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| Things I Love/Hate About Montpellier, Volume I |
[Mar. 2nd, 2008|04:26 pm] |
One of the things I dislike most about living in Montpellier has nothing to do with the city or country itself: it's the fact that I live alone, or more accurately, the fact that I live with someone I never care to see or speak to. There are a few advantages, but mainly a long list of disadvantages to this arrangement. When I was in Edinburgh last week, I was reminded of another drawback of which I had hitherto seldom thought.
I am not a morning person, and I hate waking up. Often, getting out of bed is one of the more torturous things I have to experience on a daily basis. Thus, I often take days off as opportunities to sleep well into the afternoon. Even when the sun or my body clock wake me and I feel fully rested, I'll often elect to stay in bed and carry on sleeping until 2:00 or 3:00 in the afternoon just because I know I have nothing to do. But while I was in Edinburgh, I experienced a phenomenon about which I had all but forgotten: the desire to get up. When you're living with people whom you know and like, and when those people aren't morning zombies like you are, oftentimes, you'll hear them up and about before you'd ever considering dragging yourself out of bed, and having awoken to the sounds of gentle bustling, you might even be curious enough about the activities to want to get out of bed yourself. The smell of cooking breakfast, the muffled sounds of Jeremy Kyle playing in the living room, your curiosity about what happened last night and why your left ankle hurts when you bend it... all of these are things which, at one time or another, have trumped that strong inclination I have to while away the day in bed. And none of these are things which I will ever experience in France. On the other hand, however, there is an advantage to this: drifting between sleeping and waking for hours on end does produce vivid memories of dreams, which I always find entertaining. So, if this Sunday afternoon you're feeling bored enough to brave though accounts of someone else's dreams, ( here they are: ) |
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| In Which I Embody Both the Stereotype of the Raging Drunk and the OverEmotional Drunk Simultaneously |
[Jan. 23rd, 2007|03:53 pm] |
Last night was a good night. It was just a nice night of drinks and dancing during which none of us did anything about which we are currently cringing, which is nice for a change. Just a few minutes ago, however, my flat mate checked her e-mail and found the following delightful message that I had (apparently) sent her after she had spoken to The Elizabeth on the phone and I had not:
Dear favourite English Person:
I still love you, however, I spoke to Liz and she already spoke to you/is busy and so she will not speak to me. We are, therefore, in a fight. You will not win. Except you probalby will because you are awesome and I love you. But Elizabeth is also awesome and I also love her and I haven't seen her since December while I've seen you nearly every day since Dec. 30th. That isn't bad because I love you and I'm glad I see you and if i didn't i'd probably be bored to death and die. I am, however, too drunk to appreciate this and I need to speak to my ameri-friend who already spoke to you. We are, therefore, in a fight, so top that motherfuker. Oh wait, you can't! I love you/I hate you.
Lovve/Unlove,
Your favourite American whose favourite american you've already spoken to, BITCH
I think that in rediscovering my love of poetry, I have also rediscovered the crazy. The Eliot is, however, going quite well. |
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| This is not for you |
[Aug. 21st, 2002|11:55 pm] |
Preface:
"Bored with life and everything/everyone she knows intimately, she must shed her timid nature to venture unknowingly into change," quoted the deep-voiced man using a serious, monotonously boring tone that would make you feel sad (or at least contemplative) even if he were speaking comedic lines.
She who would wander the night:
"Full of ambition and an energy unknown to her, she was filled with an optimism that visits her seldom. She was confident and ready to really transform her dull little world into something magical. Alas, days went by, and though her heart was in the right place, her actions were not. Nothing miraculous nor marvelous came to our dreamer. And, even though she was still brimming with a need for something more, she felt she lacked the means to do it. Her levels of creativity as well as motivation declined; she became little more than a hypocritical idealist. At this point, she waits. Here, she will continue to wait until something positive comes up to rejuvenate her and her sense of self. Until that thought, person, idea, colour, whim, etc. comes along, she will remain an empty shell of nothing," he concluded.
[story courtesy of the those who do not wish to be credited]
Blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. And that, everyone, was an example of a bad story. So, moving on to the present....
Today, I awoke. Later than I wanted to. I did not accomplish half of the things I wish I would have. I did however, go to Lauren's. I had a good time. It was just she, ELizabeth, and I. We swam, thought of things we couldn't do, and swam some more. I really did have fun (only slightly to my surprise) and then it was time to leave. I came home, had dinner, and sat about to finish The Picture of Dorian Gray. I really liked it. I think that I learned quite a deal, as well, but I won't go into details about such things at the present moment. They wanted me to go back. I wouldn't. I had fun, and I wanted to remember it as fun...not something that was so overdone it lost all of it's appeal...the whole idea of going out on top. I just...needed some time. I always need time. I am not enamored of the world in which I've been living of late, and I know it is high time that I was. I will be. Soon. When I figure out how exactly to sculpt the world into my liking. If anyone has any insight on the matter, please do me a favour and share it...I have no clue what I'm doing, but I kind of like it that way. I always have been a fan of great airs of mystery.
I am in a tiff with the world. |
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| Superbad Lemon Indignant Emblazoned (my word of the week)Staggering Interrogation Mulholland |
[Jul. 8th, 2002|12:59 am] |
I promised you would not have an entry of subsance, but that was in my "Dark Mood." The one I slip into...from time to time...when i feel to "ordianry" and that life has no possibilites and nothing new is to come...that one can't be original anymore. I feel like I have to be exactly as someone else is...that i can't form my own opinions or thoughts without them being wrong.
That feeling is gone.
On a whim.
And i am back.
I rented Mulholland Drive today, and it was utterly fantastic. That's all it takes really, to bring me back...not that i'm that pathetic - i mean, i am pathetic, but not so pathetic as to say a movie changed my life...or even my mood. Just my mind-set? I don't know. Maybe its the air. I just feel like i need to preserve this "renewed feeling" this sense of...who knows what. It's just nice. It makes me want to think, to read, to write, to be something. Its an alter-ego that needs nameing, but its not an alter-ego at all...it is in essence, who i am, without me knowing it. And, i think of my literary gods and i think of the things that i don't know. It's like, before (earlier today in the "dark mood") I felt that there was no point to living, because nothing ever comes out of life. And, i needed to be there so, now i could feel ultra-good - or something. This isn't working well at all...i'm trying to translate from "magic thought language" to English, and its worse than the sub-titles on those Korean soaps.
I think that maybe what i mean to say is that right now, today, I am a fourteen year old, stupid girl. I try to stop myself from thinking certain thoughts, and from feeling certain things. I sometimes wish that i could mold my own childhood so that it mirrored the childhood of someone else...almost to keep in check - to make sure i'm doing everything right. When i realize i can't, i become sad...and i feel there is no right. Then, when i realize i can, i become worse. This does not matter. For, in the end, i know that i know nothing. I don't know what i want. I don't know who i am. I don't know who i will be. Yet, i know that when i do have words that can aptly translate my thoughts to English, and that when i do have a clue about how to interact with people, how to be who I am, how to figure any of this out that i will be amazing. I will be what i am in awe of now, and i will look back and laugh. I sound...i don't care. My future is out there, and i will find it. One's own perception of the world is indeed the way the world is to that person. We all have more than one perception, but whichever we let prevail will determine who we are. My words are not wise. They are not original. They are not utterly fantastic...they are nothing - yet. I sound silly, i sound narcissictic, i sound cliche. I sound however i sound to you. But, i am in a good place, and i don't care. I won't care what i sound like...what i look like, for when i do, that is when all becomes lost. Even right now, i try to stop myself from the words write because i don't like their tone...their message. So, i shall stop.
Earlier. Before i started writing. I had words formed. A title selected. It has all fallen apart since then into the pathetic selection above, but i love the way things are, and the way they will be. Today, i even love you. |
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| "No one knows, because they will never awake to tell." - Stephany Aulenback |
[Jul. 7th, 2002|07:13 pm] |
I should, in theory, give you all a long, detailed up-date filled with an account of the events that move my life along sprinkled with the sparse feelings, angers, etc i may have had. "in thoery." Today, "In Theory" shall act as the word "should" may act. I "should" go clean. Yet, what one should do, what one "in theory" does, and what one ACTUALLY does, are seperate matters. Do you follow me? I could be very well babbling inchoherently by now. The point is, I will not be writing, for you, anything of substance at the current moment. I would, however, like to write. I lack inspiration. If any of you would like to leave me inspiration in the form of an e-mail, or an IM, or a comment, you may feel free to do so. If you like, you can wait a very long time, and just randomly send me inspiration weeks or months from now, and then i can be like, "What the fuck are you talking about?" and you can say, "Don't say 'Fuck' you dirty whore. And, it should be obvious that i'm talking about yogart." and then i can be like "oh, you are quite right, it was quite obvious."
The moral of the story today, young children, says never to do what you wish to do at the time at which you wish to do it. No, it doesn't. I'm just feeling blah. I'll get over it. This is silly. Goodbye. |
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| This summer will be my summer of hats...i wish to wear some sort of hat everday. |
[Jul. 5th, 2002|01:25 am] |
Its funny how things feel like clay, and nothing matters unless you care, and that i could randomly make up anything i like, and you'd all belive it...well, maybe not that last bit. Words are also funny as well as my wardrobe, and my toenails and you...and the world. ha...i'm just full of laughter today. Maybe its because we rented the Anniversary party...or maybe its because of this Twilght Zone marathon. I think its the lack of content and abundence of words that really gets me today...and also, the word whimple - i hear gwenivere had one. |
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| If the world were a vampire it'd be a better place. Get away...its my blood, my skin, my life. |
[Apr. 2nd, 2002|11:08 pm] |
Me=angry
My day = bad
The world = hopeless
The optimistic voice in my head = aquired an annoying brittish accent
I wish i would stop.
I wish i could stop.
I wish i could stop wishing.
I need sleep.
I need something else.
I need change.
I need.....i don't seem to know.
Today was bad.
Bad place, bad accent, bad additude, bad time, bad mindset, bad hair, bad computer, bad music, bad, bad, bad, anger, anger, hate, love, anger, anger - fuck - fuck i wish i had a fucking clue - i wish i had a thought - i wish i had a feeling - i wish i knew my feelings - i wish i wasn't dead. Fuck Fuck Fuck. Diabolical, evil, meniachal, conspiring, lethal, death, conforming, stopping, scrapeing, stealing, wanting, takeing, convincing, conniving, evil, evil, evil, evil fuck fuck fuck fuck.
so wrong. so off. so fucked... |
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| a pineapple for you...from you! |
[Mar. 23rd, 2002|11:21 am] |
Yesterday, while not ABBAsolutely fab was great. In the mourning, i got up late, as usual. It doesn't phase me anymore. On the way out, i got some coffee, which made me giggle meniachly to myself in the car all the way to school. They were also talking about Trading Spaces on the mourning show. Hehehe.
In French we had a speaking test, and i did badly even though it was easy, and i had to share a book with Jamie because i still haven't found mine.
Art - ELizabeth told me a story about how she'd had a phone conversation with my mother, which included points i'd made on my LiveJournal, and then i attempted to draw a hand in a pocket really big, and it didn't work because i can't draw hands, and i was frustrated.
Daka - hahahahaha. Where do i start with daka? umm...here's a place....we were in daka and ELizabeth had Norm (because she'd lent him to alex the night before, and alex had brought norm with him to give back to ELizabeth). All of the gifted freaks wanted norm, which was wierd because even like scott and james wanted him - not that they're crazier than i am, but...i don't know...they were all fixated or to use ELizabeth's word that i can't spell "fixiflied" with the plastic gnome lamp. i'm not sure why, but i wasn't that scared, and it was kinda good and um...hahhahahahah. then there was a fire drill in the middle of Daka. We went outside and trudged across the muddy field, and were freezing. And also, i was in ELizabeth's perfectly clean pink pumas, that were then no longer perfectly pink and clean. THen ELizabeth was all mad and i was laughing and i was mad at her though because she was reminding me of (don't kill me) malltrash again. NOt that you are, because you aren't, but just then...well, you were mad too, soo.....anyway. The rest of daka, she cleaned the shoes, we hepled mrs hope, and there were doritos in the back that wre yumm. Plus he made us do a wordsearch done at the end of class, which it wasn't. there's our gifted education for you - a wordsearch about cults and springtime - he was even there too - daka, you make me laugh.
Westcott- lots of cookies. i feel bad because i didn't bring anything again. i have some cookies and they taste very, very good. ELizabeth realizes that one of the gifted freaks hid her gnome, and she goes back to daka to find him. We do some analogies, and westcott thinks i'm anorexic because she hasn't seen me eat the cookies because i ate them in the fifteen minutes of class prior to her entrance...hehehe. ELizabeth is mad at gifted freaks and hates them, i just ignore her. We leave, it has been a very good day so far.
Lunch - we do wordsearches
Bio - we get to play with fire, but andrew (the old man in a twelve year old's body) won't let us play with the fire. He's all nervous "i don't trust either of you with the fire...or that stapler" hehehehehe. He's not bad - i don't mind him...just, come on...its only fire. I also chat with Nailya and finish the word search.
Math - quiz i got and eight out of twenty, which is suprisingly good, being as for most of them i just wrote down random numbers i thought might work.
After school - i need to go to my locker to get jacket and coffee cup. (when taking bus, i don't typically have time to go to my locker, for my bus leaves quikly and is on the other end) THen, i get half way through the school, already mad late, when i realize, hey i still have that paper i needed to give to daka....of fucking well.. I turn around, slip the paper under the door, and daddy has to pick me up.
I get back to my house, daddy tells me of how he skillfully got out of lunch with my grandparents and uncle lou, and instead got to see a great outer limits. i hang downstairs for a while, because my grandparents are here, but when i begin to pass out on the couch around four thirty, i come upstairs. THen, there's a lot of hanging around the house until sixish when lauren calls. She says she's coming in a half hour. mummy and daddy leave for el sambrero, i feel bad because it was my parents, aunt, uncle, grandparents and cousin micheal, and i left him alone to dinner with them, but...it was friday night...
At six-twentyish, ELizabeth calls. Alex is there too - threeway calling...magical. We chat for a while, and then we end up making plans so that alex comes with us to brew ha ha while ELizabeth goes to boring dance to in her words, "get it on with gary" hehe. She wanted me to go to polanka and tape the show for her, but...umm...here's one...no.
[i just forgot to mention something that definately needs mention. Before the above mentioned phone call, i decided to fulfil a dream/idea i'd had ever since early that mourning when i was thinking of what to wear. Yes, that's right, i made stockings out of duct tape. i couldn't really move my kness a lot...but it looked fab. if you want to see what it looked like, i took video, so, um..its digital, and in theory i should be able to post it, but i don't know how, so just come visit my house and i'll show you. it was fun though - hehe duct tape]
So around six forty five, lauren gets here, and we leave and go to brew haha. We are late, but the first ones there. i get chai, chai is good. Lauren is dying. we couldn't decide, though weather, when she died, she should be buried in a pyramid behind the old people's community or if we should stuff her and use her as a puppet. What do you think? hehe.
Then, alex came to brew ha ha. He didn't know what to order, so he spent a considerable amount of time adding things like vanilla, mocha, and sugar to lauren's which he stole, for she was dying. hehe. Then i got a brown sugar cube and ate it, which was suprisingly good. So..we chatted for a while, and then Jackie arrived with some creepy twenty year old guy with a big head who was the easter bunny at the mall. We trashed his nice job for a while, and i broke out into song several times. Played with the mocha some more...good times...Then a band came. They weren't very good though. they weren't bad or anything, just not great. Jackie and i got hungry so we shared a bagel, and we all attempeted conversation over the band, but it wasn't happening. Jackie, the easter bunny, and lauren left. Alex an i decided to go to giant.
Giant, giant is an amusing place if you are, as we are, easily amused. At first we just made fun of the various items that can be found in giant whilst chatting of various things. But then...then...here's the turning point, the climax of the giant journey, if you will...we saw a ballon in the produce section that looked like a tomatoe (it may have been a different vegetable, i forget though)
We then found other vegetable ballons, but the one that changed the course of the entire night...the pineapple balloon!! yes, that's right a large ballon, inflated, in the shape of a pineaple. hehehehehehehehehhhehehehehheehhhehhehehhheheheehheeehehehehheeheh(please, take a moment to laugh, then catch your breath)
We stood there for a while wondering weather it was for sale or not. We weren't sure. It was intermixed with the produce. We also didn't know who to ask about it. We had fun thinking..."hi! i was wondering if this pineapple ballon was for sale, or is it display only....thanks...." heheh. After much pondering and giggling, we picked it up. It was love...pineapple balloons...hehe. makes me laugh.
So, we were walking around some more, still amused, and then, on the clearance table, we found some canned pinapples, which sent us on a crusade to find other canned pinapples. We lauged at the canned pinapples for a long time, contemplated buying them, but then ended up putting the pineapples with the cheese. We found pineapple juice, and dried pinapples and "pina collata" yougart, which is just pinapples with a name that sounds nicer so as more people might buy it, plus several other various pineapple products. By that time though, we were just walking throught the aisles bursting out into fits of giggles. hehe - pineapples.
I believe we got in line next. We put all of the pineapple products plus a cadberry egg and a pack of mints on the counter and paid. I was a couple cents short. I owe alex a quarter now. It was funny to see the look on the chashier's face as she slowly realized that we were purchasing all pineapple products...hehe.
Then, i called mummy, who was convienently in newtown. argh. She assumed i'd been with ELizabeth, so could get a ride with pat. silly girl. So, i got a ride home with alex. While we were waiting, we played with the ballon and security camera. But here's the best part of the night...we were walking by brewhaha. There was a guy playing a guitar and singing. He was good. And when we were within the view of the window he turned around, in the middle of his song, still singing to stare at us. hehehhe - how great is that? The guy looked back inside brew haha, and then turned aroudn to stare at us again. hehehehehehehehheheh. we decided not to go in after that though. Then we went back to giant, and i wanted to bend my knees again, so i was very painfully ripping the duct tape off of my legs. Why does it stick so well? Owww. I still have stickly lines over where the duct tape was on my skin. Time to shower, i think.
So, anywey, we leave giant, i manage to explain where i live more or less, so as alex's dad could drive me back here. Then was hungry, so i made some spagettii. We made fun of the two phone messages from my uncle lou stating the exact same thing about a hat...twice...for five minutes each...I hung downstairs for a while. Mummy and mom-mom came home...they kind of took a wrong turn and ended up in oxford valley...and then run lola run came on bravo, and i came upstais to watch it because its so good. I fell asleep shortly after lola ended, and didn't update, so here i am.
1) You can buy shampoo in the scent of apricots, but not pineapple.
2)hehehe
3){the sound of duct tape ripping off my skin} owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww.
4) Daka wants me to purchase him a norm next time i'm in UO if they have any left |
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| Poems/songs that i wrote over the weekend, and are bad - its ok if you think "what the fuck?" |
[Mar. 20th, 2002|10:52 pm] |
Little Girl Obvious
I'm a transparent girl
In a transparent world
Invisible to the eye,
I watch the world pass me by?
And my secrets crawl around my skin
Trying desperately to find their way back in
And no one believes that I can make it
They think they've seen all there is
To that powerful contraption - of my mind?
And I get it all the time
I'm confused and I'm scared and I'm alone and unprepared
How can I get back on my feet?
Who is it I fear I can't beat?
I'm dressed to kill
But standing still
Time hasn't stopped with me though
I could be dead for all I know
Who will be there to keep me grounded?
It was evident from the start that I might not own a heart
Maybe I can rent one from you
Because the day that I love
I might become whole
But to me that day is just as tangible
As the fact that the world is as it appears to be
And I know what it really means to be me.
And its so obvious
That I'm obvious
I'm as typical as they come
And for a person who thinks she's so damned crazy?
I'm just a person that's really dumb
I'm just misimpressioned
I'm just a silly child
A silly child that's gotten way to wild
And I'm as predictable as you can be
I could be a puppet on strings
And it wouldn't be a different thing
I'm lost in a world of transparent things
A world with not such transparent meanings
And for now I'm lost in transparent skin
I can't wait for the tide to roll in
And on that day in my life
I'll see the water as if it were alieve
And then maybe I'll be living too
Living in a world of grey and blue?
Reflecting Agony
I like to be the bearer of bad news
Gives me a vibe
I feed off the pain
I love being stuck in the dark in the rain
Look into the mirror to see who you are
Have you fallen from a shooting star
Are you more attractive with a pout or a smile
Why don't you come in and stay a while?
People are meant to suffer
I love life in a frown
Don't get me wrong - I'm happy too
But I get a thrill out of smiles upsidedown.
Look into the mirror to see who you are
Have you fallen from a shooting star
Are you more attractive with a pout or a smile
Why don't you come in and stay a while?
And today, when I'm down
I'll really be happy in a way you'll never know
And if the bleeding makes you cringe
You don't have to come in
And if I cannot die here
In my rage, my skin will seer
Look into the mirror to see who you are
Have you fallen from a shooting star
Are you more attractive with a pout or a smile
Why don't you come in and stay a while?
I will be hit by lightning
Before this is through
I will be thrown off a cliff before I give into you
I want to have a melencholy day
And I want to promenade through the rain
I want the sky to be black and the air to be cool and the mood to be dark and the humour to be cruel
I want to have an all around bad day - just today and I want to sing about its lack of shine
And I want just for once for you not to ask what's wrong
Nothings amiss - everything is right because all the rules of submission have gone.
Look into the mirror to see who you are
Have you fallen from a shooting star
Are you more attractive with a pout or a smile
Why don't you come in and stay a while?
And on this day I'll be guilt free
And you and I will be in agony
Together
It will be fun gone down forever and ever
And it will be such a joy to watch the screams on their faces
And know they're in all the wrong places
The meniachal voice that lives inside my mind
Will finally be satisfied
Look into the mirror to see who you are
Have you fallen from a shooting star
Are you more attractive with a pout or a smile
Why don't you come in and stay a while?
Break Her
Bars for the cage I'm trapped in
you look through and stare
and thing "aww how cute," "aww how nice"
you stare and you miss what's really there
I sit ther alone
I sit there in pain
I sit there and you play your detestable mind game
No one even notices when I cry
It gives them pleasure to watch me die
And they make me so numb
I know not how to love
I cannot express human emotions
They think if they break me I'll have sensible notions
Maybe if I'm bored, I'll become boring
Is my personality really worth luring
Into a rabbit trap
Jump leap jump jump SNAP
But I'm not gone - I'll be back
I don't care if you think I'm wrong for trying to leave where I never belinged
But no I'm tiered and I'm weak and I'm losing sleep. |
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| (no subject) |
[Mar. 8th, 2002|11:56 pm] |
Today, i got sleep, yet i'm tiered. I was expectant, but waited around. I want, yet i fear. I cry, but no tears. I wish, but i love, and i want just to be. I love what i have, and i hate what i have. i know not what i have. I'm happy - or depressed - or happy because i'm depresessed? Life is good because i am good. Or is life good because it is all there is. OR is is bad? What the fuck. Who am i? where am i and what am i doing there? Ups and downs - persepctive, yet no forsight. Or foresgiht to much. Worry too much - ponder too much. Complain too much. Live too little. Feel - everything - nothing. Real - not real. Laugh, love, think, die. What???? |
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| (no subject) |
[Feb. 25th, 2002|05:44 am] |
I practiced until my fingers felt like they were going to fall off - it doesn't take very long for that. Then, i was inspired to write. Its not good, its kinda strage, and i haven't read it over since i finished it - or since i started it - it took like a half hour total, and it had no delibrate meaning, so don't feel lost with it - it was just what flowed from my mind to my fingers, so here's what we have:
A Pretty Day
It was exactly as I wanted it. It was a dream that day ? the day I got my bicycle. It was a pink two-wheeler, and I was the first girl every to have one in _________ Sweden. Oh the way the other girls stared as I rode it all around town ? to the general store and the ice cream parlor. They had never envied me before. I had never had any money before. But I had always had my dream.
The dream was one I thought of every morning when I woke up, the one I looked forward to every night before I went to bed, and that I enjoyed during the hours of the night in which I sleep. The dream is the only reason I ever went to bed in the first place. It always went like this: I?m walking along the side of a snowy road. It is cold outside, but I am warm in the cloak that Grandma stitched for me. It has beautiful quilt work on it. It is my prized-possession, and the only thing I?m proud of owning. I walk along the road and up ahead the sun is rising. I feel the warm rays of the sun hit my rosy cheeks, and I know it is going to be a good day. Just as the sun hits its peak in the sky, I see a cabin. The cabin is made of logs, and is quite little. I have never been inside but I know it well. It is not at all mysterious to me, although I don?t know why. My heart beats faster as I approach it. And then, right when I?m about to enter the garden in front of the cabin a boy rides by on a bicycle. He is a handsome boy with nicely cut brown hair and he smiles at me. I smile back. I am in love. He stops right in the middle of the road, and just turns back to stare. I am glad I?m wearing my nice cloak, for I?m sure it will impress him. We stare at each other for what seems like eternity, and then he walks up to me. He always says the same thing; he smiles, ?Hi.? Such a clever boy, he knows exactly what to say ? I know at once he has a way with words. We go to town and get some hot coca at a local diner. And after the first sip, he always goes, ?mmm ? this is delicious, sorry for not introducing myself, I?m Sven, and you?re?? ?Anna? I always answer. We talk for a while, and then he always has to leave on his bike. And he rides away into the distance and as he?s just at the boarder between gone and still here, he calls out to me, ?I wish you could come, I really do, but you need to ride on a bicycle.? And then I always wake up. But, now that I have a bike it will all be different, I can?t wait to fall asleep.
Yet, when I went to sleep, the dream was EXACTLY the same:
The dream was one I thought of every morning when I woke up, the one I looked forward to every night before I went to bed, and that I enjoyed during the hours of the night in which I sleep. The dream is the only reason I ever went to bed in the first place. It always went like this: I?m walking along the side of a snowy road. It is cold outside, but I am warm in the cloak that Grandma stitched for me. It has beautiful quilt work on it. It is my prized-possession, and the only thing I?m proud of owning. I walk along the road and up ahead the sun is rising. I feel the warm rays of the sun hit my rosy cheeks, and I know it is going to be a good day. Just as the sun hits its peak in the sky, I see a cabin. The cabin is made of logs, and is quite little. I have never been inside but I know it well. It is not at all mysterious to me, although I don?t know why. My heart beats faster as I approach it. And then, right when I?m about to enter the garden in front of the cabin a boy rides by on a bicycle. He is a handsome boy with nicely cut brown hair and he smiles at me. I smile back. I am in love. He stops right in the middle of the road, and just turns back to stare. I am glad I?m wearing my nice cloak, for I?m sure it will impress him. We stare at each other for what seems like eternity, and then he walks up to me. He always says the same thing, he smiles, ?What?s you?re name?? Such a clever boy, he knows exactly what to say ? I know at once he has a way with words. We go to town and get some hot coca at a local diner. And after the first sip, he always goes, ?I?ve had better, you should come with me sometime, and we can get a drink worth drinking.? We talk for a while, and then he always has to leave on his bike. And he rides away into the distance and as he?s just at the boarder between gone and still here, he calls out to me, ?I wish you could come, I really do, but you need to ride on a bicycle.? And then I always wake up.
And the next night, the dream is unchanged, bike or no bike:
The dream was one I thought of every morning when I woke up, the one I looked forward to every night before I went to bed, and that I enjoyed during the hours of the night in which I sleep. The dream is the only reason I ever went to bed in the first place. It always went like this: I?m walking along the side of a snowy road. It is cold outside, but I am warm in the cloak that Grandma stitched for me. It has beautiful quilt work on it. It is my prized-possession, and the only thing I?m proud of owning. I walk along the road and up ahead the sun is rising. I feel the warm rays of the sun hit my rosy cheeks, and I know it is going to be a good day. Just as the sun hits its peak in the sky, I see a cabin. The cabin is made of logs, and is quite little. I have never been inside but I know it well. It is not at all mysterious to me, although I don?t know why. My heart beats faster as I approach it. And then, right when I?m about to enter the garden in front of the cabin a boy rides by on a bicycle. He is a handsome boy with nicely cut brown hair and he smiles at me. I smile back. I am in love. He stops right in the middle of the road, and just turns back to stare. I am glad I?m wearing my nice cloak, for I?m sure it will impress him. We stare at each other for what seems like eternity, and then he walks up to me. He always says the same thing, he smiles, ?Want to go for a walk in the woods?? Such a clever boy, he knows exactly what to say ? I know at once he has a way with words. We walk into the woods for a while, but then we loose our way. I begin to get a little bit colder, and he says, ?almost there.? I have no idea where we?re going. But, then he always has to leave on his bike. And he rides away into the distance and as he?s just at the boarder between gone and still here, he calls out to me, ?I wish you could come, I really do, but you need to ride on a bicycle.? And then I always wake up.
And so I dream my dream again.
The dream was one I thought of every morning when I woke up, the one I looked forward to every night before I went to bed, and that I enjoyed during the hours of the night in which I sleep. The dream is the only reason I ever went to bed in the first place. It always went like this: I?m walking along the side of a snowy road. It is cold outside, but I am warm in the cloak that Grandma stitched for me. It has beautiful quilt work on it. It is my prized-possession, and the only thing I?m proud of owning. I walk along the road and up ahead the sun is rising. I feel the warm rays of the sun hit my rosy cheeks, and I know it is going to be a good day. Just as the sun hits its peak in the sky, I see a cabin. The cabin is made of logs, and is quite little. I have never been inside but I know it well. It is not at all mysterious to me, although I don?t know why. My heart beats faster as I approach it. I enter the cabin, inside is a boy. He is a handsome boy with nicely cut brown hair and he smiles at me. I smile back. I am in love. He just turns to stare. I take off my cloak. We stare at each other for what seems like eternity, and then he walks up to me. He always says the same thing, he smiles, ?Want to go for a walk in the woods?? Such a clever boy, he knows exactly what to say ? I know at once he has a way with words. We walk into the woods for a while, but then we loose our way. I begin to get a little bit colder, and he says, ?almost there.? I have no idea where we?re going. Then he pulls an ax from his belt, and cuts down a tree to start a fire. But, then he always has to leave on his bike. And he rides away into the distance and as he?s just at the boarder between gone and still here, he calls out to me, ?I wish you could come, I really do, but you need to ride on a bicycle.? And then I always wake up.
I never grow tiered of the dream, though it never changes.
The dream was one I thought of every morning when I woke up, the one I looked forward to every night before I went to bed, and that I enjoyed during the hours of the night in which I sleep. The dream is the only reason I ever went to bed in the first place. It always went like this: I?m walking along the side of a snowy road. It is cold outside, but I am warm in the cloak that Grandma stitched for me. It is my prized-possession. I walk along the road and up ahead the sun is rising. I feel the warm rays of the sun hit my rosy cheeks. Just as the sun hits its peak in the sky, I see a cabin. The cabin is made of logs, and is quite little. I have never been inside but I know it well. It is mysterious to me, although I don?t know why. My heart beats faster as I approach it. I enter the cabin, inside is a boy. He is a handsome boy with nicely cut brown hair and he smiles at me. I smile back. I am in love. He just turns to stare. I take off my cloak. We stare at each other for what seems like eternity, and then he walks up to me. He always says the same thing; he smiles, ?Hi.? Such a clever boy, he knows exactly what to say ? I know at once he has a way with words. We walk into the woods for a while, but then we loose our way. I begin to get a little bit colder, and he says, ?almost there.? I have no idea where we?re going. Then he pulls an ax from his belt, and cuts down a tree to start a fire. We sit by the fire a while, and he asks me if I have a bike. I tell him I have just gotten one. He is angry ? I don?t know why. He says he needs to get more wood. He?ll be back. When he?s back, he trips, the ax falls down upon my arm. There is blood in the fresh white snow ? my blood. Its hurts ? I begin to cry, and he strikes me again ? this time on purpose. But, then he always has to leave on his bike. And he rides away into the distance and as he?s just at the boarder between gone and still here, he calls out to me, ?I wish you could come, I really do, but you need to ride on a bicycle.? And then I always wake up.
Or that?s the way it would have been. |
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| Bar Chords and HOL |
[Jan. 22nd, 2002|11:20 pm] |
Today goes like this: Wake up, want so much to stay in bed, go shower, want so much to get back in bed, get ready, go to school, come back, daddy and Shabby Chic, read HOL, watch tv, online forever, practice for hour, fingers fall off, finish house, need to read again, love, need to understand, need to grow, online more. Gee Golly! you think, yea, just a book. But then you read the book, but you can't just read it cause its not just a book. Its not like anything else where it ends, you're sad, think about it for a while, and once in a while refer back to it in your day-to-day life. NO, i have just begun it. I have only just started exploration #1, i will have to go a long way before i find the end of the Laybrinth and come back. Not creepy so much anymore, but its like i've been let in on part of this secret, and i can't know the rest of it until i prove that i deserve to know. i broke my batboy cd today, and now i'm sad and having withdrwal, but today does not stand out as bad to me, so thats a plus. How a wonderous world full of vast beauty and depth and death as well... |
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| I should have practiced, i mean who reads for like four hours a nite? |
[Jan. 14th, 2002|10:57 pm] |
I love portable cd players, because you can just put on your headphones and enter your own private world, and forget that anyone else is around you. It's not that life is bad, life is good, the world is just bad and full of a public i generally find it benifical to avoid...does that make me sound bithcy?
HOL is consuming what was once my life (not that it was often much of a life, but...). I can't not read it, and when i read it, i'm not reading, i'm living, living more so than i ever could outside of it. I can't stop. It almost made me cry yesterday. It lies facedown, open on my floor under a pillow, so as i can't see it and the blackness can't engulf me so easily as when its in view. I want to read on, but my body is forcing me to sleep and i can't sleep because i fear it...yet, it seems to tie together and validate everything in my life, make it all seem real. It is in fact more real than anything i know,which would be funny, because to a person of science it would be an impossibility (i'm not a person of science though) I am almost becoming Johnny, for without it i am nothing, have no meaning, and with it, i am a mess...I should go get my palm-pilot alarm, but its downstairs and i kinda fear leaving my room right now. I'm gonna pass out right here, i know its only 11, but i really need some sleep...I just hope that when i wake, i don't have an extra closet (although that might solve a lot of my storage problems)...all so creepy, maybe mine should be taken away too - much too young.... |
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| Martha Stewart: Living tips of the day |
[Jan. 7th, 2002|12:58 pm] |
Tip number one: When trying to show your Chirstmas spirit, the absolute best thing you can do is hang a straw goat from your celing; Although it looks like animal sacrifice to some, we'll know what its for!
Tip number two: NEVER read a book called "Snowboarding to Nirvana" no good can come of it. |
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| Black lace/happy day |
[Dec. 21st, 2001|10:42 pm] |
I would like to start this by saying that i hate all teenie bopping puppets and the sounds that they make; whenever possible any of the pop "music" they create should be thrown into a fire, for it is entirely too fake for reality, it all sounds exactly the same3 and anyone who sings it sounds as if they are dying, adn i really wish that they would. Anyway... So, now that that's gone i can drone on about something pointless that i must write down, lest i would otherwise forget. I am still alive. I am still sitting in this house, and i am beginning to grow homesick. Friday, at home. i made a skirt out of some old jeans. Feeling isolated again - my own fault this time. I'm in this cage that is my mind - handcuffed to it, in fact. I am a stripper, flailing my body about it and i want to stop, i want to leave, but i can't. Yells in the background tell me to keep going...i do, for without that cage, i am simply some ordinary slut - nothing even. If i try to deny its existance i am denying who i am, i am denying my nights - my past. I learn nothing and i live in fear. Yet, if i admit to it, then i am crazy, not worthy of time amoungst other people. I love the cage, but i hate what it makes me become. I am only in the cage for i need it to survive; its only a part of my life because without it, i have no home. Will always be a part of me. Just a stupid anology or metophor or whatever...I watched fashion emergency with daddy - he has too much free time. X-mas is soon. That's happy... |
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| (no subject) |
[Dec. 19th, 2001|01:18 am] |
Since Friday, i haven't been me. I wasn't on Earth, but i wasn't in my dream world either. It was weird. I'm mostly back now - somewhere on the line between what's real and what's mine, and i don't know where to go. The voices are back again though - which is good - in a sense, for they are the best part of whoever i am. And, i'm kinda unsure about where i'm going. I'm not in a bad place, just a new one. Maybe i've grown...maybe i was just ready for a change - some new thoughts. I just feel like i've been wasting all of my time. Today wasn't bad, but what have i learned? Will i remember it when my lungs get the fresh breath of tommorw? My thoughts are running in circles - crashing into eachother - i think maybe i need some sleep. Its jsut that i don't want to forget - i don't want to have thoughts put into my head for me to learn from, and then forget they ever existed. So, i am here at 1:30 after having done my project trying to make sense of my day - my mind - my life. Half of the time, i'm out dreaming of whats not - what one day be be - and the other half i'm so utterly realistic it kills me. No happy medium. Yet, maybe i don't want a happy medium- maybe that's not what i'm meant to have - no - it would be dreadfully dull indeed. I'm lost in the house of leaves - fearing only what i have created, knowing only what my mind can fathom - having only what i appriciate. I'm feeling very much like the little blue dress - never quite fitting anywhere - i think i might like that though. Definately wrote enough today... |
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