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Jun. 20th, 2006 @ 07:23 pm (no subject)
AS much as I approve of openness in general, the "openness" of today's world is nothing like full, true, and effective communication.

My stance and theory on open communication is that the more often we force ourselves to say what we are thinking at any given moment, the more we will understand how others think. My ultimate goal is to know is my thought processes have anything at all to do with those of my fellow man - I know already that they do. In a sense, you could say that I want constant reassurance, in the form of a deeper understanding of everyone else's mind, that I am "not alone." That being said, my relative openness with other people does not necessarily correlate with the level of affection I have for them. While it is true that the person with whom I am most open is my boyfriend (whom I also feel the highest level of affection for), I try to be as open as possible with almost everyone I meet, which precludes the possibility of "openness" being a sign of my affection.

What does open mean anyhow? My (positive) definition of open is basically trying to articulate, with as much honesty as I deem coudl be acceptable to my companion at the time, exactly what I am thinking during our entire conversation. This covers thought patterns that have sprung from something the other person said or did, emotional responses, and supposedly "random" ideas. (These random ideas, which most people suppress, could be the most important to communicate, in my opinion, because "randomness" should not logically exist in a our highly entropic minds).

Unfortunately, it has been my experience that others my age define "openness" as an obligation to discuss sexual encounters/desires, and to exxagerate feelings of affection. As I have said before, I do not love that many people, when one considers how many people claim to love me. I am often uncomfortable in social settings because there is so much "love" being expresssed - love I do not feel. I wish to be entirely open with those who say to me "I love you." Because they do not mean love in a romantic sense, I am doing no harm by allowing them to express their love to me, but because "I love you" seems to be more of a call-and-response phrase, where one is basically obligated to respond in kind, I am generally left in an awkward situation. I cannot, in good conscience, respond with an "I love you" that I do not feel, both because I believe there is and should be a certain level of comittment in loving a person (even in a non-romantic sense), and because it is an inefficient use of the word. There is such a vast difference, for myself at least, between basic affection or preference for the company of a person and what I deem to be "love" for a person that I do actually think that it is important to differentiate in my mind the times when I feel love and the times when I feel only a vague sense of preference for a person, so that I can perhaps discover what leads to my loving a person. For example, I have a wonderfully, entirely platonic, love for two of my very dear friends. This love is both a commitment to endeavor to continue to be involved in their lives and to be there for them as best I can when they need me, and is also a vastly different emotion than that which I have for other friends and acquintances that I do not love. In order to make it clear to those of my friends that I love what I mean by love, I cannot very well tell everyone I have ever spent any length of time with that I love him or her, because it would weaken and skew the meaning of the word.

Also, I do not believe that openness has anything to do with kindness. There can be an implication in the word "open" of "accepting," but I believe this to be a bad definition. Open refers only to a possibility of acceptance, and should, furthermore, refer to one's committment to vocalize unacceptance, should it exist. As said, open doesn't (or shouldn't) refer to people being nice to each other, but honest with one another. If a person is elicting a negative response of any kind, one of his/her companions should tell him/her so. If a friend notices that he/she has any negative habits, personality traits, etc, that person, if being truly open, should mention those as well as the "good stuff" that people always include in an "open conversation."
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May. 28th, 2006 @ 07:50 pm (no subject)
Rave: A cesspool of sweat, bright colors, and snatches of bare flesh gyrating to ear-drum-popping substandard music. :-D

PLUR: A catch phrase to justify slimy grinding, hand-holding, and other forms of physical contact usually deemed to be inappropriate between strangers.

E: Also: Ineffective once too often.

DJ: Pompous fool who plays music and demands adoration from the gyrating cesspool.

I just love bad pick-up lines >:-|:

"How tall are you?"
"Uh, 5'4, I think. Why?"
Loooooooong pause. Fool looks at his friend, who has been vieing for a place in the conversation, looks back at me, says, "Your height looks good on you."
I say, "_____" (Nothing. Lots of nothing.) Then I walk away. Enter "random acts of bisexuality"** stage right.

**delicious phrase from this webcomic: http://mylifeinblue.comicgenesis.com/


But I'll likely try the rave scene once more, because I had fun at t'other one I went to. ha ha :-| Now however, I am highly curmudgeonly.
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May. 10th, 2006 @ 04:31 pm A snippet of high ramblings that I hope to one day turn into something a little more meaningful
There is a LOT of repitition, bad grammar, etc, but I think only Fairy reads this at all anymore, so off it goes to the internet world, even in this most base and unedited form. Oh, 'tis rambling for sure, but duly copied and pasted nonetheless. And more with the disclaimers . . .:





This is how my beliefs have changed through the years:

First, I believed in a God that apportioned order to the universe, then I realized that people’s suffering really was a testament to there being no God or a God who had less control over the universe than the Catholics attribute to him, or a God who allows entropy to happen and does not divinely intervene.

More reasons why even a supposed God sucks: because he chose to create beings lesser than himself, which means this supposed God is not the type of person I can respect. I will always long for something higher than myself and have a deep belief that something higher than myself is better for me to be around. Also, if I am amongst those lower in intelligence than myself, I feel obligated to open their eyes, and/or have a wish for them to become more intelligent. I cannot respect a God that chooses to create beings less powerful and intelligent than himself, and then demands that we honor and worship him. If he is only a God that is infinitely-more-powerful than humans, and therefore unable to create beings as or more powerful than himself, than mankind has no business worshipping him, for we are on the brink of surpassing him. On the other hand, if God is all powerful, then he has chosen to bequeath us with only a minimal amount of the intelligence he could have bequeathed us with, created us and other beings such that we must compete against one another to survive, and in every way created us as lesser beings than himself. If this is true, than not only do we have no obligation to worship God, but we may view God much as others view the devil.

The point here is that I believe in intelligence above all things, and if God is not intelligent enough to have created a more entropic, less violent, universe, than he is not worth worshipping. There can be no God that specifically created a universe such that people are forced to suffer, because I do not believe that any being can exist such that it is both intelligent enough to create a universe as complex as ours and cruel enough to make it as harsdh

My belief is that there is no higher power. I was disappointed to discover, when I was younger, that the system we have for labeling animals is entirely arbitrary. I had thought that our system of genus:species:class:philo:animal was “divine,” that there was some way of “finding out” what class an animal went into, but in fact, there is no reason to believe that animals are organized, or should be organized at all, it is only that people have decided arbitrarily to classify them. People only search for similar details in various animals in order to label them, and there is no reason to believe that the system we chose is correct, or that the animals we think are linked are really linked at all. This got me to thinking about many things, and I realized that many truths that we accept to be true are not universally true, or timelessly true. There is no such thing as an infallible truth, because humans are infallible, and we are the ones who create the truths. For example, people think of math as being universally and timelessly true, that math would exist as it does regardless of human discovery and/or influence, but I believe that humans could have just as easily come up with another kind of math entirely.

This idea of there being no infallible truth is very related to Gardiner’s essay “On Wonder”, and, like Gardiner, I am inspired by this idea. To me, there is great beauty in there being no higher power, that there will always be something in the universe that no one and nothing knows, including God. This means that humans have an infinite number of things to discover, that infinity as a concept does exist, and can exist, in this way. Like Gardiner, I believe that the universe as we know is unknowable, but that this should not at all discourage us from trying to know as much as we can. Furthermore, although I belive the universe is purely entropic, I do not believe we are mistaken in trying to lend some extropy to the universe. I worship two things: intelligence and the infinitely unknowable.

I also believe in a higher power. By higher power, however, I mean a more intelligent human. I am so passionate about language because, until we discover a way to literally read each other’s minds or handle data transfer the way a computer does, it is the most effective communication that humans have for these things. Even our images have to be supplemented with written or verbal language in order to “transfer” an idea to another human being. Humans need to become as effective verbal and written communicators as possible, so that we learn enough about one another’s thinking process in order to develop a better and more effective method of sharing data, which would be the way a computer shares data.

This belief in a higher intelligence springs from an idea that we should have faith in other people, instead of in a supposed God. There is some evidence that humans “are wired” to have faith, but I belief that this faith is misplaced in ideas of spirits and God. To me, there is only the faith that we can have, and this is in each other or ourselves. However, because I both worship intelligence, and trust in humanity, I trust humanity to become more intelligent. Because I 1) trust humanity to become more intelligent, and 2) believe that, although “God” does not exist, that there is a possibility of a higher power existing in the future, then I must believe that humans will one day create a species that will be vastly more intelligent than ourselves. This new species is my “higher power.” But furthermore, I like the idea of “higher powers,” each created by the species just before it and each infinitely more intelligent than the species just before it, until evolution speeds up so that each new generation is like an entire new species.

However, I don’t believe that we will ever know everything, because I believe in changeable truths. Truths can be guided by nothing other than entropy because our universe was created in entropy and goes through cycles of order and mass disorder. As stars explode and their tiny pieces are floating about in entropy, but then gather and form new masses, I believe that laws of math and science will begin to do the same; that our laws of science and math will be periodically shattered such that we see no patterns in the universe for awhile, and then other patterns will appear.

These are my beliefs:
- intelligence is the ultimate “good” and the goal that all humans should strive for
o we are the higher power of our own age, a fact that should be changed as soon as possible with the creation of beings smarter than ourselves, that we may have something better than ourselves to be our role-model
- the entropic nature of the universe we know makes our universe unknowable in its entirety, if for no other reason than because even when we know all truth, truth will change
o the versatility and changing nature of truth should by no means deter people from trying to discover truth
o this idea should inspire people to realize that, because infinity exists in the sense of an infinite amount of things that we can never know, that perhaps an infinitely long life can exist
• Immortal people are not at all likely to “get bored” because there will always be an infinite number of things to discover


I feel very comfortable with these beliefs, with the idea of a belief in humanity and in caring for humanity.

I have no problem with religion for those in whom religion inspires a love of fellow man or any other form of “goodness.” However, I do see religion as a crutch that will one day be entirely eliminated and replaced with a basic sense of altruism and trust of fellow humans.



Note: all of this has been highly inspired by READING and also slightly by Sir Michael Anissimov. I have been afraid of adopting his beliefs, because adopting the beliefs of another person simply out of love is SILLY and pretentious. However, as I admired him from the beginning for his intelligence, I make no apologies for now adopting some form of his beliefs as my own, especially as I did so not as a result of conversations with Michael, but mainly as a result of reading much of the material he has read.


A short history of my beliefs (because I find it interesting and I’d like to encourage others to be as open and as exacting with their beliefs):

As a child, I was Catholic, and highly interested in learning as much as I could about Catholicism. I wavered many times, especially upon entering middle school, when it came to my faith. However, I did make my confirmation in my eighth grade year, because I wanted order(!) Sometime just prior to this time period, I had wanted to be a nun, and thought of revolutionizing the church to make it better. I still admire those who take on this task.

I had already been playing around with Buddhist concepts, Taoism, etc, when I discovered Camus (thanks to Mr. Crotwell, my English teacher) my Freshman year of high school. Enter existentialism stage left. Spent the rest of my high school years identifying myself as a Catholic without a basic belief in God, but with a very strong belief in the Catholic community I had been raised in (All Hallows church, essentially). As described above, I had discovered that our scientific theories and laws were continuously changing, which, to me, meant that humans were lending a sense of order to a universe that doesn’t really have any order. I also began to doubt that our mathematical concepts were entirely universal. I attribute much of my eye-opening to Dr. Milestone, my biology teacher at the time.

I went through an existential phase in which I believed in the transcendental concept of nature as perfection, spurred on by Camus, Thoreau, Emerson, Dickenson, etc. This lead me away from an emphasis in belief of an afterlife and towards the concept that we should spend our time on Earth seeking to aid humanity. This lasted throughout high school, though, as I said, I continued to identify myself as Catholic. I wasn’t ready to let go of something that had been such a huge part of my life and that continues to be a huge part of my family.

Although I consider Freudian theory to be primarily bullshit, further reading of Freud (spurred on by close analysis of Hamlet, courtesy of yet another influential teacher, Mr. Kim) did introduce the concept the basic impulses of sex and aggression are things we should not embrace as natural, as in Fight Club by Chuck Palahniuk, but things we should try to suppress or eradicate entirely from the human brain. (Not that I have anything against sexual pleasure, but I do find fault with human aggression, greed, and all other negative effects of having been bred by evolution to compete with other human beings for life).

Leaving my parent’s house helped me to find my own belief. Also, discovering the genius that is Martin Gardiner aided me in a realization that refraining from a belief in God or Gods of any sort does not necessitate a proclivity from faith. My faith is a faith that humanity can take evolution into its own hands and that humans can learn to create the type of paradise that we have heretofore associated with heaven. I do not deny faith, because I believe that having faith in people is good for both the believer and the person/people in whom the believer has faith. It is only God and religion that I cannot accept for myself or as a part of what I believe.
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Apr. 29th, 2006 @ 07:33 pm (no subject)
I think I only trick myself into missing my childhood (which I believe is properly before puberty; all post-pubescent experiences I consider to be of the pre-adult/teenaged era, and a different thing entirely). While I was living it, I found it to be highly uncomfortable. I had such a difficult time with other children. I was shy around almost everyone but my parents. I remember always looking for my father, wanting to be next to daddy, hold his arm, play with his hair (his long hair was so nice to run my hands through!), ride on his shoulders, tell him about silly things, ask him questions, etc. I remember when a friend at school taught me how to ask silly questions on purpose, and I tried it once, but immediately became interested in something that I actually wanted to know instead (I think it was about his camera). I am remembering the conversation better now: I think it began with asking why the sky was blue. I actually already knew the answer, because my fascination with the celestial had lead to much reading of children's books on the subject (one of which included instructions to stick a pen in an orange and hold a flashlight to it while turning the pen to rotate it and holding a small grape, duly stabbed with a toothpick, in front of it in order to ape the rotation of the earth and moon in relation to the sun).

I started this awhiiile ago and never had the chance to finish it because I was busy studying. Ahh, anyhow, the point was that, while I remember many pleasant things from my childhood, I certainly don't think that it was any better than the time and age I'm living now. I only idolize childhood when I am feeling badly/panic-y.
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Apr. 18th, 2006 @ 10:51 pm (no subject)
Easily the most coherent recorded thought-process of the pre-panic state (I still remember when I first learned that the written version of over-wrought emotion had worth of a kind):

It's the particular crunch that grass makes
that makes me miss you the most
the way each blade stands out as a different
shade of green
each like God's new gift
I do miss you at these times:
the way your sweet hands would fold in "His" name
your beauty
boys ignored you, girls pitied you, your family saw "your good heart" or . . . Something Else
and still you knew, in a way I can't fathom now, that you were beautiful
the way you lied
(and you hated yourself for doing it, but the lies were too damned beautiful)
Why, at the age of five, did you imagine that your parents weren't actually related to you, but aliens in fact, and why did the thought break your heart, make you cry, establish a vague distrust in them?
I could never miss or understand the mistakes
or the horrid paranoia that would follow them
I remember forgetting my parents, showing seashells to an unknown couple whose faces hadn't yet come into focus, at age two or three
plopping down, again at the beach, next to a bitchy woman most certainly not my mother, who asked me curtly to "move just a few feet away"
I remember, too, the time I went to the hospital to see grandpa
the nurse asking me how old I was, momentarily forgetting how many fingers to put up before haphazardly landing on three (and still it may have been one finger too many)
I remember the strength of emotion I felt
and I miss that
It's why I act, perhaps, perhaps it's why I write;
to feel true and deep emotion again
emotions with a reason and rhyme
it feels like years since I've had the luxury of being only myself
like years since the devilish nature of pen and paper took what was mine and made it its own
driving me to become this
embodiment of what might have been, or come to be, real for someone else
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Mar. 21st, 2006 @ 01:32 pm (no subject)
The tanglibles before me include a crochet hook, which just happens to match in color my coat, the ribbon wound into my Victorian-age hair, and the color which best represents the drink my handy-dandy, ever-wholesome Notre Dame de Namur water bottle is holding. This crochet hook is accompanied by an unfinished hat of roughly the same color. (OH DIZZAM, SHE LEFT OUT THE COLOR?!) There is also the computer upon which I am writing, a mechanical pencil, a striped eraser, the remnants of a honey stick (genius new method of eradicating all bad breath scent), and my delicious piece of literature, some-time lost, now-time found, which I have been enjoying immensely since our glorious, though highly accidental, reunion.

Despite having had to read over a few parts, due to the fact that it had been sitting, cold and alone, at my parent's house for no less than three months, I immediately jumped back into the rhythm of the story, and am more inspired by Susan Sonntag's masterful and creative use ofthe English language. She does not bother to follow convention, when lack of convention leads to a deeper understanding or more truthful continuance of Diddy's character and actions. Her continuous renaming of the main character and off-and-on narrator, Diddy with such curt phrases as, "Diddy the Good," "Diddy the Treacherous," and "Diddy the Clean," bespeaks Diddy's need to categorize himself in the various emotional and physical states in which he finds himself, better than a more full, and more standard, explanation every could.

Her use of an ambiguous narrator and viewpoint reinforces Diddy's lack of self-knowledge and awareness. In some cases, it is clear that the viewpoint of the narrator is the standard third person omnicient. Yet it soon becomes clear that the narrator sees only from Diddy's perspective (can read only his thoughts and can only be where he is), implying that the narrator might, in fact, be Diddy himself, as he would narrate his own life. However, an entirely new possibility is introduced when, on page 79, she suddenly uses the first-person pronoun "we" in a way that clearly dissevers Diddy from the narrator ( "We're chatting loudly, but Diddy is silent). As quickly as she switches to this viewpoint, however, she returns again to speaking as though from Diddy's point of view, as the very next sentence is "Reassuring and yet also numbing to Diddy's mind: to be cooped up in a small space." This begs the question, who really is the narrator? Is it, in fact, Diddy, as it is only Diddy's thoughts and intentions that are revealed by the narrator? If this is true, then any time the narrator makes use of the word, "we," it refers not to the narrator, but, instead, to the narrator's perception of what the people around him might be thinking. This separation of the first-person pronouns from a first-person point of view is nothing short of genius, exposing Diddy's separation from himself, including his emotions, needs, intentions, and capabilities.

My favorite part of this sumptuous work is

--------------------------------"GIRL INTERRUPTED" by another girl. Another bleach-blonde-streaked character with too much cover-up caked onto her snub nose, trying to talk quickly so as to get out of here faster, telling me she had a bad day the day she took her writing proficiency exam, while on the phone to a friend who was watching her dog, asking over and over, "Aw, but where did he shit?" FAIL.--------------------------------

NOW, the most delicious part of this purely sumptuous work is the first dream passage, which begins on page 99. In this passage, Sontag makes liberal use of references to Freud's id and the natural impulses of violence and sex. It expressed Diddy's underlying covetousness of sex and the way that this sexual desire is so closely linked to the impulse that lead him to kill the railroad worker, Incardona. She shows this using the image of a rare conch-like shell to represent the Hester's vagina, and the fight between Diddy and the owners of this shell to represent the altercation that had occured between Diddy and Incardona prior to Diddy attacking Incardona with a shovel, thereby killing him.

Diddy's other dream, involving Incardona's widow, Myra Incardona, alludes to another Freudian principle, the Oedipal Complex. It is almost as if Diddy is trying desperately, both in this dream and the dream prior, to find a way for this random homocide to make more sense to him, to force this murder of his to fit into his life in a meaningful way. In this dream, Diddy is married to Myra, who begins to take on the form of his childhood nurse, Mary. In this way, Diddy's subconcious is pushing Diddy towards an understanding of himself as Oedipus, with Myra as a mother-figure.

I must not tire myself out now with more writing - but will allow myself a break in order to . . .
do some "required" work for a "class" that I am taking at this "university."

(I think it is so dumb when people over-use quotation marks in order to make known their underlying satirical meaning. Toothpaste-for-dinner needs to get on this problem, and make a comic about it, and let all those high-and-mighty would-be satirists know they fail.)


:-D
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Mar. 13th, 2006 @ 12:30 am (no subject)
I acknowledge that most of what I feel has no justification other than the thousand natural processes of a hormone-full female in the tail end of her teenage years.

However, how can I help but be frustrated? Why was I convinced that college would be so much better, on the intellectual front? Oh, typical disillusionment, oh damn my former self for being so precociously stuck upon this idea of an intellectual haven.

There are a few elements to this, all of which I think I have expressed, in some way or another, before. The first element is the overwhelmingly suburban environment. I am not a spoiled, rich, lily-white, ignorant little girl. Nor am I even truly counter-culture, indie-rock or whatever goddamned else. <-- not that they have a place here. :-(. I struggle with my identity because I am so mixed. I live with the face and giggle of any typical overly-suburban white girl, yet I have such broad ranges of culture and experience of culture living in my head that I am disgusted by any suggestion that I have yet to be exposed to the world, or to anything beyond the wonders of a white picket fence . I have no qualm with many of the wealthy, lily-white folk I speak of, but that is not who I am.

Kenny and I both carry this near-bitterness with us, because no one who would look at us would peg us as having been subjugated because of our race. No one, at first glance, could know that we have this blackness in us; these memories of fried catfish dinners held at street parties, of being called "white-ass," of lying about grades so as to avoid conflict with the other kids, who werent getting "A"s. (To this day, I cannot stand academic competition - I study for myself alone). We carry this around with us, and then are told by random parties that we couldn't possibly know "how the other half lives" to use a trite phrase. What they dont realize is that we've lived *with* that half. It's a strange thing, this.

Then there is the same disappointment I seem to constantly run into; lack of intellect. I want to surround myself with those who are inclined to analysis. I find it so difficult to dumb myself down. I've never known how to be anyone other than myself. I have tried; no one can deny that I have tried. I have tried to join "giggle-fests" as I call them, and I am often able to, esp. when drunk, for at least a little while before I either start to hate myself or slip into a speech of some import/intellect, and suddenly the faces before me turn to green jello, and I force a giggle and find a way to escape.

I feel guilty for not loving everyone that loves me. They cannot love me; it is more that I feel guilty for not wanting to say "I love you" when people say it to me and I feel guilty for not finding people attractive when they find me attractive. I cannot love everyone! Firstly, I am already madly in love with someone, so romantic love is out of the question for anyone else. Furthermore, I find that this man of my heart is far superior to any other being I have imagined myself to be in love with prior to this glorious awakening he as wrought in me, which causes me to look with disgust on anyone else who offers their love, romantic or otherwise. He has raised the bar, thereby damning substandard relationships.

This idea of feeling bad for not finding people attractive - forgive me, goddamnit. Can I help that my pheromones seem to draw people like ants to sugar? No. I am slowly losing my modesty, and , in so doing, the idea that not all people who are nice to me very suddenly are attracted to me. It's - basically - bullshit. (Along this vein, fuck every dirty old man who ever dared to say the word "cunt" in my presence, who asked me whether or not I was eighteen, who told me to find him when I was, who told me I was "worth his time," who cowed me into smiling politely when he told me I'd be nice to take home. FUCK YOU.) I have to keep reminding myself that it is not - and cannot be - my job to give love every poor bastard who thinks he has a right to it. Not that I try to love them, but that I feel a twinge of guilt when I don't. I cannot help but love someone whom I *admire* not pity - pity is but pity, and even compassion, or fondness, is a far cry from romantic love. Forgive me, would-be lovers, but I cannot love you, and furthermore, I bear you great resentment for daring to covet what is Michael's and then making me feel guilty for it.

There is this torrent that keep wanting to flow from an unknown well, hidden not in the deep paths of my past, but (likely) existing somewhere in the hypothalamus. I am trying to avoid this "torrent" as I made a fool-ass of myself enough yesterday. Go I, then, to the world of proofs (I see we meet again, proofs. You may have kicked my ass in high school geometry, but I am here to see that those wounds are repaid ten-fold!)
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Mar. 5th, 2006 @ 04:02 pm (no subject)
Those opposites people like to mention bothered me again when I read over my last entry. Lovers and Friends / Work and Play. I like to mix them. The times in my life where I've felt the best involved either: Michael, who is consequently both my lover and my best friend [(aside from a certain smwasion (smurf+white+asian)], or when I have created some delicious words for paper - perhaps WHILE playing - or, to take a pun to the next level, when I have made some breakthrough in character development during a play.

All four can be mixed, too! I love to play onstage, which is part of my work, knowing that my friend, whom I shall be loving once I am offstage, is watching me. Delicious.

Today is a good day, I think, for listing other bothersome items of intangibility(HAH - I sometimes rely on convoluted sentences of the pseudo-intellectual variety to amuse me):
1) I have to return to Belmont tonight (sans mon beau Michel)
2) Mama's main goal today is to watch the oscars *in full*, which means she started with the red carpet bs at about 3:30, and will continuing this nonsense until sometime late tonight. Sigh Sigh Sigh
3) I wish to eat more shrimp in a day than will fit in my stomach.
4) I cannot decide how best to deal with the pound of blue boucle yarn sitting in front of me.
5)According to recent internet research (done by myself, in the past half-hour or so), many people who knit/crochet are actually bored, silly women who own chihauhas that are often in need of trendy winter garments.


I am not, however, disappointed or in any way malcontent with a discovery I made of certain dolla dolla bills while seraching for a ponytail in my bedroom at my parent's house. woot woot!!!
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Feb. 23rd, 2006 @ 03:27 am (no subject)
3:30am and I am yet awake.

Awake, and with a purpose - didactic, no - that is interesting only to that part of myself that clambers idly on into the darker parts of the gray area lurking between Wednesday and Thursday.
Why do people crave each other, and better yet, why is it that only some will do?
Why is it that the quality of silence is as unstrained as Portia's mercy
only with you. And furthermore, why must I talk about you to others;you and yours - and ours, too - fill my mouth at every turn, almost without having passed through my mind first.


There are these balances in and of life that are being mentioned all the time:

Friends and Love:

Work and Play:

They were bothering me. . .
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Feb. 16th, 2006 @ 01:44 pm (no subject)
Living on campus is nice because I am not living at home - which was a necessary step. Living on campus is also nice due to its proximity to all of my classes, as well as the fact that it is stumbling distance from NDNU-related parties.

NDNU campus seems pretty rockin' these days for reasons besides even these. I was on my way to work the other day when I noticed an ASIAN (his asian-ness was important, ok? I doubt I'd have been impressed if he was just another Ambercrombie boy) guy standing near that bench near Ralston Hall that I usually hang out at, playing a violin. He was just hanging out there, under the trees, going away at it. Quite awesome. I wanted to stay and listen to him, but alas, work called.

Unfortunately for me, the only music near my dorm comes in the form of about seven (?) boys who practice show tunes ("ba-da-da-dap-dap-da-dap" followed by "So long, farewell, a-something and goodby-ye, my underwear is brown and so am I") somewhere just outside New Hall and St. Joe's. GRRR. :-D I think it's those Hawaiians . . . Gol durn Hawaiians. lol.

And now a thing to warm our hearts:

I was sitting in the corner of the caf this morning, reading, when I was disturbed by a noise, looked up, could not find the source of the sound, but, interested by the relative lack of A&F-ish characters, took a look around the caf, and noticed, to my rapture, Miss Blonde Biochem Beauty sitting in the opposite corner of the caf, feverishly taking notes. "Delicious," I said aloud - pause for effect - and then returned to the meticulous slicing (<--- PASSIVE VOICE!!! OH, SHIT, DAWG!) of bananas for my malt-o-meal.

More reasons by Davaran is amazing:
1. When he learned that I lost my ipod - yeah, I said it, which is like admitting it, which is like . . . shiity . . . man - he immediately went on a grand search/calling spree. True, it was to no avail, but it was still nice of him.
2. He did not make me perform because he knew that I wasn't feeling well.
3. He has lent me an annoted Lord Jim because I wrote about the novel in a paper for his class, and is even going so far as to buy me a book,"Heart So White," because he "wishes to have a conversation about it."

Now back to figuring out how I'm going to get my work done.
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