Wednesday, January 31, 2007

Lost my wits.

There are certain words that delight my fancy. If I hear you speak any one of them, I'm bound to like you more. Of course it changes all the time, however there are a few staples: fingertips, lovely, beauty, tepid, darling, glorious, and of course, "Miss Malone." New ones, and old ones cycle in and out, and of course I adore when people tell me about their favorite words. Honestly though, one simple way to win my affections is with words. Use your words dearies.

I have, for the most part, lost my words. They have been lost for a few weeks now. Apologies.

I'm going to the big apple for a week, with hopes that it will refresh me.

Monday, January 29, 2007

Dearest Darling Wonderling,

I feel so awkward when you catch me staring at you while you think/read/write.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Monday, January 22, 2007

Empathy makes for an off Monday morning.

Spent the morning working on a story. Working on introducing a new character, a traveling salesman/ pedophile with a taste for human deformity, which has put me in kind of an off place, just trying to crawl in his head empathise with him. I also got the luxury of writing about twins playing a thermin together, which was immensely satisfying. Regardless, writing unsavory characters always puts me in a strange mood. I feel perverse and unholy, like I did something wrong. Its hard to shake shake shake it.

This morning the crows were circling like mad in the mini-apple and it was unusually dark on my drive to work, which worsened my feeling of displacement, but in a good way, I think I'm ready to go home and write something immense.

Saturday, January 20, 2007

Ces't moi.







Which Psychedelic children's Movie do you belong in?




You are from Alice in Wonderland. Whimsical, naive, imaginative, and a little nutty.
Take this quiz!








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Friday, January 19, 2007

The thinking man's pornography.

It occurred to me last night, that when I was a child (around five or six), for some reason unknown, I thought that they play "the pirates of penzance" was called "the the pirates of men's pants". I hope that this is the name of a pornography somewhere, and if it isn't consider this a call to arms.

RISE UP PERVERTS!

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

ext 41 offers us a land of nothing but nothing, putting the "exit" in existentialism

Today I drove to Iowa and back. Nevermind the reasoning, its beneath your concern. I spent six hours in a van listening to two episodes of "This American Life", an epic mix CD I made for someone's birthday, and a compilation of Elliot Smith demos (thanks james). Stories the way down, music the way up, all the while getting paid. It's been some time since I've had that many hours of solitude. It was as peaceful as one would expect. I even managed to not think about much of anything but the stretch barren dirty stripped expanses in front of me, occasionally making mental notes of things to dwell on later. I noticed that small towns between Minnesota and Iowa have some curious names. One in particular I thought was worth a moment of my attentions was an exit sign that just said Hope ext 41, with an arrow pointing to a road that lead nowhere, where there were no houses, fields, farms, cows, no strip malls, no airplanes, no trees, just the most complete nothing I have ever laid eyes on. I'm not sure if I think that was funny, but I'm not sure I don't either. It was just a simple and plain breed of remarkable. I regret not getting off on that exit, regardless of my destination, my job, my family and friends, cat and dog, my pretty things and my sweet boyfriend. I should have done what was so obvious to do, that I doubt many people have done on principle. There wasn't even a bird flying in Hope. I doubt even a insect lives in the city of Hope.

I was running late on the way home, due to an extended and fruitless lunch break in the Casino about twenty miles off the border, favoring the Iowinian side. I was down four (dollars that is, not hundred) when I left. No bother really though. I don't really like going to Diamond Joe's that much, but it has become a personal tradition when I make this particular drive along 35W. Regardless of my tardiness, when I passed Hope I slowed way way down to gander down the desolate isle of dirt, still nothing. I squinted and took of my sunglasses, and still there was nothing to look at.

Also, I passed an exit that read Manly Forest City.

Friday, January 12, 2007

The extinction of the tan M&M and hyphenated names.

When I was in sixth grade I had this amazing teacher Mrs. Charlesworth-Ceiler (she was the first instance I had ever heard of a woman wanting a hyphenated name). I recall her being beautiful, the kind of beautiful that is more fascinating. I dont think many little boys had crushes on her, but I could not stop staring at her. She wore hemp clothes, had a short mousey brown bob, and had adopted all her children from China. Mrs, C-S (as we came to call her because of the less than friendly pronunciation of her last name) was think but not frail, she had strong sinewy arms and pretty hazel eyes and a strong jaw. I from time to time would leave notes and letters on her desk, because she always responded via another note or letter, which please me very much because I was shy child.

We were doing a statistic unit one week and along with many fun projects she used to bait us into learning what we were so hesitant to know, my favorite day in particular was when we decided to find out what percent of M&M's were which color. The end result was that tan was by far the most common color. In a box of 100 bags, over 65% of the M&M's were tan. My class was outraged, because if you all care to remember, nobody really cared for tan. Mrs. C-S encouraged us to write M&M's/Mars a letter explaining our disapproval involving M&M inequality. A few weeks past, every sixth grade brain in that windowless classroom had completely forgotten about M&M's, when Mrs. C-S came into class bearing her oversized white teeth, ear to fucking ear. She has received a letter from M&M's that was a sort of apology and it claimed that it was going to amend the difference in colors. Also we were sent a small crate of M&M's which we, of course tore into and counted the colors. The crate total was 30% tan, to even Mrs. C-S's shock.

Within the year, they discontinued tan. I have always felt guilty. Mrs. C-S knew I hated math and adored English and would, along with the notes we would trade and pass, always find places for me to exercise my writing skills in her math class. I wrote the letter to M&M for the class, and although I didn't ask them to stop making tan, I did say that "nobody liked them!"

My dad really liked the tan ones, I think. I dont know for sure but one day a few years ago I heard him remark to his girlfriend, "Why did they ever stop making the tan ones?"

Sunday, January 07, 2007

Burning the candle.

It's good for me to stay busy and occupied. Idle hands and I are none such a good match. I like looking back on a week and realizing I worked a 70 hour week, however my feet hurt and friendly lovelies are starting to get miffed at my absentness so often. It sounds absurd to people but if I could remain healthy and sacrifice my eating and sleeping time to work I would only be happier. Taking time to myself is a very conscience thing to do. Somewhere between the warehouse and being a set grip/electriction, I have a breath or two that creeps up into my brain bearing the ghost the reminds me why I have to work hard hard hard, and not give up until I have changed something, some people, permanently. I take that breath deep and he flies into my cavities and tells me, reminds me, you should be so lucky, oh and keep your mother happy love.

Thursday, January 04, 2007

I'm suprised the front wheels dont lift off the ground and drive themselves into the sun.

The car ride to work in the morning is always a tragic thing. With the heat blasting, and the music so loud it hurts a little, it transforms into a perfect little incubation chamber for thoughts to percolate. They start simply with a website I maybe have been to previous to leaving, such as ferralchildren.com, and turn into a short live fantasy of shielding my own young with my body from a pack of wolves in some unknown woods. From there into martyrdom and a sick world of imagination about how it may be the only way I would want to go. Moving into territories of finding my own Ferrel child savaging the forests of France with a pack of weasels which saved little Petunia (I fancy I would name her Petunia) from being scavenged herself. I would pick her up by the skin of her back, the way I often like to imagine the crows will rescue me someday. Then I think Ellen in New York and that when the crows come to get me I most definitely will stop next in Manhattan to relieve her of the see and be seen scene that is no doubt eroding her heart, contrary to her most recent EKG.

I could go on but it is 10 after and my boss is breathing down my neck.

Wednesday, January 03, 2007

Last night, I walked through the front door and was immediately flabbergasted.

Sometimes I come home and find my roommates doing things like this.



They had drank the rest of the New Years booze and some to boot, and told me, without cracking a smile that they were making a music video on Mikael's (dude on far left, a wonderful new addition to our loving household, aside from the raised toilet seat from time to time) cell phone.

Tuesday, January 02, 2007

Rudolph with your nose so bright!

We called twice in an hour and a half. No cab ever came. We had plans for weeks preceding the night but due to the instamatic snowfall, we ended up staying in for New Years, seeing that my roommates were also staying in, and there was lots of booze and card games to play, and the house was warm. It actually turned out to be the best New Years I have ever had. After the ball had dropped we all decided to set off some old fireworks in the backyard by the bonfire Katrina masterfully started. Christmas carols began being sung and mayhem ensued.



Fireworks displayed for all to see. The beginning of the fun and the end of the flash.



You can tell this is Crystal because her hair is beautiful and ridiculous.



My New Year's resolution was to start smoking again.



Caitlin is drunk as a skunk and decides at this point that we should all start singing "Rudolph The Red-Nosed Reindeer" at the top of our lungs.



Glorious gunpowder!



James and Crystal are awestruck by the gifts of ancient China.

After this there was a spontaneous dance party in the living room. Everyone danced. Katrina held out the longest, laughing at me because I dance like a broken board tied to a string. No matter, I was "feeling it", and eventually she joined. I don't remember going to bed, but I do have recollections of mimosas in the morning, after Crystal and Caitlin woke up the house doing god knows what (tribal drumming, I think).