contain:
1. An intriguing tale about attractive young people with a disappointingly obvious ending in its entirety.
2. Information on the ever-fabulous McSweeney's issue ten.
3. Several new words I have learned.
4. An exclusive account of an event that took place within the last two weeks.
First, I give you Paperclip.
They would have seen her walking down the street if they had taken the pains to look. Yet, while she may have been close to their eyes, she was far from their thoughts and conversations.
“He was a good man with a good heart.” The cliche words had barely escaped her inappropriately red, quivering lips before she stifled a sob with her clenched fist and fled the podium that rested beside the catafalque. She stumbled down the aisle in the small, dismally gray room, and ambled over her fellow mourners’ knees until she found her seat. The stolid young man that sat beside her was not sure how to act as his aunt quietly rocked back and forth in a hunched position, trying to hide her tears. The stained brown and beige bridge chair convulsed with this woman. Her nephew feared it might collapse. He could picture the bolt carefully unscrewing itself so that at the most inopportune moment, it would pop off onto the floor. This would cause the seat of the chair to cave inwards on the left side, which would result in Aunt Maryanne being thrown to the floor in one quick motion. Before her permed hair and wrinkly cheek slammed against the cold, uninviting indoor/outdoor carpeting, her made-up, tear-stained face would brush the edge of her nephew’s beautifully pressed, fog gray pinstriped suit, soiling its perfectly knit fibers.
“Norman…Norman. It’s your turn to speak.”
It was a barely audible whisper that brought him away from his mental-tableau. Standing upright, he used the backs of his hands to brush along the creases that went straight down the front of his pant legs. Slowly, he wandered past his relatives, each of whom shifted their legs awkwardly as he passed. The top of his shaved head luminesced as he bent down to kiss his mother on the cheek before making his way over to the utilitarian coffin that rested placidly upon the elaborately-carved catafalque. Each movement he made and each step he took was careful; his precise manner made it seem as if Norman had practiced this march in the mirror. When he reached the casket, he paused for a moment, looking upon the decaying face that lay within. The corpse had sunken, sullen eyes, and waxy skin. This was not right. It was the last place that Norman desired to be. He made to continue along his path, but looked back one last time at the body of his father. Norman allowed himself a defeated half-smile before his legs carried him up to the podium where his aunt had moments ago stood.
“I wasn’t sure exactly what I wanted to say,” his voice was serene, steady, and it seemed to be infinitesimal. Those who heard allowed it to simply wash over them in waves. “Since Thursday, I have, until this very moment dreaded everything that surrounded this day – the tears, the remorse, the awkward lack of words. However, upon reaching this spot, I know exactly what needs to be expressed, and what needs to be done.
“My father was a man of little importance in the world. He did very little with the life that he had, and let his days pass idly by him. Each morning at seven o’clock, he would open his eyes and get out of bed. On weekdays, he would shower, brush his teeth, don a crisp suit of the brown or gray variety, and then eat a bowl of Cheerios with milk before getting in his car and driving to work. At work, he would do whatever he was commissioned to do the matter of which I know little about. On weekends, he would awake at the same hour, follow the same morning ritual, replacing his business suits with blue jeans and sweatshirts; he would then proceed to do chores around the house. Occasionally, he would play a game of golf with an old college friend.
“Some days, however, he would wake up at nine-thirty, and these were the days I knew I would cherish. These were the days on which all routine was thrown aside and tradition was born. He would take me to his favorite places in Brooklyn and in Manhattan. Sometimes, we would go driving; when we drove he would let me choose the roads arbitrarily, and we would get lost in the most charming places. One time, we drove up to Canada for the weekend and were the attendants of The Travelling Canadian Film Festival. I have always believed that hidden inside these nine o’clock mornings was my real father. This was the real person with a real life and real passions, and the seven o’clock father was the one spawned from his life of routine with my mother and I – from the job that I always imagined he hated.
“Maybe I have it all wrong, and maybe I don’t know that of which I speak, but now I will do what I always thought my father never could.”
With broad steps more deliberate than before, Norman walked back up the aisle, not looking back. All heads turned toward him with reproving glares and confused looks. He had stolen their thoughts just for that moment, and the corpse lay still and unnoticed as the sound of Norman’s footsteps fell one by one out of the range of the mourners’ ears.
“Margot, I’m just concerned about your future. To be frank, you are living in an impractical, foolish manner. I only want the best for you.”
She had heard it many times before. It had always come at her from the same thin, mauve lips, and in the same bored, practiced tone of voice. The location from which it haunted her was always the same as well. Margot and her mother would be sitting down to afternoon tea in the kitchen of their home in Manchester. The long, black curtains would be pulled aside, and light would stream in through the luxurious bay window creating graphic, contrasting shadows on the airy, white walls. Margot would always fix her eyes on the sleek black and chrome Kitchen Aid mixer, feigning interest in what her mother had to say. Her thoughts took over.
“You’re finally learning Latin, and soon enough you will travel…far away from here on most magical adventures. Maybe hope is around the corner, and you’re simply too blind to see it.
“If I were outside, the azure sky would embrace me; I would twirl around, the wind would lift me up, and I would be flying. This speech is like a cage - an oppressive weight that binds me to the earth. If I were not as I am, I would be great. I will be great…great outside this door.”
“Margot, I really mean it. You simply must stop to think every once in a while. You must say to yourself, ‘What am I going to do when I get out of college?’ Margot? Are you even paying attention?”
“What? Yes, of course.” Margot drew her eyes and mind away from what lay beyond the window and back to the kitchen, the table, her mother, the lecture.
“Now, as I was saying…”
“Blah, blah, blah. I wonder what it would be like just to get up and walk away. My chair would squeak because of the friction created from my weight pushing it across the floor. I would turn toward the main hall and the sunlight would catch my hair, causing it to luminece. I would make deliberate steps across the floor, and the soles of my new Prada boots would make loud clacking sounds as they met with the tile. I would not look back as I passed into the grand seafoam colored living room. The beautiful white French Provincial chaise would call to me, it would beg me to stay and enjoy its serene, familiar beauty. This time, however, I would not hear it. I would continue to march across the chestnut-stained hardwood floor into the entryway. There, the wonderful crystal chandelier would bid me adieu as my mother watched quietly from the kitchen. She would stare at me in awe and disbelief; she never knew that I possessed the courage to do this, and despite herself she is quite proud. Her little girl has finally grown up and made her own decision. As I turn the heavy chrome knob of that glass-adorned front door, I will no longer be that seven-year-old girl that I have been…”
“…and I truly believe that if you would take the time to make a list of things to accomplish, and a schedule…”
“I need to do it. Just stand. Do it. Stand up. Before your life is over, do it. Now!” At that moment, Margot did stand up, and she walked through that front door just as she imagined she would. Her mother stood up too, and called out to her, but Margot did not listen.
Margot proceeded to march down the street of her childhood, not expecting to see it again for a very long time. She didn’t care that she had left her favorite dress in her old bedroom, or that she had hurt her mother beyond reason, she only cared that she had finally taken action. Margot was quite proud of herself.
“At last, I have done what I have dreamed of doing all my life…ridding myself of needless pains and worthless tedium. There is so much possibility. At this moment, I can feel the freedom pumping through my veins, and it is glorious.”
To Margot, the trees seemed far too green for words, and the puffy white clouds too closely resembled objects of a fairy tale to truly float in the sky. This one single action had sent her to some sort of idealistic dream world, but it was slowly become a frighteningly long, uninteresting nightmare. As she floated idly about, she wondered about the validity of all that was around her, and all she had grown to believe. Why did she continue to aimlessly wander these same lanes? She was free.
Margot found herself outside of a small structure with an adjoining graveyard. Having never known real pain, Margot imagined that the people gathering inside the building were mourning grievously. The deceased was young – too young – killed in a tragic accident. Maybe this person was shot during a robbery or run down by a car…or something worse. It was within the realm of possibility for this individual to have nearly survived a seemingly fatal injury only to have passed away at the last moment in the clutches of a loved one’s arms.
Most of the people inside of that building had been mourning grievously for their dear friend. He was a man in his late fifties who had suffered a major coronary, and died shortly thereafter. He was in bed at the time, and immobile; his wife was doing her shopping, and he was sleeping in, hoping to recover from the flu. When he passed on, he felt more pain than he had ever known in all his life; he was petrified and completely alone. None of the mourners would ever realize this, and neither would Margot.
When Norman left the building he so despised, he walked straight into a girl who was not yet twenty. He uttered few words into her ear. “The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.” It was the only thing he could think of – a silly old adage. It more than sufficed; all he wanted was to say something to this girl. She seemed to him lost and afraid, oddly free, but at the same time bound to something. He was not so unlike this girl. He debated whether or not to continue past her.
Margot stood there contemplating the inevitable and untimely death of some person unknown to her. These thoughts were interrupted by a young, well-groomed man who, lost in his own thoughts had walked right into her. “The afternoon knows what the morning never suspected.” These were his words. To Margot, they seemed to touch a rather vatic note, considering the path her day had taken. Upon looking at his face, Margot somehow knew that they shared a plight. He too was free, but the inhabitants of the building behind him seemed to have attached him to a leash when he was not looking.
As they stood, briefly gazing at one another, products of worlds created inside their own minds, both of them knew. They could feel time whirling around them, solemnly but effervescently waiting. It didn’t matter which way they turned or whether or not they recalled their actions. Whatever would come to pass, whatever would be left behind to rot and die, successes or failures, wisdom or folly. The plot lines of their lives could not remain blank nor could they remain constant forever. So, as each turned and walked away, a monolith to the other’s existence, Margot knew just as Norman knew that they would never meet again.
McSweeney's issue ten arrived the other day. I am quite excited about it. They have changed their font and layout to pay homage to/mock that of a forties pulp magazine. I am thoroughly amused by this. It also has in it writing by Dave Eggers that is not done under a pseudonym, but under his very own name (as well as the work of many other fine literary people). I will enjoy it, and you shall not, unless of course, you happen to own it.
I am clueless about commas, but that is obvious.
The other day, I was walking through the hall in my crazy sparkly black pumps. Some boy in Old Navy jeans, a Penn State windbreaker, and black sneakers of indeterminable origin said to me, "Do you need help?"
"No, I"m fine."
There is silence and more walking. After a while, he speaks again, "I hope you don't mind my asking, but why are you wearing those shoes?"
"Because they are entertaining," I say. Pause. "I can't quite walk in them, but I will learn." I must have sounded like a silly, impractical five year old girl playing dress-up, which in reality is exactly what I am.
"Well, have fun," he says in place of 'good-bye.'
"I will," I answer childishly. |
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| "The first duty in life is to be as artifical as possible..." |
[Jan. 20th, 2003|08:00 pm] |
Today I finished The History of Luminous Motion by Scott Bradfield. I purchased it on Saturday and read most of it on Sunday. It was by no means delicious or awe-inspiring, but I had been in the mood to read a novel, so I went with it. IT was interesting - it was a narrative told through the eyes of an 8-year-old boy. Some of the issues it dealt with were, to me, not believable 8-year-old boy troubles, but I am both straight-edged and Naive, so what do I know? It worked though - the fact that I didn't trust most of it's information - it added to what it was. The subject matter itself had very little to do with the things I tend to read about, but it was likable just the same. I felt as if I were back inside House of Leaves - or at least part of it. This is mostly because the Characters introduced in this novel really felt like part of a HOL past. It was simplified though - without all of the layers and attention to typography. It brought up many good points though about living in your own mind and living at all. I think that what I really got from it was a sense that everything is in cycles to which we are attached...for me, that was the underlying meaning and point. I could be way off. It doesn't matter, though. I read it, and I enjoyed it (somewhat) and now, i can do what I like with the ideas and concepts presented to me during my journey through its pages.
Today I also went to get my contacts...ish. I didn't do very well which makes me laugh. I would think that putting contacts in is not very complicated, but I have no control over my upper eyelids, and even less control over the eyelashes attached to them. After an hour of staring at myself in a mirror trying to stick the contact in my eye, I couldn't do it (which is quite pathetic and amusing all at once. I will be mocked for this - if not by others, then by myself.) I'm going back Thursday, and I will get it. I will learn to control my silly eyelids. It was on my eye, and then I pushed it back out. SO silly...
Saturday ELizabeth woke me up a little before nine. We were going to the center of the city on the coldest day of the year (oh no!). There was a whole ordeal with the train and cars, etc. Very exciting and entertaining. We eventually met her friend Craig in the city. We did usual city things. ELizabeth got a Lomo camera, therefore joined the cult. Fun was had. I made purchases.
Sunday nothing much happened. Today I already explained in part.
Friday there was school and I was dead tired. I don't believe I did anything Friday night, though that is not surprising.
Thursday. I don't really recall what went on that day. I suppose it doesn't really matter.
Wednesday. Same. We may have handed out newspapers, though that may have happened Tuesday. There was Brew ha ha coffee and sleepiness.
Tuesday. WE attempted to hand out newspapers, but due to our brew ha ha excursion, we were too late.
Monday. We attempted to hand out newspapers, but were surprised at how early people got to school.
Sunday. ____________________________________.
Saturday (last) I went to New York with Stephanie and her father. I may go in to more detail later, but I'm really quite bored with updating.
At one point during last week, I was walking home when I heard rustling in the shrubbery to my left. I then heard birds chirping. I felt like I was right in the middle of nature until I realized that the hill on which my feet rested was probably man made, and that the shrubbery from which the bird came was attached to a barbed wire fence. It was a good moment. |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 26th, 2002|12:56 am] |
They assured me I could sleep until nine if I wanted to. Except, wait...8:15...what do I hear outside of my door? Could it be hammering? They decided that if I woke up "on my own" then, it wouldn't really matter...hah...8:15 Christmas morning...good time to run a phone line! What I am really complaining about though, they woke me up so that I could be given gifts.
I opened gifts. They were nice. I liked them...all of them...even the half-recorded DVDs that were really burnt copies ordered on E-bay that came from Malaysia (wow run-on/nonsensical sentence). It was an interesting Christmas morning. We instituted a tradition in which we ball up the wrapping from each gift we receive and throw it at the giver in thanks.
After much unwrapping fun, daddy and I went to wawa in search of breakfast. Then, we came home. I showered, then played with all of my new "toys." This involved watching special features on DVDs, listening to CDs, reading 2-line poems [example: Nice hat. Thanks], writing on clothing boxes with many different-coloured sharpies, and coordinating outfits around my new leg-warmers. I spoke with Elizabeth at some point, and eventually, she, Alexander and I rendez-voused at her house for the exchange of Burberry items. This, also was enjoyable.
After staring at gifts, and words, watching ELizabeth's Vagina Monologues DVD, etc., Mummy retrieved me and of to Grandmother's house (again) for six more hours of extended family fun, gee golly!
There was dinner, and the talking about all of the people that didn't show up. A game was devised where there were no real or constant rules. The loser was forced to bring home with them the Mr. T soap on a rope. It was frighteningly detailed, and carried the scent of a man sweaty from cutting down prized trees in a suburb by Chicago that tried to cover up that scent by drenching himself in a simmering vat of every Bath and Bodyworks fragrance imaginable. Yumm...i am rather glad I did not lose that game, though I came very close to it.
To sum up the rest of the evening I say to you this: Clock-staring, feces pie, shrines created by oneself, caroling about bamboo fountains, more clock-staring, awful churhpeople on TV, interrogations, more bashing of those who didn't show up. Much laughter, much boredom. Typical Christmas. These days are good in their own right. Tomorrow is a new day. I hope against hope that I will do something with it. I do not need Christmas for fabricated happiness. |
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| Know them...fear them - the scandinavian winners of the nobel prize... |
[Dec. 19th, 2002|06:20 pm] |
I'm back...after a long hiatus. Updating my ever repetitive entity known as livejounal. It has been quite some time since we last met. Fa la tra la. I still have nothing to say! A list could be nice...I think I would like a list. I have not created a list in an eternity, and this is quite upsetting. A list I will have. Lucky me.
H. Today is Thursday, and yesterday was Wednesday. I lived through both days, though not quite as well as I could have or half as well as I should have, but better than I thought I would, so...yes...
H. I was reading Postcards from the Voodoo Sex Cult (which, for the curious nonexistent readers of this place would be a "zine" purchased by ELizabeth at a record store. It cost a dollar. It lasts sixteen pages. It has nothing to do with Voodoo Sex Cults, so it also has nothing to do with middle school) and I realized that ELizabeth screens everything for me so that I don't have to waste my time. She does this subconsciously. It is quite nice of her, but I really need to start, umm...living for myself? Maybe? Yes. I think I do. She thinks so to...on the day in which she is my "therapist" or at least that's what it seems like. Sick. We are very sick.
H. I did not go to Ikea or Fonthill or New York this fall. Maybe that is why it does not feel like Christmas, or maybe I finally saw through the whole idea of a holiday. Maybe I'm just in an off-mood and in an off-place, though what is so "off" about it? I can't really say.
H. I want to go to London. And stay there (probably). But not today, today there would be nothing there for me. Another day.
H. Though it does not feel like Christmas, I do have my straw IKEA Christmas goat out.
H. My head hurts. My head never hurts. I need to read a book. I do not have a book I want to read. Or I can't get into any of the books I have. Alter-egos are both very good and quite awful. Maybe that is because we banish them to other places.
H. Chemistry is essentially done until after Christmas, after new years, after the first Friday in January, and after that, there are still only three weeks left.
H. One might think that after such long estrangement from my livejournal, and from writing in general, I would have much to say. I really don't. I thought I would, but nothing is here. Very strange. Like the air of yesterday.
I bid you adieu. |
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| There's magic happening on the Brooklyn Bridge. |
[Sep. 17th, 2002|11:56 pm] |
Exhibit A: [Irrelevant circle of meaningless words]
I would like very much to just sit about and think forever...ponder infinitely and learn things...new things, things that make me want to think even more, and then, by applying those things slowly to create something resembling a "life" which is whatever I determine life should be. I would like even more to be completely and utterly surprised by whatever does happen and for this not to happen at all. [Exhibit A can be crossed off a list of things relevant in both my life and the lives of everyone else.]
Exhibit B: [Dream is Destiny]
Last night I had a dream. It was strange, as all dreams are and should be. I wrote some of it down, but don't remember much. I really need to make more of an effort, in general. But this is not what concerns me at the present moment.
Exhibit C: [thoughts]
-Do you know that feeling? When you are sitting and watching a clock? And then, you think about the events that will come later in your day as well as the fact that those events will end, and then the fact that you are in the moment you are currently in and no other, but still get the feeling that all of time has already happened and that everything will work out...Like, here I am, it is midnight. I know that Tomorrow, I will wake up and go to school, I will take my daily photos, etc. Right now, I am here, in front of my computer, but Seven and a half hours from now, I'll be in school in front of some lockers, and though the time that I am in now is more so relevant than ever, the time that is about to come is relevant too, and not only is it relevant, but it has already come with me never having experienced it, like, I've been there, but I am here, and though I will be there for hours, there will be time after it too. I have become infatuated with this feeling. I really love it...this strange frame of mind. I tend to induce it more and more often than I used to. Is this merely because I need to pass time, or is this something more? Or is there nothing more?
Exhibit D: [random facts and lists of sorts]
I really feel strongly about the importance of this paragraph:
There is this instant (between now and forever) in which she could not believe that time simply passed, but in which she knew that it lived just as she did, which is to say marvelously, but not very well at all. She just stands there, captured forever in that single pose day after day. Waiting.
-I would really like to go to found magazine on October 18th.
-I have taken to Purple America
-AIR is pure genius.
-I must learn many, many things.
-Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah.
-I must sleep to dream.
-There is so much more to come.
-For there to be change, there needs to be an oppertunity for change. I don't have one.
-Newspaper began today.
-This is not all, but it is all that I will give. |
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| (no subject) |
[Aug. 21st, 2002|12:08 am] |
Today I...
-"Exercized"
-Had a run-in with a parked car
-Made unrealistic goals
-Dreamed
-Saw a bad movie...I watch too many movies
-Killed a bug
-Nearly died of boredom
-Did nothing of importance
-Made some lists
-bored, bored, bored...
-Wished
-Stopped. |
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[Aug. 12th, 2002|11:06 am] |
Today, I was awoken.
-I ate french toast.
-My mother wouldn't leave.
-They said they were afraid.
-They said I would not go.
-I sit upon the floor.
-I listen to Moby.
-My visions again, proven incorrrect...too hopeful at that.
-My wishes were ill-recieved.
-Dead-ends
-Dorian Gray. Quite nice.
-Floating.
-Lying.
-Hanging Clothing.
-Blah. Blah. Blah.
-Something else now?
-Writing.
-Deleting.
-Nothing.
-Area rug on floor, but in no loft.
-Wash to be done.
-Hallways to Clean.
-"Hallways Always"
-Happy things.
-Dull things.
-Time to go. |
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| Death by Hessian Poking Stick |
[Jul. 20th, 2002|11:11 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | family, lists, travel | ] |
| [ | mood |
| | dead.disconnected.hopeful. | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Poe...That day | ] |
Today.
I woke up. Early.
I went to breakfast. Early. (i did get crepes though)
Mummy got us out of going up to fort lauderdale for a positively dull afternoon.
We went "shopping"
We went to Walmart Supercenter where i proceeded to take video because i was amazed that you could buy both onions and men's underwear all in the same aisle.
We went to Walgreens for mints.
We went to Bed Bath and Beyond.
We went to Barnes and Noble where i got the collected works of Oscar Wilde.
We went to get the number of a near-by pizza place where some guy fake hit on me and i laughed at how stupid he was.
We came back and i finished Neal Pollack and watched the Muppets Take Manhattan.
We Ordered Pizza.
I figured out how to work my grandparents' CD player.
I ate pizza.
I went swimming with Kevie.
I watched bad Alfred Hitchcock movie.
I got online.
I contemplated calling ELizabeth.
I still haven't.
She needs to get online. |
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| The issue at hand. |
[Jul. 9th, 2002|02:24 am] |
Current Options:
1. Go to bed
2. Go online and search through the unknown
3. Read House of Leaves
4. Go back downstairs and finish Mulholland Drive
5. Write something
6. Go hit KeviE over the head with something, as i am annoyed with him
7. Go internet shopping
8. Talk with people to whom i have nothing interesting to say
9. Go sit on my roof, get bitten by bugs, freak out, come back inside to realize that i let bugs in my room, freak out, try to kill them to realize that i can't do it, then wake up family members to kill them for me, anger them, then not be able to find any bugs at all.
10. Hallucinate until i get so frightened i go to bed at once, believeing that if i don't cover my head in the blankets, i will be killed
11. Take pictures of my face like ELizabeth does
12. Watch infomercials or Korean Dramas
13. Clean
14. Play dress up
15. Make lists of things
16. Dwell
17. Ponder deeply into the night, fighting with myself about various subjects before i go do something else, only to think some more
18. Listen to a CD that would make me happy
19. Devise a plan in which i got to go see Alan Cumming in the play, ELLE
20. Think about New York and how long its been since i saw it last, and how long it will be until i see it again, and how much i love it and need it, and i long to go
21. Draw pretty pictures, realize they are not pretty, grow angry at the pictures, tear them up, and thow them at my poor, unsuspecting wall
22. Re-arrange my room
23. Take down my wallpaper
24. Fill my head with information
25. Write a monolouge, perform it for myself in front of my video camera, and then wish i hadn't in the mourning
26. Watch the tape of Laura, Micheal, KeviE and I as younger children in a bad SNL/talkshow type formatted show based off of...i'd rather not go there
27. Play my guitar i haven't picked up in at least three months
28. Wash my fishnets
29. Update us all on the events of my day
30. Try to figure something out
31. Talk myself out of things
32. Go through things in my mind so many times that i become prepared for them...and am no longer afraid.
33. Write long, pointless e-mails to various people i think will enjoy them at first, but after many become annoyed by them, and then wish that i would shut up
34. Obsess
35. Scream as loudly as I possibly can
36. Look at all of my shoes
37. Re-organize my dresser drwars
38. Find the answer somewhere on the batboard
39. Go though Houseofleaves.com, read posts, post some new ideas i've had, prove myself wrong...go back to being lost like everyone else
40. Stare at myself intently in the mirror, because i am that narcissictic
41. Paint my toenails
42. Research
43. Watching the Style Channel
44. Going to the Betsey Johnson, Dior, and Marc Jacobs sites to review their newest lines yet again
45. Cutting up pieces of un-needed paper with an exacto knife that is on my desk
46. Plucking my eyebrows
47. Thinking of the makeup i left at ELizabeth's house that i better get back tomorrow or she will die
48. Reading Mcsweeney's
49. Developing my genius
50. Painting my entire face with oil pastels so that it looks as if i am rainbow-coloured
51. Brushing my teeth
52. Devising an ultimate diet in which i eat healthy foods and proteins so that i may live a long, healty lifestyle if i so desired and am not diagnosed with and killed by some terminal disease or some fatal accident occurs which brings my life to a close
53. Hanging random objects from my celing so that when ELizabeth comes over tomorrow, she is frightened and wonders where all my time goes
54. Something else...anything else
55. Making a list of things i wish to aquire
56. Making a chain of paperclips
57. Baking a cake of my heart...or just a marble cake
58. Cutting my toenails
59. Dusting
60. Looking at old photos
61. Reminiceing about old times
62. Dying
63. Living. |
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| Factual Information [words formed based on my opinions and life-expirences] |
[Jun. 19th, 2002|10:37 pm] |
Various points i feel i need make:
3. When staring at my own reflection in a cd, my eye looks creepy, large, and black. It frightens me a bit.
4. I should be studying for my French final.
5. I'm lazy.
6. I'm concieted, and a bit self-centered. I need to flaunt this fact about less.
7. My mother is under the impression that the Gender Bender ball's attendees will be rapists, criminals, terrorists, and "harmful individuals"
8. ELizabeth is bothering me to write bios for her personas. She needs to write her own, but i'll do it anyway, as they are also my personas.
9. Sometimes i wish i were English.
C. I wish things were a bit less consistant...or more...i need change - or adventure...or something to do...some inspiration maybe?
q. Despite myself, my wishes, and what should be, i am having New York withdrawl. I miss it terribly. I wish i were there...it has to be the greatest place in existance.
~ When angered, desperate or frantic i become incoherent, and i jump up and down a lot trying to stress a point which i, by that point will have forgotten.
12. It is nearly impossible to find Little boy Supehero "Funpals" underwear in a size above an eight. In case you were wondering, no my back fat will not fit into a little boy's eight. I wish it would.
J. I want to read more. I want to improve my vocabulary. I want to change before it is too late.
T. I think i shall aquire more Madonna, gaudy, costume, '80s jewelry.
F. Today, for extra credit, i wore a t-shirt with math on it. I hate math with a passion.
V. I have a chair that is avacado green. It cost three dollars. I positively adore it.
98. Today, i was writing during gym on ELizabeth's i-book. I didn't write much. Here it is as seen in a conversation we had online via AOL instant messenger (i shall put what i wrote during gym in bold so as not to confuse you too much...or maybe it will confuse you more...) :
GCgroupie5: Lola
Norman
Ramone
Emily
Tiffany
UrbanBatchild: there are more
GCgroupie5: they need bios lol
UrbanBatchild: there should be more...i don't know that we named them though
UrbanBatchild: they'll get bios later when i get around to it
GCgroupie5: i am wearing a hat, and it is rather remnicent of one that would be worn by an old man living...no...dying in Florida. Retirement homes and tennis courts, club houses, and wrinkles.
UrbanBatchild: yes, i wrote that...ther was more though
GCgroupie5: Baking under the sun...what kind of life is that? What kind of way is that to die? Can you picture that...the last moments of your life spent in half-way-to-paradise boredom. What about when you were young, vibrant, hopeful...What happened to your personas - those so vast and full of life, opinions that made you that fabulous, manic, trip of a person?
GCgroupie5: i no
UrbanBatchild: you saved it...ha
UrbanBatchild: maybe i'll finish
GCgroupie5: lol
GCgroupie5: i need bios
UrbanBatchild: you'll get them soon enough
GCgroupie5: r u doin them or shall i
UrbanBatchild: i will...but not now
GCgroupie5: okay
GCgroupie5: me sleepy. good night
UrbanBatchild: goodnite
UrbanBatchild: Je dois etudier francais
GCgroupie5: j'ai etudie pour le examen
GCgroupie5: pour 30 mins
GCgroupie5: bye
UrbanBatchild: bye
58. I should spell-check this or edit it or something so as to appear more intelligent or at least more gramatically correct, but i hate computer spell-checks.
R. My desk is from Ikea. My bed is from Ikea. My sofa is from Ikea. If i were to go on listing all of the things i owned that came from Ikea, we might be up very late indeed.
Y. I should really begin playing guitar again.
*Yesterday at about one AM, i had a strong desire to clean, so i did.
*I wish i could sleep...ha...i wish i could sleep less.
-One of the greatest things in existance has to be the fact that we all co-exist, and that in that we all interact and connect, and form connections. This creates an intricate web of relationships and thoughts that resembles the physical structure of our minds.
-Part of the above thought was solen from the second part of "Convergences" in McSweeny's issue five.
-You make me laugh.
U. I saw Homes With Style today on the Style Channel. The whole thing was on Betsey Johnson. I was quite excited.
78. I want you to tell me something...anything...it could be a fun little game.
65. I need to buy miniDVs because i am out of room on the one that i have, and can no longer record any video.
43. We have not yet gone to the Victoria Secret semi-anual sale, and we need to.
B. For the record, yes that is Alan Cumming in the Gap ad on my wall.
92. I am wearing a shirt i made under the instruction of Betsey Johnson. It is a bit whoreish...or something to the effect of.
Y. I need to wash my glasses. I threw them across the room, they got all finger-printy, and now i cannot see very well at all.
T. We should have a conversation...its been a while.
14. If i were to paint a troll with tempra paint, it would more than likely not look like a troll so much as an ugly blob of nothingness. This does not really bother me.
70. I love this.
49. The other day, ELizabeth and I listened to showtunes and we loved every minute of it...don't let her deny it...even though she wouldn't.
P. I will become Madonna...i wasn't lying, i am not lying. Okay, i very well could be...but...that matters very little.
V. [I really like brackets]
2. [Cheese anyone? Perhaps Yhatzee?] |
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| Gee Golly, April is dead, and it was very good. |
[Apr. 30th, 2002|10:44 pm] |
| [ | Tags | | | daily, high school, lists | ] |
| [ | mood |
| |  lethargic | ] |
| [ | music |
| | Garbage...Version 2.0 (i have a new found love for this one) | ] |
Sometimes i sit here at night, subdues, and i see things in pixels...like they're not real - just more images on a computer screen. It creeps me out. Then it makes me wonder what's really real anyway, and i'm not sure. I mean, there are some things that are so blatenly real to me, that i fall in love with them, and everything else is just...blah...off in the distance. i don't know. Does that make sense? does it matter?
And then i feel that i'm just like everyone else. There's nothing that's diffrent between me and them. And that kills me. There's nothing worse than thinking i'm just part of the crowd...that i am the same. I can't be the same...i need to be better than that...and there i am again - concieted. hmm. Rather vicious cycle, i think. Its not that i don't want a place to fit in and people to love, i just don't want that place to be here...
Is any of this good? I doubt it. That's why it makes us laugh so. Ha. Laughing is so great, it comes so easily, and means so much. I hope i continue to laugh.
I'm done with this...random pondering of my existance and meaning...shall we be monotouns and describe our day? i think we shall. Royal we! oh baby, you know you're loving it.
So, two weeks ago was time magazine week. Then, there was last week, which was kind of fast, kind of slow. Here's an overview:
Monday - don't remeber a thing.
Tuesday - i got a haircut. I was filled with hope. It was nice.
Wenesday - Clockwork Orange at Alex's. I got a hat. I was there for a while and it was a good time. Mummy got mad. I didn't care. She's really rather fickle - that's not the right word for it...there is a word out there for it though, but fickle is not it.
Thursday - Garbage anticipation, GSA where i go through the red editon, amazed
Friday - GARBAGE!
Saterdau - ELizabeth and i went to the city and shopped for most of the day. Urban Outfitters and Anthropologie, Joseph Fox bookshop, Starbucks, Diesel StlyleLab. Good time.
Things i bought:
1) Pinstripe skirt (on sale) $10.00
2) Ugly shirt with zipper in back that amuses us terribly simply because it has black lace on it (on sale) $10.00
3) Red tank by Lux that doesn't fit that well $15
4) (here's the buy of the day...the shoe gods were so with me!) My Puma skates i've been wanting for a year, but could never afford...You know the one's the absolutely fabulous old pumas with wheels bolted to the bottom that turn them into roller skates, and at the same time making them perfection as well as rendering them completely and utterly useles - yes, i own those in purple. They had one pair left - it was my size. Original price: $125.00 - How much did i pay? $10.00
5)Other buy of the day! except they weren't on sale. I just love them. Hehe. I got Diesel MaryJane sneaker/slides. Their official name, i believe is Cosmo. I love them. $70
Saterday we went home, but mummy decided that i'd had enough fun, so couldn't go out with pat - argh. and then, i was a bit dead for the rest of the weekend. Horrible headache, etc. Ok, it wasn't that horrible, but i'm weak, so that's how it seemed. Monday i stayed home. I needed it.
Wow, talking about my purchases has made me feel so much better...i am so pathetically matericalistic...oh well...i'm happy!
Today: I woke up, and i wore my diesel shoes, and my new fishnets i found at phar-mor for five bucks...major score! And I got ready and went to school.
French: painfully dull
HR: report card that made me mad at myself and convinced me that i needed to start doing my homework at night...who knows, if i get really motivated i may even study some time or read one of our books...i'm so sick of my lazyness...
Art: Power-painting is efficient, but its also a big mess, and i can't wash tables very well.
Daka: umm...drawing a blank...there were probably notes....
Westcott: she wasn't there again, so we listened to Garbage and abandoned pool and McSweeny's
Bio: umm...notes...
Math: Sleep, numbers, sleep
Come home, not that bad, blah, blah, scour the internet for info on MZD, my new love. Ha.
I need to write more formal e-mails.
Goodnight. Spread the Joy. |
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| cults are laugable. you are laughable. i am laughable. the world is a laugable vampire. |
[Apr. 3rd, 2002|11:14 pm] |
1. Today was frustratingly bad.
2. "Beach Blast" is not an orginal idea, nor is it a good one.
3. Even though my day was bad, the annoying optimistic voice in my head had persauded me into thinking that it was a good day. I don't know how. It is so tricky like that.
4. So, i had a good bad day. Quite dull.
5. I still do not own a roll of duct tape.
6. I was mad at you, but upon my deciding that today was good. I love you. |
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| (no subject) |
[Apr. 1st, 2002|10:08 pm] |
Today will be a very productive day...or not so much...or not at all really. Here is how it went:
*Wake up at five thirty, drag self out of bed by five forty five. Shower - stay awake during shower = me proud of self. Then, i go to my room, get changed into clean pajamas, and while pondering what i should wear, i fall back asleep instead of writing my Daka paper. I re-awake at 6:50. It is late. I get ready in a hurry. I am late. It doesn't matter.
*French: i don't remeber. I'm sure it was dull.
*Art: more drawing of my hands. Hands look like rubber. I get mad at my drawing of rubbery-looking hands. I want to throw drawing in a fire. I don't. Oh well.
*Daka: lost in the wrath of...well...no one remembers Daka's class...come on. There was something about the middle east and wars and attacks over the weekend that i was oblivious to, and there was something about Galba...a quiz maybe...i chatted with ELizabeth...
*Westcott: finish vocab quiz. Draw a picture of Norm the Gnome being "Manifested" by shiny, swirly blur of evil.
*Bio, math, gym, sleep.
*Go to art to with ELizabeth to work on hands so as they get done on time. We drag Alex along. We were going to draw our hands AGAINbut, thankfully enough we don't. We decide to glaze our bah relif squares. Mine is a great nineteen fifties "chrome" green.
*Then, it was off to Run Lola Run time. I saw it once before when ELizabeth rented it, but i was definately time to see it again. {yes, laura before you say anything, i know its one of your things, but its good....so, go away}So, we all went back to ELizabeth's house and ate too much, and blew up Peeps, and then wathced Run Lola Run. I was getting kinda giddy, actually if you want to get down to it. Yes, i was jumping up and down, giggling. Crazy mood.
*When it was over and we were playing with dubbing, etc. (don't watch it dubbed, by the way. It makes lola sound ditzy and high-voiced like barbie and manni like ken. Its not good) And we played with the special features. Then, i rediscovered the duct tape. Rus has this fabulous role of like nuclear duct tape...its fucking indestructable.
*We then walked alex home, and I took the roll of duct tape for a walk. That roll of duct tape is the new love of my life. Or at least my "sex slave". Hey, it works....or not, but...it'll make a great skirt. Don't give me that crazy look.
*We go back to ELizabeth's house and get online to search out raspberry coloured converse slides. I do my French. Then we eat dinner, and mummy makes me come home. She will not take me out to buy duct tape of my own.
*Daddy and i play some more Shining Force...that game is really addicting...craziness, actually. So, we play for about a half hour, and then i don't remember what happened, really, and then i get online.
*Today was not bad. It was quite happy actually. There was that whole being giddy thing in the middle of the day, and who doesn't like being giddy - unless you have to supress it. hehe. Wasn't bad...there was some mid-day depression also, but....good day...we'll leave it at that...not much contemplation, but a good day.
ENDE |
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