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Friday, June 29th, 2007
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2:15 pm - Absurdit theater exported
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So, I'm going to Japan next year, and I understand they like shirts with english on them, especially curse words. SO I'm gonna make some shirts, and some bank following hopefully, but I'd like to contaminate the country with something other than obscenities. I was hoping for purely gibberish prose that, when translated, surely sounds foreign and bizarre. Post some ideas, and I'll shirtify them!
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(4 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, June 17th, 2007
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10:27 am - wtf
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I should not be awake this early, I mean really. I saw the sun rise this morning, and slept already too.
But, since I happen to be awake, and it happens to be 90 degrees, I think it's time to go swimming instead of focusing on howework. YAY
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(comment on this)
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| Wednesday, June 6th, 2007
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4:56 pm - commercial frustration
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I keep dreaming up things I would like to own, none of which seem to exist. which is great because it means my ideas are rare if not original. but at the same time, I don't own a shoe factory, so I can't very well do it myself. Where the fuck is all the emerald green nail polish??? we have nasty yellow, salmon, orange, red, purple, silver, copper, UV, glow in the dark, peel off, glitter, two tone, temperature sensitive.. where the FUCK IS THE GREEEEEN.
Karla and I had a shave of a near death experience, going home from ceremony - some crazy guy mangled her right mirror, grazing the side of her sitting car as he flew past at least going 30, while we were in it. talk about derailing your train of thought.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, May 29th, 2007
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4:51 pm - wooo0Oo0t
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Doooode Patman bought me a new scooter, since my old one hit its last sidewalk crack before lying to rest at the bottom of my stairs recently, and it runs like glass....
In other news... I saw 8 movies this weekend. Yay consumerism entertainment values.
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| Tuesday, May 22nd, 2007
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5:52 pm - harder than it should be
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| Wednesday, May 16th, 2007
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12:57 pm - Another one
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I'll keep it short.
So I'm on some river rafting trip, and we're done, so we're in tow behind a speed boat going back, and on our way there we spot some 300 ft totally prehistoric monster swimming along. But he's cool, so we're cool. He's not the only one, an Ichthyosaurus decides to sample a girl named Peaches, by cutting a slit in the raft with his nose and yanking on her wrist. She objected to this sort of treatment by screaming and kicking, as anybody would in a shark attack. I, for whatever reason, maybe because not only could I spell but pronounce the creature's name, thought I was thus fitted to vanquished it, so I grabbed it around the snout and smacked it on its head over and over again until it wrenched out of my hand. Of course, his beak is in my right hand, and I'm right handed, so I would imagine slapping the smooth, 3 inch thick blubber didn't bother him much, so he came back for more. This time I used my heel to jab him in the eye. I guess it worked, but there was blood everywhere. good times.
Karla's graduation yay! party all weekend.
Also, I'm sort of starting a business where I design body stencils, and I'll be opening up a store on ebay, but I need a name. Any ideas? My clientelle will likely be gothy kids, but I'm hoping for something suggestive but neutral ya? any idea works for me!
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(5 comments | comment on this)
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| Tuesday, May 15th, 2007
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12:49 pm - nightmare
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Can someone please tell me what the fuck has been on my mind.
So this dream is chapters long, but I only remember the last 3 or four. The really choppy version of the beginning is wandering though a relative's sci-fi looking grocery store in a night gown no younger than 1900, wide-eyed, and very apprehensive. It was huge, and nothing looked familiar, it wasn't laid out in rows, but piles in wooden boxes, like fruit stands, except everything was that way, and nothing was packaged. I don't remember how, but I ended up in a basement meeting room with a few people, including Harrison Ford and... some other star wars affiliate. I asked about this really weird, wooden letter, red quote on the wall and some guy from the back yelled something about an inside star wars joke; the rules of business or some such nonsense. Harrison rolled his eyes. Then they all started to sing some favorite line from the movie, which now that i'm awake, I'm pretty sure isn't in the movie. Any of them.
SO, somehow me and... I don't even know who, some other young girl who I appear to be close to, are trekking from this alien grocery store over this alien terrain, by foot. I'll try to describe it. We were crossing horizontally this mountain made entirely of soft, damp, loose soil. built over it were these small platforms, wedged into the mountain at diagonal angles. They made a sort of stair case, except they were set at strides longer than the height of a human body, so between them were these jenga block looking pillare
s, acting as stepping stools - except they were quite feeble and would fall into the soil beneath you. They were attached by some hempy, wickery rope to the platforms, so when one would sink down into the soil, it would pull that side of the platform down to daunting angles, threatening to crush us. We made it across a few dozen of them, sending off an avalanche as we had to jump simultaneously to reach to the solid ground, the force of which yanked a platform at such an angle to act as a sled, and just plowing through the pegs and platforms and soft soil at a thunderously scary rate.
So, we were before a house, my step-sister's house, a huge, ominous, creaky, dark age lookin house, under angry skies.the porch was littered with large cornish rex kitties, whose inner ears reflected light like copper.
They were all looking off at some unseen point in the black distance, over the bottomless gorge with intense, unwavering glares. One or two turned to acknowledge me, the shrill gaze unchanging, and when I moved to touch them, they kept mathematically perfect distance from my hand. This gave me a sense of confusion and impending panic. So I went inside to find my sister, as it was her birthday tomorrow. The house was dark, and seemed to sway and warp, as if it were also on the soft sands. She came to greet me in a pink, frilly frock, a girl of maybe 7, when in real life she is 3 months my senior. We played and smiled for all of 5 minutes before her eyes bulged out in horror and she shrieked in a whisper to me to hide.
Immediately I felt the panic take hold, the presence of whatever doom arriving being unimaginable and inescapable, but that didn't stop the terror in me from trying. So I'm running all throughout this house at reckless speeds, but I never outrun what is a slow-moving, female demon, with a face that looks like it's been mulched by a meatgrinder, no feet under the lace of her long dress, instead a trail of.. maybe intestines or sinews or something, and noises I can't even make. I'm throwing myself into cabinets, nooks, shadows, anything, but I can't hide, she has no eyes and always sees me.
In any case, I dream that I woke up, and told the whole story, and painted a picture about it. I can't paint, but if I could, I would know that I was supposed to paint that.
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(2 comments | comment on this)
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| Friday, May 11th, 2007
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2:59 pm - picket fence panic
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Imagine for a minute that you graduated from Brown University. you spent most of your life in the quiet suburbs of a back-seat city, thinking about how to get to your place in the world. You moved to boston, a lively big little town, to be closer to your new job as flower shop regional manager. A few more years of this, and you can finally move outside the city, with your own lawn, a garage, and a seperate bedroom for the newest family addition. And you’re driving from work on mass ave tomorrow to pick your daughter up from soccer, and there are over 300 people who are limping, dressed as horror movie extras lurching through harvard square, screaming “brains” and wiping their bloody, dirt-caked clothing all over the 96 bus windows.
Tomorrow at 630!
Davis Square - harvard.
You should come, it'll be hilarious.
current mood: undead
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| Wednesday, May 2nd, 2007
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6:09 pm - cycle
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Sometimes I worry that memories are like antique matchsticks. You alight them in your mind, burn through the sulfur, experience the smell, the sound, the vivid flare of light.. and in seconds it's gone. Everytime you go back to it there's less and less to burn, until the fire gets down to your fingers, and all you remember is that it was a memory.
Especially those ones you dig up after years or even decades, the ones that have no pictures or artifacts to attatch themselves in the present and hold to your life.
current mood:  indifferent
current music: cinematic orchestra
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Wednesday, April 25th, 2007
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1:49 pm - tintinnabulations
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Woo! one paper down and one revision, pop quiz, final exam, presentation, and final paper to go! then the semester is over and I get to experience relief similar to being rescued from under a 500 pound rock after 30 hours.
My ten page paper, which I wrote this morning, went off without a hitch. Legible, organized, and on fucking time above all. So now I'm in class, posting in the middle of a slow, scholarly, studdering guest speaker on Socrates, with no syllabus other than answering our questions, of which I personally have none, because I just spent 5 months researching the man myself for a good grade.
Karla's opening goes up soon, and amon tobin willl be here sunday, every self-respecting electronica enthusiast should be there, with or without knowing his work, but knowing no more than he's a major, intellectual, pioneering, hybridizing digital composer... so delight your ears!
An abridged theory for you:
So there's more than one dark age in written history. In fact, a dark age is a period where we have no idea what's going on, what happened, and why because all the archeology of the period has disappeared almsot completely. No graves to dig up, no wall paintings, no stoen carvings, no account for the sudden silence. They happen in every lineage, and our history is too short to short to say so yet, but I think it happens on a regular basis.
We're due for one.
Let's look at antiquity for a moment. The earliest dark age I know of is somewhere around 2700 BCE (Before Common Era) and the next one is from 1200-800 BCE. so they're about... a millenium and a half apart, but as the gap between evolutions grows shorter, and the last darkage in western history was what... 900 CE (Common Era) I forget the years. Anyway, the high classical period is named such because it was birth and zenith of much of modern society: democracy, art, philosophy, science, mathematics, etc. These people had drills they used on marble without electricity. They built temples a hundred feet high without cranes. They calculated the density of silver without calculators. They wrote encyclopedias without paper, they had indoor plumbing without pumps, without generators, without purifiers... they mapped the galaxy without satellites, they moved an endless ton with rope and pulleys, Athens had a pure near 100% democracy, they put human conciousness on the map! So far, we haven't added a whole lot other than stylistic additions to what they've already provided for us, like electricity, plastic, the internet, nihilism, and nueroscience.
This isn't exactly possible becuase of the sheer population of earth, but it's fun to think about:
We are becoming so specialized, we will soon be helpless. How long before mechanics are people who learn the menus of the computers that fix cars, and know nothing of cars themselves? how long before people can't parallel park a car made in 2000, because all cars newer come equipped with rear cameras and laser measurement tools? how long before we cannot sew together our clothes, we cannot grow our own food, we cannot treat our own symptoms, we cannot read a map??? That's an important one. I mean, what would happen if we lost the art of preserving food, long enough for it to conveniently arrive in the corniacopic phenomenon we call a gorcery store, we'd all be fucked! Farmers would suddenly be thought of as wise, powerful men, and not uneducated social throwbacks. Our history could easily become entirely electronic. Our information and resources could be entirely virtual, things that would be artifacts centuries from now will be invisible, spread over thousands of bits of untracable fiber optic pixels. Our schedules, our bank accounts, our letters, or emails, our journals... all will be lost when our fragile electro-ecosystem, based entirely on a corporeal one, fails, and we have no experience with unvirtual life? isn't that what a dark age is?
Believe you me, it is abridged.
shmoodle
current mood:  thoughtful
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| Tuesday, April 24th, 2007
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6:30 pm - broadBandwagon
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I have done a bad thing. Operation Rectify under construction.
doodle of the day, a mashup of a goat, cat, and bat skull, I think. Maybe horse and not goat, I forget. It's like two years old. I haven't doodled today so I'll just have to dig up some backlog.
back to my paper, damnit. I found out it isn't late, it's due tomorrow yay.
current music: ladytron
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| Monday, April 23rd, 2007
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5:59 pm - back from NYC
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Boston feels very very small, and simple after new york. I was relieved to be home but it feels like returning to podunk nowhere.
That city has stolen me, and I see many trips to it in my future. the fungwah rox.
I saw the metropolitan, times square, the oldest pizza house in the nation, ground zero, grand central station, Spamelot (a must see, the musical rendition of monty python's the holy grail with contemporary jokes to spare) and some of the most extraterrestrial candy ravers I've ever seen in pictures OR real life. Best part is, they were form boston.
I've had a lot on my mind lately, I think the sketch shows it, somehow.
printing class. the warm weather and open windows makes it hard to pay attention
I'm clean but unkempt, I have the wear of travel like I've been gone for a week, I have a portrait of socrates I totally forgot about late, I have a presentation to do, an air conditioner to acquire, a shoot tonight (redone a third time) and about 6 new theories about the human race, life, and my niche in it to unload on the world. But not right now I spose, I'm off to shower, make spameatti, and check out a snazzy new vehicular plaything.
current mood: frazzled
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| Thursday, April 19th, 2007
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4:59 pm - .oOo.
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That didn't take long. I figured what on this blogging overload of a planet I can use a live journal for. A sketchpad forum! SO, from now on, I'll try my bestest to include a doodle or something minor brain candy every time I post. See, now I don't feel dumb, because I can publish something other than how boring my day was or wasn't.
archeology class
current mood:  artistic
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2:09 pm - testing, testing
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1..2..3..... guess it's not on. perfect.
so um, because I'm lame and I want to be cool like all the cool kids on LJ omgsoawesome, I'm gonna do what they do, until I figure out why in the world people post about their life for other people to read.
So um.... I feel sick because I had 6 drink tickets at VNV last night, and at least 3 more following... yay sugary stomach punching people poison. And.... I ground myself all over axis's pole, again... and, remind me to skirt from the cameras when I have more than two in me. The racehorse showed up, to my surprise. I love how the wrinkles there just evaporate over a few days press time.... what else do you write in a live journal....
Going to NYC to see me mum.. and Tim Curry this weekend.
Have an uber presentation due wednesday, that I have yet to start.
Saw Grindhouse recently.. very entertaining high-end art student filmy hoaxy calamity. I swear, Rose McGowin is the child of Angelina Jolie and that chickie who plays felicity in the second Austin powers movie. Reminds me of Nowhere... and darker days in my history, yay!
the end.
current mood:  blank
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| Thursday, January 19th, 2006
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1:53 am
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welp. I should definitly be sleeping. But there is no sleep for me to have. Not now. I sit here and think, mostly of what to write, but moreover, why I would write it. Is life nothing but a spectacle, an unending performance art. It's like how my favorite boss put it to me, or something like it:
Life is shit. Well, more like you are shit, and life is the toilet. You bump into other shit, and get a little of it on you and you on it. It's the physics of people obviously.
I'm sure he worded it better. He did have that unquestionable aura of wisdom in which its passage from him to you couldn't be refined or improved, in that Chinese Mastah type of.. archetype. In any case, the question remains. No, not THE question, to which I already have the answer. But a more important sub-division of it. We're just here for soemone else's amusement, mostly. I mean, even if the tree does make a sound, when no one's there to hear it, the fact remains, that no one is there to hear it. which ultimately means, no one cares. If theres no way to prove it, and the answer is irrelivant anyway... then I really shouldn't have to finish that. Your existence is meaningless without its observation, isn't it. Let's pretend for a moment that all buddhistic hermits are hereby enlightened, and not you, so don't use them as an example.
You are a puppet of the world, dancing to your own music on the stage of your own wood. Are you waiting for an audience, or a partner on the stage. Are you lucky enough to have them already. What is life if someone is not there to observe it. Which brings me to this:
"life" essentially, is people.
Because NOTHING you know could possibly be exempt from it. from people I mean. Yes yes, nature, as if possibly untouched by man... whatever. No no, life is people, the ones who show you nature, and its demise, on TV. Life is buildings and catastrophe, news, gossip, death, renewal, emotions... it's all people. All the life you could ever love or cry for would be human, even if your favorite cat died, you'd be doing something directly thereafter for and to people. painting, screaming, performing any of the grotesque, pre-dictated avenues of expression. When you say life sucks, you Always and Can Only mean people.
People are more responsible for the cycles of suck than anyone but me seems to think. They call it luck, karma, coincidence. God even, or Satan. Whichever fits the task. You're mad you didn't get the job. Was it because he was a minority? Affirmitive blacktion right, that's a pretty human implication. Was it because of that thing, that slipped in the interview, that you hoped you wouldn't say, but managed to. Or maybe you didn't see it coming. It's appeasing a hierarchy, masked by equality for money, since we no longer barter to survive. That's a pretty human implication. I mean think about it, you can only murder something human. Or you can kill an animal, but even environmentalist shy from the word murder. Somehow, those lacking thumbs and literature are not worthy.
People are greedy, thats why you get fucked. That's why you get used, excluded, extorted, exploited. Don't blame it on irony, or karma, or divinty. If anything, you can start with yourself, for thinking that they wouldn't fuck you. For being surprised when they did. I think the chaos is all very admirable, an orchestration truly unique and profound, the contradtiction, the oblivion, the tears. They are all such pretty colors in the painting, the painting which people seem determined to paint over. Stop pointing a finger and open your eyes. Enjoy the torture, the irony, the dance between unimportant nemesises, as they strive to secure their gaudily selfish well being. They are like waves, of different oceans, identical but colliding, competing, rejoining. Rippling into indistinguishable consequences. How high 'life' would put you, to watch the show, if you only knew you were in it.
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| Monday, October 17th, 2005
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10:07 pm
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Lose weight. Sweet tooth. No self discipline. Can't lose weight. Don't want to exercise. I shouldn't have to, it should be a part of my daily routine. As in doing what i do naturally should be exersice. it isn't.
Eat better. No more fried food. No more red meat. No more inhaling food. Chew slower. eat less and more often. Snack. don't eat before bed. Eat when wake up. I hate breakfast. Jumpstart metabolism. I hate needing sleep. Get to bed early. Stop being tired. I hate being tired. Need self discipline.
Losing track of time. Do homework. Stop slacking. Stop social life. It's a distraction. No time for homework. No self discipline. Animation project half finished and late. Silkscreening prints, unfinished. relief prints, unfinished. Casting project - lacking materials. Watch funds. Income unstable. Spend an hour on 4 frames. Finish 53 frames. In one day. Today. Stopped at 40. Start another cycle of even more frames. Due in a week if not tomorrow. No more good ideas.
Go to preshows. Dance. Sweat. Excercise. Study the microcosm of alternative clash and unition. Learn the Asians dance. Do it in perfectionist imitation. Go to work. Pop 11 bags of popcorn. Grow exhausted. Go to Rocky. Try not to underdress. Learn entire show cues. Pay attention, don't lose focus. Dread Wombat's retiring. Sleep. Go to dress rehearsal, at 10 am. Not enough sleep. Don't complain. Idle at the day's plans. Do homework. Too tired, too unmotivated. Muse, aggravated at continuously poor eating habits. On all days pertaining to rocky, entertain evening guest. Coincidentally enjoy warmer sleep. Coincidentally spend more money. Worry? Not yet. Check up on out shows. No word. Initiate announce list. Ill success. Anxious about out shows. Too much Rocky? Probably. Trixy on thursday. Trixy on halloween. Oh yeah. Check LJ. Waste life on computer. Check Ebay. Check Mail. Check Messages. Fewer messages. Go to bed on time. Go to bed.
current mood: without.
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| Wednesday, September 28th, 2005
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12:11 am - errright
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So like
I wasn't drunk. I wasn't high. I was bored. And feeling philosophical. And chaotic obviously. I really can't tell if it's finished or even a complete thought. Ignore errors.
PLEASE RESPOND [intelligently]
love.
Love is an accident. True love is. Real love. True love is a stupid term thats been austracized into this phantom divinty of chance and predestination and nothing sensible at all.
Real love is an accident. It’s only where you’d never think to look for it, and when you never want to find it. Real love is a problem. It controls you, it steals you, it contorts and warps you, it is your most dangerous catalyst that makes every evolution unpredictable. Real love is bigger than you, and it isn’t obsession. I’m not sure that obsession can ever become love, but I don’t know that it can’t.
Most people want this authentic perfection so badly, they’ve drugged reason to see it. They make it out in places where it isn’t, and you’ll find they’re not actually happy. They just want to be badly enough. Never ever underestimate the power of denial.
Real love takes time. I’m pretty sure love at first sight it as probable and common as (insert rare rare rare occurance). Love takes time. It’s so dangerous and unstable, there’s so much to learn abouta brain before you can love it.
People are a collection of faces. And no matter who you are to who, there are some faces you will never ever see, and some to someone else they will never ever know. There is no discovering, even mapping the blips in sociology as one person comes or leaves the room, unknown or not, hated, worshipped, respected, the details are endless and irrelevant. Every individual is a magnet for certain truths and repellents to others. Every environment inspires a different comfort, a different engagement, and you cannnot be in all of them. All relationships, as in objects and their relativity, are strictly unique products of unique ingredients. Like a kaleidascope. different every time, even between the same two beads. To love, you must trust, and to trust, youmust both familiariaze and accept more than the primarily accessable faces. And that takes a lot of time, and alot of.. variables.
Real love takes time, so much time. The science of your partners exsistence, I SWEAR, holds the key to the ability of your love. You can love them not so much by knowing them, but by learning them. Learn of their sweet soft quirks, the thing they have never told anyone, and never needed to, the way they hate laundry folded, the reason behind their beverage choices. There are two things to a being. what they are, and why. People’s guesses can be direct hits or blatant misses on who they think they see, when they look at a face they enjoy, familiar or not. You could love a bald head until you learned it was a Nazi movement. You could hate a kitchy necklace until you learn its the single surviving keep sake of a godly relative. Sometimes people do not even understand the importance of Why they are Who they are. They never really make the connection. And you will never notice if you do not take the time.
When hunting down this retarded emotion, most people suggest looking for your opposite, and some your twin. Attraction is born immediately where you and your new toy are the same, but it explodes when you are the same for the same reasons. When you both love not only this obscure band, but the same songs. The same lyrics, the same aesthetics and virtues pushing your eyes to percceive an idea as you do. How disappointing is it when someone says they love Nine inch nails, and you find they hate Fragile because it’s A) trendy with the wrong crowd B) soft, which makes it trendy with the wrong crowd, when really B) is what you call profound composition and the affectionatre soul pangs of our industrial sell out, Trent. But someone just like you will drive you nuts. when you both can’t get up early. when you both hate cooking. when you both want the soggy fries. There can only be one you. and your etherial twin needs a bullet.
Where’s the balance? How can they be like you and be your compliment also? how can they feed your weakness and need your strength, without competing for either? Which is predominant? I’m not even remotely sure. Let me attempt.
You love when your reasons collide. when you do as you do for the same reasons, even if its not the same things. When you like cottage cheese for the texture and not the taste at all, and they hate it for the same reason. are you not bound tighter by your love of texture if not by the same one? Can you be diametric in the manifestations of an identical passion and be harmonious? Profoundly?
No, I don’t think so. Well. I suppose it depends on the manner and measure of the detesting. You can pretty much control your exposure to cottage cheese. Maybe that’s not the right dichotomy for love exactly.
Like music. When two muscians are well polished, well educated, well exposed in fields each of the other DESPISES, do they not form respect by their handpicked opinions, cherished and garnered wirhout omissions for ignorance? Wouldn’t they gete along better than someone who could so blasphemously tout they did not even care enough to turn on a radio, let alone change the station? Someone who had no eye for music, didn’t collect, had no passion for it. DING dING DING, I found the word
passion
Passion - as in that in life which drives you, inspires you, exclusive of all other homosapiens, the thing which you would defend against all insulting eyes - the majesty of your 46 piece 800$ worth, handbuilt hand painted collection of transformers.... It’s that... light that is not at the end of the tunnel, it’s closer than that, the thing which you can turn to and swim in to be free of all petty, stressful things, it is your passion. your passion for life, for a special section of the mass, towering orchestration of life, the part of the painting that makes sense and entrances you.
Now... what about it has to be the same. The passion? the amount of it? the ability to share it, or willingness to? Isn;t passion the only thing that makes a human being possibly more attractive than tolerable. To watch them love, to watch them work for and on their love, love for cars for flowes, for cats, sand composits, trash heaps, fabric titles, elf species, toothepaste caps..... an authentic, longlived passion. is it not the reason mankind might not be perpetually loathsome? is it not the reason forgiveness is fathomable? Something here must be similar. But what?
It can;t be the passion itself. that’s too... dangerous. If two people could be so violently sensual about... I dunno, orthidontics, wouldn;t it collide eventually? Would the subject not be doted on differently? Would one not find the other’s choice of reverance repulsive, or at the very least flawed? What if he liked it in a patriotic sort of way, enamored by his alteration of some crooked smile and thus the secret godfather of the new beauty, whereas she just loved having her fingers in someone else’s mouth, found prefrance in being lord over the body in a bizarre gateway between the durable, firm shell and that tender, fragile, vuluptuous tissue that is the vulnerable inside known as the mouth, the body’s ultimate intake port. When they steal away to express their twisted guilty pleasure dressed in the form of a civilized profession and finally be understood, finally not retreive a look of complete flaberghasted contortion when the empathy elevator doesn’t reach down into that oral floor, would they not discover they are no further from being isolated on their own planet???
Maybe I’m just making an assumption: that afore mentioned phenomenon could exist outside of the propaganda that is media entertainment, and that that could be not only mine but every one’s deep down desire. To be understood, in the darkest, dampest crevice, in your favorite sacred place. Or is that just me?
I suddenly feel naked in my definition of love. I guess that should be standardized before I go off picking the idea apart let alone the word.
current music: right where it belongs
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| Wednesday, September 14th, 2005
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11:20 am
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Heyyyy livejournals are kinda useless. Dated, ephemeral, if anyone reads through it they read through the recent ones, and even then with tolerance rather than interest more often than not. SO, if the world isn't surveying your journals your entries will slip into obsoletion unencountered...
Do I bitch-rant? Do I epiphanize? Do I demonstrate my oh so ooglable schedule?
Gimme more interaction. Not that I've aroused terribly controversial or opinionated material, Make it a forum, not a blog spooge. When I say we, you say suck, right? We'll call it teamwork. ONTO THE SLAG!
Soooooo I was thinking about plugging my school for an outside RHPS performance..... but it's a really small school, and they're all elitist, artsy fartsy bastards with unpredictable, dainty standards, so I don't want to be like "Hey FBC come to my school it'll be awesome" because I can't guarentee that anybody here will be casual or curious enough to bother, and I can't be like "Hey SMFA, come to my show it'll be awesome" because I'll have to deal with the sneering of "pshaw, that's not artistic, that's not [insert viable artistic vanity here] you're just a stereotypical blah blah...." I can think of a few emphatic members. Keep in mind, I have no friends here, and I have no idea what the general ambiance of the opinion is, so maybe come halloweenish they all go "hey, that's something to do, sure why not." Im.. just.. a well prepared pessimist. SO. If you all are willing to face the possibility of putting on a show for a selective handful, then say the word, because I'm the reject here anyway.
WE ::puts a hand to an ear and leans::
current mood:  quixotic
current music: the clicking sound of fellow students
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(3 comments | comment on this)
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| Sunday, September 4th, 2005
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10:41 am - testing...
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| Saturday, September 3rd, 2005
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4:05 pm - They're back
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The beautiful days, they're back again... It's those cirrus dipped liquid skies and that yellow-pinked breeze, it feels like sunrise in the twilight. It smells like childhood and though the memories bereft of pictures, the sunlight you remember, the feeling you retain. The follicles on your cheeks seem more alive, frolicking down the back of your neck with that sweet sepia familiarity. The colors swim easier now, in these popsicle days, I hear warm cement and nothing is painted. It is all in it's purest form, not re-rendered, not harnessed, it's all source. I love these days, these sidewalk chalk days, and they're right on time. Make sure you breathe deeper this month, and note the hues in your eyelashes; they'll tell you how they remember your tiny fragile hands.
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(1 comment | comment on this)
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eccothekitten's journal
stressed
