Insert tab foot into slot mouth. I feel silly and awkward around him. Like I have been presented with untied shoelaces and have no fucking clue what I'm doing.
Kristoff, God dammit, I miss you miserably and all you do is pop by for three minutes at a time, voice extreme anger at those around you and then wander off again. This is no way to be going about a bestfriendship.
I can't fucking believe I forgot about this story. I ALWAYS do. Consistently.
I have the perfect already-written short ready to turn in as part of my final for Creative Writing. No work on my part. Well... maybe a scanning over. It is a rather old story. My best, I shamelessly announce. The best I can do plot-wise so far. The novels show promise, but this, this is my pride and joy. This is my little sparkling shining gleaming oscillating palpating writhing little diamond in the rough. How could I have forgotten about you?
And on one level, all this does is make me feel washed up.
2.26.2005
Thank you, Neil.
I’m just gonna shout this one
I’m just gonna gonna gonna gonna say this to the people
Not so much the people in the audience
As the people sitting in my mind
Tackled him, wanted to press myself to him, stuck my tongue in his mouth and he bit it.
We went to Dilettante's because Lael is having her turning-the-legal-drinking-age ritual bestowed upon her. Chris comes to me in a flutter and all I can say is that I've found someone who is him and I combined. My tummy's full of peppermint schnapps and milkshake that I shouldn't've been drinking, but he swapped his for mine and gave me a curt devil smile and I let him do it. It was delicious, but now he's over there and I'm over here and there's nothing, nothing I can do about it, nothing in the air, nothing in bed, nothing.
Say hallelujah people
Say hallelujah, oh yes
Yes, yes in the name
The name of
In the name
In the name
He told me how adorable my pig tails used to be. I feel guilty for chopping my hair off in a vain attempt to look ugly. He asks me what I want to do, I say play Monopoly again, he says if that's what I want, I say whatever he feels like, he says he doesn't want to play Monopoly with me, I say that's fine we can do something else. He hasn't spoken in the 20 minutes since then.
Always sticking my tongue into his mouth just so I can feel him biting.
And it was in my belly bitter
But in my mouth it was sweet
I’m just gonna shout this one
I’m just gonna gonna gonna gonna say this to the people
Not so much the people in the audience
As the people sitting in my mind
Tackled him, wanted to press myself to him, stuck my tongue in his mouth and he bit it.
We went to Dilettante's because Lael is having her turning-the-legal-drinking-age ritual bestowed upon her. Chris comes to me in a flutter and all I can say is that I've found someone who is him and I combined. My tummy's full of peppermint schnapps and milkshake that I shouldn't've been drinking, but he swapped his for mine and gave me a curt devil smile and I let him do it. It was delicious, but now he's over there and I'm over here and there's nothing, nothing I can do about it, nothing in the air, nothing in bed, nothing.
Say hallelujah people
Say hallelujah, oh yes
Yes, yes in the name
The name of
In the name
In the name
He told me how adorable my pig tails used to be. I feel guilty for chopping my hair off in a vain attempt to look ugly. He asks me what I want to do, I say play Monopoly again, he says if that's what I want, I say whatever he feels like, he says he doesn't want to play Monopoly with me, I say that's fine we can do something else. He hasn't spoken in the 20 minutes since then.
Always sticking my tongue into his mouth just so I can feel him biting.
And it was in my belly bitter
But in my mouth it was sweet
2.22.2005
My hair's goofy as shit.
You bought yourself a second chance
I finally gave HER... her fucking Christmas present. Christ. Deer in headlights. Hamster on the wheel. Albino science experiment mouse in the tank with space alien invader hands and sterile wood shavings and glassed eyes waiting for me to develop the cancer they've put in my DNA so they can try to cure it. It just sits there waiting to appear inside me, like they watch me, like she tried to avoid looking at me. Waiting. Waiting. Tickticktickticktickticktick. Waiting for it to appear, waiting for it to go away. I am in no way the cancer, just the messenger. Don't kill the messenger, but it happens anyway, and I nearly cried on my way down that wretched hill that I've walked up and down on more occasions that I'd care to remember.
I hate this fucking song, I think to myself. And why does it keep playing all the shit she left on my computer?
She has her LiveJournal on maximumsecuritylockdown; whatever, guys, if you aren't going to use them for what they were meant to be used as, what's the point.
That's what this is, doing here. Being what a blog, an online journal or record or log is supposed to be doing. Public knowledge, open book, free information for whoever wants access to it. I don't see the point of having a private journal on the internet. It's an awkwardly phrased oxymoron and it makes no sense to me.
The situation gets rough
and I start to panic
It's not enough
It's just a habit
Hey kid, you're sick
Well darling, this is it
You ever have a song haunt you? You ever have a song that chases you for so long you have to think about what it was attached to? I have a lot of songs like that, and they're all mostly on my playlist. It makes for some weird moments of nostalgia.
I didn't hear you leave
I wonder how am I still here
I don't want to move a thing
It might change my memory
I wonder where that little mountain goat went.
Why is his music always so loud.
I hope you know that this will go down
On your permanent record
Oh yeah?
Well don't get so distressed
Did I happen to mention that I'm impressed?
You see, I have an essay to be doing, but I am waiting for inspiration to strike. I fed her a few lines about how I already had an idea waiting for me in a notebook, I just had to go find it, only the notebook's in my head and I can't stop plucking the metals coils like they're my own personal instrument, like they could be beautiful. Like it could be worth something. WHY DOES IT KEEP PLAYING HER SONGS.
This is disgusting, and will pass.
Three three three for my heartache
I think that people who hide their thoughts are too afraid of what would come should any certain one know about them.
Hands are going numb.
Shit. I need to do this essay.
You bought yourself a second chance
I finally gave HER... her fucking Christmas present. Christ. Deer in headlights. Hamster on the wheel. Albino science experiment mouse in the tank with space alien invader hands and sterile wood shavings and glassed eyes waiting for me to develop the cancer they've put in my DNA so they can try to cure it. It just sits there waiting to appear inside me, like they watch me, like she tried to avoid looking at me. Waiting. Waiting. Tickticktickticktickticktick. Waiting for it to appear, waiting for it to go away. I am in no way the cancer, just the messenger. Don't kill the messenger, but it happens anyway, and I nearly cried on my way down that wretched hill that I've walked up and down on more occasions that I'd care to remember.
I hate this fucking song, I think to myself. And why does it keep playing all the shit she left on my computer?
She has her LiveJournal on maximumsecuritylockdown; whatever, guys, if you aren't going to use them for what they were meant to be used as, what's the point.
That's what this is, doing here. Being what a blog, an online journal or record or log is supposed to be doing. Public knowledge, open book, free information for whoever wants access to it. I don't see the point of having a private journal on the internet. It's an awkwardly phrased oxymoron and it makes no sense to me.
The situation gets rough
and I start to panic
It's not enough
It's just a habit
Hey kid, you're sick
Well darling, this is it
You ever have a song haunt you? You ever have a song that chases you for so long you have to think about what it was attached to? I have a lot of songs like that, and they're all mostly on my playlist. It makes for some weird moments of nostalgia.
I didn't hear you leave
I wonder how am I still here
I don't want to move a thing
It might change my memory
I wonder where that little mountain goat went.
Why is his music always so loud.
I hope you know that this will go down
On your permanent record
Oh yeah?
Well don't get so distressed
Did I happen to mention that I'm impressed?
You see, I have an essay to be doing, but I am waiting for inspiration to strike. I fed her a few lines about how I already had an idea waiting for me in a notebook, I just had to go find it, only the notebook's in my head and I can't stop plucking the metals coils like they're my own personal instrument, like they could be beautiful. Like it could be worth something. WHY DOES IT KEEP PLAYING HER SONGS.
This is disgusting, and will pass.
Three three three for my heartache
I think that people who hide their thoughts are too afraid of what would come should any certain one know about them.
Hands are going numb.
Shit. I need to do this essay.
2.16.2005
I'm so zen. What do you think about Quinn for a name?
The jury's still out on actually HAVING the bebbie. I'm just feeling it out.
I am convinced that all any of us have seen are the shitty side of people. High school, and fat cows and their crotchspawn drooling all over the merchandise we hawk. That sort of thing.
I am thinking that my babies would be different. Doesn't everyone.
It's entirely possible that I'm completely wrong, and I'm willing to take all of this research that I've been doing back in lieu of the - outweighing the +.
I'm just trying to justify my sick fascination with these things that live inside us for a bit and then pop out and suck the energy and time and money from us for a longer bit, and then go and live their own lives with people we maybe don't think are so great, and they call us once a month to ask for advice or to just chat us up about some life-altering move they're pondering, like, say, having these things that live in you for a bit and then pop out.
It's been on my mind for two months now. It's stemming from this whole Hindu all-as-one Brahman thing I've got going. I agree with the whole notion of there being a universal oneness, the concept of everything functioning as one whole entity called Brahman, inasmuch as this is what the system is, and if there are better ways of going about things, we'd've been going about them already. Their notion of it includes reincarnation because, as Brahman is one and can have nothing associated with it as it would already include that in saying the word "Brahman," we're recycled and the goal is to come to terms with Brahman. The reincarnation thing, soul-wise, I've never bought into, because I don't believe in souls, BUT this whole notion of recycling back into itself and that action being in turn a part of Brahman is part of what I've come to acknowledge and accept.
Now, their Brahman somehow doesn't include how people see things, as held up against How Things Are, or Brahman itself, so I don't understand how Brahman doesn't contain those views. Then again, I'm not Hindu.
Anyway, all of this is getting to the fact that there's a certain cycle to things, and that one of nature's goals in the structure of everything is for it to propogate itself, in the hopes that with the next generation of things it evolves and becomes better, stronger, whathaveyou. Now I'm torn between my view of the human race being the bane of earth, and how the earth has handled much worse than us (massive earthquakes and plate movement and such), AND that part of our nature is to reproduce
. I am trying to decide on things.
We're a young species. I think that, because nature's got plans going, that we're going in a direction that we were set up to go in (as in we were made to evolve, not necessarily in any one direction), and if we go in a bad direction, one: I'm not going to dictate that, I'm just a little speck, and two: nature's built-in garbage disposal system can easily take care of us. The best part about this is we don't understand how shit works, so we can't stop nature from doing so.
We haven't nearly made ourselves much of a nuisance as to deserve obliteration yet. It's kind of automated, don't you think? We muck up the water and then, because we're made of water, and need to replenish it, we die of dehydration. I'm not saying it's not bad right now. It IS bad, but not bad enough.
This system has to be adhered to, and if my species decides not to, then we're rightly toasted. My little blip of time is my own, and as long as I personally go with the system in place, I'm chill and can do my own thing over here. Same thing with my kids, which I would teach them. As long as you're cool with nature, you can chill with the rest of us. After that, it's really just about enjoying yourself, and if you're not enjoying it, you're free to off yourself, aren't you.
Now you can see why I've kind of slipped on my "No human larva" policy. I imagine when I lose my inhibitions about my body not being so youthful any longer after having bebbies, I'll end up having them. It's really the only thing stopping me right now.
I'm so cool right now. I'm so relaxed and okay.
The jury's still out on actually HAVING the bebbie. I'm just feeling it out.
I am convinced that all any of us have seen are the shitty side of people. High school, and fat cows and their crotchspawn drooling all over the merchandise we hawk. That sort of thing.
I am thinking that my babies would be different. Doesn't everyone.
It's entirely possible that I'm completely wrong, and I'm willing to take all of this research that I've been doing back in lieu of the - outweighing the +.
I'm just trying to justify my sick fascination with these things that live inside us for a bit and then pop out and suck the energy and time and money from us for a longer bit, and then go and live their own lives with people we maybe don't think are so great, and they call us once a month to ask for advice or to just chat us up about some life-altering move they're pondering, like, say, having these things that live in you for a bit and then pop out.
It's been on my mind for two months now. It's stemming from this whole Hindu all-as-one Brahman thing I've got going. I agree with the whole notion of there being a universal oneness, the concept of everything functioning as one whole entity called Brahman, inasmuch as this is what the system is, and if there are better ways of going about things, we'd've been going about them already. Their notion of it includes reincarnation because, as Brahman is one and can have nothing associated with it as it would already include that in saying the word "Brahman," we're recycled and the goal is to come to terms with Brahman. The reincarnation thing, soul-wise, I've never bought into, because I don't believe in souls, BUT this whole notion of recycling back into itself and that action being in turn a part of Brahman is part of what I've come to acknowledge and accept.
Now, their Brahman somehow doesn't include how people see things, as held up against How Things Are, or Brahman itself, so I don't understand how Brahman doesn't contain those views. Then again, I'm not Hindu.
Anyway, all of this is getting to the fact that there's a certain cycle to things, and that one of nature's goals in the structure of everything is for it to propogate itself, in the hopes that with the next generation of things it evolves and becomes better, stronger, whathaveyou. Now I'm torn between my view of the human race being the bane of earth, and how the earth has handled much worse than us (massive earthquakes and plate movement and such), AND that part of our nature is to reproduce
. I am trying to decide on things.
We're a young species. I think that, because nature's got plans going, that we're going in a direction that we were set up to go in (as in we were made to evolve, not necessarily in any one direction), and if we go in a bad direction, one: I'm not going to dictate that, I'm just a little speck, and two: nature's built-in garbage disposal system can easily take care of us. The best part about this is we don't understand how shit works, so we can't stop nature from doing so.
We haven't nearly made ourselves much of a nuisance as to deserve obliteration yet. It's kind of automated, don't you think? We muck up the water and then, because we're made of water, and need to replenish it, we die of dehydration. I'm not saying it's not bad right now. It IS bad, but not bad enough.
This system has to be adhered to, and if my species decides not to, then we're rightly toasted. My little blip of time is my own, and as long as I personally go with the system in place, I'm chill and can do my own thing over here. Same thing with my kids, which I would teach them. As long as you're cool with nature, you can chill with the rest of us. After that, it's really just about enjoying yourself, and if you're not enjoying it, you're free to off yourself, aren't you.
Now you can see why I've kind of slipped on my "No human larva" policy. I imagine when I lose my inhibitions about my body not being so youthful any longer after having bebbies, I'll end up having them. It's really the only thing stopping me right now.
I'm so cool right now. I'm so relaxed and okay.
Busy little bee, buzzing about and listening to the people around her sometimes and the days peel away like dead leaves, small bits at a time. One of the flowers she had chosen to live with, a sweet-smelling one with all the resilience and delicacy it could muster. The little bee had lived with it, fed inside it and buzzed around it for a great deal of her life. From the time she was a young bee, she played with drifting dandelion seeds and spun dizzily through the great park they both lived at, with plenty of things inside to explore and circle around.
Boku no koinu ga
Inaku no ta
Shiroi ashi shiroi shippo
Zutto isshou datanoni
During winter, the flower would shed its petals and go sleep inside the stem, much as the little bee slept inside her hive. They waited anxiously for each other, and the inkling of a new spring roused them every year, ready for more adventures.
Boku no koinu ga
Inaku no ta
Shiroi mimi shiroi senaka
Itsumo isshou datanoni
Now she is just a little bee, fully-grown but still many years to come and summers to enjoy. Some days, it would get dark and water would come from the sky, but the flower welcomed the bee in as always, and the little bee would sleep cuddled inside, and wait for the rain to stop, and equally little dreams of sun and warmth filled her little bee head.
Boku wa kawaita namida de
Mainichi kura shiteru
Hayaku
Kaete kite
A time came when the flower grew in again, and the little bee went to visit, but a human was looking at them both. It tried to shoo away little bee to get to the flower. Little bee was furious!
Ame no hi mo kaze no hi mo
Mainichi sabo shite
Ageru
She buzzed and swooped angrily, using all her strength to try and scare the human off. Flower cheered for little bee, and the human began to leave. Little bee gave a last triumphant little shake of her stinger and returned to flower. Such bravery deserved much in return. Flower fed little bee full and vowed to stay with little bee forever.
Dakara hayaku
Hayaku kaete kite
Boku no koinu ga
Inaku no ta
Shiroi ashi shiroi shippo
Zutto isshou datanoni
During winter, the flower would shed its petals and go sleep inside the stem, much as the little bee slept inside her hive. They waited anxiously for each other, and the inkling of a new spring roused them every year, ready for more adventures.
Boku no koinu ga
Inaku no ta
Shiroi mimi shiroi senaka
Itsumo isshou datanoni
Now she is just a little bee, fully-grown but still many years to come and summers to enjoy. Some days, it would get dark and water would come from the sky, but the flower welcomed the bee in as always, and the little bee would sleep cuddled inside, and wait for the rain to stop, and equally little dreams of sun and warmth filled her little bee head.
Boku wa kawaita namida de
Mainichi kura shiteru
Hayaku
Kaete kite
A time came when the flower grew in again, and the little bee went to visit, but a human was looking at them both. It tried to shoo away little bee to get to the flower. Little bee was furious!
Ame no hi mo kaze no hi mo
Mainichi sabo shite
Ageru
She buzzed and swooped angrily, using all her strength to try and scare the human off. Flower cheered for little bee, and the human began to leave. Little bee gave a last triumphant little shake of her stinger and returned to flower. Such bravery deserved much in return. Flower fed little bee full and vowed to stay with little bee forever.
Dakara hayaku
Hayaku kaete kite
You can tell how much I hate this class.
I'll play your game, you ROGUE.
This guy is tired of all the stupid questions that he has to answer, and wondering when people will start using their brains.
Nobody ever gets anything out of the beginnings of different subjects. Every beginning class I've ever taken has a ratio of 2:1. For every one person who already knows the material, there are two who won't understand what's going on no matter how hard they try to grasp it.
Maybe I'm just making shit up because I'm tired of pulling memories out of my ass. There's not much to any of us. What's more interesting are the things we make up.
Maybe the guy's just tired. Who am I to say? Or he's bored and I'm bored and we're all bored because these are the worst exercizes on the planet and I'm just trying to scoot by with my 2.x.
How the fuck am I supposed to assign myself the same emotion when I don't know what he's feeling. Maybe he's confused about the direction his life is going in. Maybe he wanted coffee but all they had was water. There's no connection here.
The irony of never freewriting in this class because she has us writing crap constantly. Like we need to keep the frothy flow of all sorts of ideas and thoughts open and flowing and frothily flowing openly. The sheer paradox of writing well when I shouldn't be, and barely writing when I should.
I love these little Choco Babies. Always waiting for the ones with the stars. I'm thinking they taste better. Just a bit. Maybe it's the dye. Maybe the stars are caramel. Hmm!
Someone has WAY too much perfume on. It doesn't say much about anyone in this classroom to talk about these shitty stories.
And the last thing I would want to do is assign any character a detail that they'd be making fun of ME for weeks over. So I use myself.
I'll play your game, you ROGUE.
This guy is tired of all the stupid questions that he has to answer, and wondering when people will start using their brains.
Nobody ever gets anything out of the beginnings of different subjects. Every beginning class I've ever taken has a ratio of 2:1. For every one person who already knows the material, there are two who won't understand what's going on no matter how hard they try to grasp it.
Maybe I'm just making shit up because I'm tired of pulling memories out of my ass. There's not much to any of us. What's more interesting are the things we make up.
Maybe the guy's just tired. Who am I to say? Or he's bored and I'm bored and we're all bored because these are the worst exercizes on the planet and I'm just trying to scoot by with my 2.x.
How the fuck am I supposed to assign myself the same emotion when I don't know what he's feeling. Maybe he's confused about the direction his life is going in. Maybe he wanted coffee but all they had was water. There's no connection here.
The irony of never freewriting in this class because she has us writing crap constantly. Like we need to keep the frothy flow of all sorts of ideas and thoughts open and flowing and frothily flowing openly. The sheer paradox of writing well when I shouldn't be, and barely writing when I should.
I love these little Choco Babies. Always waiting for the ones with the stars. I'm thinking they taste better. Just a bit. Maybe it's the dye. Maybe the stars are caramel. Hmm!
Someone has WAY too much perfume on. It doesn't say much about anyone in this classroom to talk about these shitty stories.
And the last thing I would want to do is assign any character a detail that they'd be making fun of ME for weeks over. So I use myself.
Distancing myself from this class. What a mistake. The subject matter is crap, the examples are uninteresting, the teacher is a poet with no solid hold on what art is and isn't. She doesn't understand any of what I've given her, I bet. I don't give a shit about anything she's given us to read aloud in class. Pushing her favorites and friends on us because we're so receptive, so open-book and blank. Made of paper she can leave her mark on. Listen, Mary Sue or whatever the fuck your name is, I don't care about your mediocre friends, I HATE POETRY, and you are not a good Creative Writing teacher. AND COLONEL IS NOT PRONOUNCED COLONIAL YOU BITCH.
Blue skies. Beautiful, like summer. Carrying around a piece of spring with her, a little cluster of blossoms, slowly falling asleep as she walks around with it. Slowly wilting, and she wishes her hand could produce a tree to attach it to, maybe some soil and water otherwise, just wanting to keep it alive and beautiful.
(This is from the first day of Winter quarter.)
So she was in a better mood already. Alas, she discovered that her Intro to Ethics class was being taught by some political lunatic who will probably get on her nerves for the rest of the quarter, but it doesn't matter, because, as was said, Creative Writing is after this, thank whoever's in charge.
Creative excuses for skipping Ethics will keep things sane. Guy in front of me was kinda cute. Lured him over here with The Look, haha. Once upon a time there was a very egotistical girl.
Who would name their daughter Christian? C'est interessant, but it's noticeably amateur (or personal, as it were). Once upon a time there was a little busy bee, and she buzzed about and she listened at times and the days peeled away like dead skin, a little at a time. I'll be dead soon enough. Cold hot cold hot. He's still talking. Why doesn't the time go faster.
She would rather be in Creative Writing, and we can only hope that the professor for that class isn't a political Marxist fucknut. Am I still alive?
I don't want to be here, I want to be a month ago.
So she was in a better mood already. Alas, she discovered that her Intro to Ethics class was being taught by some political lunatic who will probably get on her nerves for the rest of the quarter, but it doesn't matter, because, as was said, Creative Writing is after this, thank whoever's in charge.
Creative excuses for skipping Ethics will keep things sane. Guy in front of me was kinda cute. Lured him over here with The Look, haha. Once upon a time there was a very egotistical girl.
Who would name their daughter Christian? C'est interessant, but it's noticeably amateur (or personal, as it were). Once upon a time there was a little busy bee, and she buzzed about and she listened at times and the days peeled away like dead skin, a little at a time. I'll be dead soon enough. Cold hot cold hot. He's still talking. Why doesn't the time go faster.
She would rather be in Creative Writing, and we can only hope that the professor for that class isn't a political Marxist fucknut. Am I still alive?
I don't want to be here, I want to be a month ago.
Reincarnation
A quiet girl with a quiet boy. Her body is soft and hard, lonely and accompanied, like fruit. Their quiet baby is sleeping in her, gentle zygote with a warm bed of flesh.
The girl is repulsed.
Images of chest bursters, blood and amniotic fluid, stars of pain, opening from the inside out. She's not ready to sacrifice her maiden stage for the mother stage. She's not ready to wear herself out yet. Her hands are still smooth, her face still breaks out sometimes, nothing sags, nothing puckers, nothing betrays her yet.
She's not ready. He's not ready.
So for a time, a short time, they reach out to it through her walls, they ponder it and run the numbers, and then, when they're okay with saying goodbye, and she squeezes his hand and the second line doesn't show up, they tuck it away in the back of her mind where it will live forever.
A quiet girl with a quiet boy. Her body is soft and hard, lonely and accompanied, like fruit. Their quiet baby is sleeping in her, gentle zygote with a warm bed of flesh.
The girl is repulsed.
Images of chest bursters, blood and amniotic fluid, stars of pain, opening from the inside out. She's not ready to sacrifice her maiden stage for the mother stage. She's not ready to wear herself out yet. Her hands are still smooth, her face still breaks out sometimes, nothing sags, nothing puckers, nothing betrays her yet.
She's not ready. He's not ready.
So for a time, a short time, they reach out to it through her walls, they ponder it and run the numbers, and then, when they're okay with saying goodbye, and she squeezes his hand and the second line doesn't show up, they tuck it away in the back of her mind where it will live forever.
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