"I wrote a lot of trash last year. I'm still trying to learn how to write."
-KLS, 8/28/06
Only today did I really realize how strong my hands are. Riddled with veins, my fingers sit on the end of my short palms like thick stumps, waiting to kill something barehanded, or at best pull back a bowstring or weild a machete. In truth, they are covered in oil, stroking soft skin, carefully holding sheaves of words bound on paper, or restraining the vibration of a thin string. Who knew so much force was necessary for such delicate tasks.
I'm so tired. Exhausted, really- working as much as I have has crept up on me gradually, until it seems that no matter how much I sleep, it's never enough. Most of the problem is that I can't sleep, or when I do I wake up all the time... much to my amazement the last couple of days, I woke up alone after a sleepover, and had no idea when the other person left. It's like magic.
Chris said it best today at work when he said he feels like a lot is going on inside, and that he just needs some sort of epiphany to work it all out. I like that word. I like thinking about words, and what they really mean, and then applying it to every context in which they are used- Chris needed a little visit to a baby saviour in his head to make everything make sense.
I guess I do, too.
8.28.2006
8.23.2006
8.18.2006
pay no attention to the man behind the iron curtain
hello friends, Romans, thespians. how are you all?
peachy. thanks for asking.
Work has been paying off. I mean, I'm still working like a horse, and not in fact a llonkey, but the cashola came in today from massage city, and let's just say I may not have been the mayor, but I was at least his deputy. Or her deputy.
yikes, the one thing I am the mayor of tonight is run-on sentences! Somebody needs to whack me in the face with the grammar hammer.
Speaking of, I've been writing quite a bit of music lately. Gasp! it's true. And I think it is more beautiful and better structurally than anything I've yet done. Which is saying a lot, since lugen-flugen himself once wanted to cover my work. And I'm only one degree away from playing a show with both OTR and Dashboard. People! I've practically arrived. How can you stand me?
So Chris and my bro and Ben are all kind of bandying about the bush, saying let's gig together! yeah! but I will confess, I must confess, I must hasten to add that I am hesitant. So many times before (ok well two but it feels more like 4823) I've gotten burned by this "let's get together, yeah yeah yeah" scenario. We're talking singed eyebrows, superficial facial swelling kind of burned. but the crappy thing about me is that I can't stand losing you, music. I try to act disinterested at the prospect of making some sounds with three intelligent, talented, balanced men, one of whom is my bro, the other two have been pros at this previously. The fourth word of that last sentence was key, friends. because it's a friggen act. yikes! I just can't get away from the fact that I love making music. anytime, anywhere, with quite a few people. Chris has already committed to buying a kit. seriously! I don't even know how I feel about that, like maybe I'm supposed to sing a few bars of Ben Folds to him, wander away, and call the whole thing off. But then he lays down, with little human beatbox sounds and flailing of invisible drumsticks, the most excellent little finesse parts. uh. hit that hi-hat on the four of that count. uh. shuffle, one ee and UH TWO ee and uh. hot. get that stick up on top of that ride, yes, downbeats, thump thump thump underneath. and I'm all grind and strum and torque across from him, moving sideways next to my box in the parkinglot, letting my vocal cords shimmy around in my neck. and then comes the POP and I hear it all in my head, ben floating on top of everything with that sick beautiful reverby electric sound, Dan sliding perfectly into the pocket on my jazz bass. this could work, people. this could work- and they all love my music. even Dan grudgingly admits to it, only after defending himself by saying he's my brother, and he's never bought any of my recordings. true on both counts.
so those are the things I'm up to. and I'm running again.
peachy. thanks for asking.
Work has been paying off. I mean, I'm still working like a horse, and not in fact a llonkey, but the cashola came in today from massage city, and let's just say I may not have been the mayor, but I was at least his deputy. Or her deputy.
yikes, the one thing I am the mayor of tonight is run-on sentences! Somebody needs to whack me in the face with the grammar hammer.
Speaking of, I've been writing quite a bit of music lately. Gasp! it's true. And I think it is more beautiful and better structurally than anything I've yet done. Which is saying a lot, since lugen-flugen himself once wanted to cover my work. And I'm only one degree away from playing a show with both OTR and Dashboard. People! I've practically arrived. How can you stand me?
So Chris and my bro and Ben are all kind of bandying about the bush, saying let's gig together! yeah! but I will confess, I must confess, I must hasten to add that I am hesitant. So many times before (ok well two but it feels more like 4823) I've gotten burned by this "let's get together, yeah yeah yeah" scenario. We're talking singed eyebrows, superficial facial swelling kind of burned. but the crappy thing about me is that I can't stand losing you, music. I try to act disinterested at the prospect of making some sounds with three intelligent, talented, balanced men, one of whom is my bro, the other two have been pros at this previously. The fourth word of that last sentence was key, friends. because it's a friggen act. yikes! I just can't get away from the fact that I love making music. anytime, anywhere, with quite a few people. Chris has already committed to buying a kit. seriously! I don't even know how I feel about that, like maybe I'm supposed to sing a few bars of Ben Folds to him, wander away, and call the whole thing off. But then he lays down, with little human beatbox sounds and flailing of invisible drumsticks, the most excellent little finesse parts. uh. hit that hi-hat on the four of that count. uh. shuffle, one ee and UH TWO ee and uh. hot. get that stick up on top of that ride, yes, downbeats, thump thump thump underneath. and I'm all grind and strum and torque across from him, moving sideways next to my box in the parkinglot, letting my vocal cords shimmy around in my neck. and then comes the POP and I hear it all in my head, ben floating on top of everything with that sick beautiful reverby electric sound, Dan sliding perfectly into the pocket on my jazz bass. this could work, people. this could work- and they all love my music. even Dan grudgingly admits to it, only after defending himself by saying he's my brother, and he's never bought any of my recordings. true on both counts.
so those are the things I'm up to. and I'm running again.
8.11.2006
death be not proud
The following is actually from my mentor, John Hay, Jr.'s blog, bikehiker.
On an evening when I have been confronted with my own inner push against the pull, I have found it illuminating. Never can I be the tsubo, the stillness, the absence, the jar, the feminine.... there is always this friction within me that my heart doles out, seemingly of its own accord. This upward thrust of my spirit, when I try to meditate on my bed throughout the watches of the night. In just four hours now I'll need to be up, getting ready for another day in which to sling books, grimacing as my upper ribs audibly snap in and out with each monstrous pile moved. In the midst of my instability, stability exists. In the midst of my chaos, peace resides. Though I cannot grasp it, though I cannot understand it, it is still immovable, invisible, immortal- God, only wise.
This is the solid rock on which I stand. I am the sand, and I am sinking- even as Peter sank. Jesus knew he would, but bade him come out anyway. This is the most miraculous part of the story.
What do I look for tonight? The ears to hear, and the presence of mind to put my leg over the side of the boat, even though it may lead to my ruin. For my saviour calls to me.
(what follows is all John Hay, Jr.'s words; may the peace I felt upon reading them be also with you.)
FROM RESENTMENT TO GRATITUDE
On an evening when I have been confronted with my own inner push against the pull, I have found it illuminating. Never can I be the tsubo, the stillness, the absence, the jar, the feminine.... there is always this friction within me that my heart doles out, seemingly of its own accord. This upward thrust of my spirit, when I try to meditate on my bed throughout the watches of the night. In just four hours now I'll need to be up, getting ready for another day in which to sling books, grimacing as my upper ribs audibly snap in and out with each monstrous pile moved. In the midst of my instability, stability exists. In the midst of my chaos, peace resides. Though I cannot grasp it, though I cannot understand it, it is still immovable, invisible, immortal- God, only wise.
This is the solid rock on which I stand. I am the sand, and I am sinking- even as Peter sank. Jesus knew he would, but bade him come out anyway. This is the most miraculous part of the story.
What do I look for tonight? The ears to hear, and the presence of mind to put my leg over the side of the boat, even though it may lead to my ruin. For my saviour calls to me.
(what follows is all John Hay, Jr.'s words; may the peace I felt upon reading them be also with you.)
FROM RESENTMENT TO GRATITUDE
ANONYMOUS E-MAILS & POSTS. For nearly two years, I have occasionally received quite hateful e-mail and blog posts from an anonymous source (yes, they continue unabated). The writer reads my bikehiker blog and is familiar with West Morris Street church. The writer sorely twists my words and intended meanings and pens caustic, intimidating little diatribes. I have not quite figured out who it is. But this person’s identity does not matter to me so much as the level of resentment and anger he or she expresses. If I could, I would drain away their resentment and anger, for I am afraid it will ultimately consume them.
TWO WORDS FOR HEALING MINISTRY. "Healing ministry can be expressed in two words: gratitude and compassion." Healing happens often by leading people to gratitude, for the world is full of resentment. What is resentment? Cold anger. 'I'm angry at him. I'm angry at this. This is not the way I want it.' Gradually, there are more and more things I am negative about, and soon I become a resentful person."
RESPONDING TO LOSS. "Resentment makes you cling to your failures or disappointments and complain about the losses in your life. Our life is full of losses— losses of dreams and losses of friends and losses of family and losses of hopes. There is always the lurking danger we will respond to these incredible pains in resentment. Resentment gives us a hardened heart."
PAINS LEADING TO JOY. "Jesus calls us to gratitude. He calls to us, 'You foolish people. Didn't you know that the Son of Man--that you, that we--have to suffer and thus enter into the glory? Didn't you know that these pains were labor pains that lead you to the joy? Didn't you know that all we are experiencing as losses are gains in God's eyes? Those who lose their lives will gain it. And if the grain doesn't die, it stays a small grain; but if it dies, then it will be fruitful.'"
CAN WE BE GRATEFUL? "Can you be grateful for everything that has happened in your life—not just the good things but for all that brought you to today? It was the pain of a Son that created a family of people known as Christians. That's the mystery of God."
LETTING RESENTMENT GO. "Our ministry is to help people to gradually let go of the resentment, to discover that right in the middle of pain there is a blessing. Right in the middle of your tears—that's where the dance starts and joy is first felt. "
NOT SEPARATED. "In this crazy world, there's an enormous distinction between good times and bad, between sorrow and joy. But in the eyes of God, they're never separated. Where there is pain, there is healing. Where there is mourning, there is dancing. Where there is poverty, there is the kingdom."
JESUS’ PRESENCE IN OUR WEAKNESS. "Jesus says, 'Cry over your pains, and you will discover that I'm right there in your tears, and you will be grateful for my presence in your weakness.' Ministry means to help people become grateful for life even with pain. That gratitude can send into the world precisely to the places where people are in pain. The minister, the disciple of Jesus, goes where there is pain not because he is a masochist or she is a sadist, but because God is hidden in the pain."
8.09.2006
do you carry every sadness with you?
Hem asks me this question, as I sit and yawn at my screen.
Quite possibly.
Tonight at work a man had a seizure, over in the cookbooks section of the store. Mary came running towards me, a worried look on her face, and forced calm cloaking her every move. Call 911. Call mall security. Get Val. I run around the corner, why am I always running around corners to find somebody unconscious and needing help? Why does panic always choke my long neck with her white, slender hand?
No matter how many times I go through this, it's still the same. I grudgingly admit to Val that I know CPR, before I go out front to wait for the ambulance. All the while I mutter under my breath, damn, damn, damn. Keep breathing, you idiot. Keep freaking breathing. Those glassy, unresponsive eyes scare the lightheartedness right out of me, the banter I was sharing with pals over in the cafe moments ago is lost utterly. I'm still not ready. I'm still not. Will there be a time? Will there be a time that I can react calmly when someone collapses in front of me, puke near their head and moans issuing from behind clenched teeth? Will I ever pull off the act of hero?
I don't know. For all the talk of eternal now, and blustering I may do about things unseen, it comes down to this; you really shouldn't trust me farther than you can throw me. And I'm a big girl these days.
Quite possibly.
Tonight at work a man had a seizure, over in the cookbooks section of the store. Mary came running towards me, a worried look on her face, and forced calm cloaking her every move. Call 911. Call mall security. Get Val. I run around the corner, why am I always running around corners to find somebody unconscious and needing help? Why does panic always choke my long neck with her white, slender hand?
No matter how many times I go through this, it's still the same. I grudgingly admit to Val that I know CPR, before I go out front to wait for the ambulance. All the while I mutter under my breath, damn, damn, damn. Keep breathing, you idiot. Keep freaking breathing. Those glassy, unresponsive eyes scare the lightheartedness right out of me, the banter I was sharing with pals over in the cafe moments ago is lost utterly. I'm still not ready. I'm still not. Will there be a time? Will there be a time that I can react calmly when someone collapses in front of me, puke near their head and moans issuing from behind clenched teeth? Will I ever pull off the act of hero?
I don't know. For all the talk of eternal now, and blustering I may do about things unseen, it comes down to this; you really shouldn't trust me farther than you can throw me. And I'm a big girl these days.
7.29.2006
bang a gong
for some reason my browser will not allow me to use an apostrophe. so there will be no contractions in this post. yikes!!!
so what is on my mind then, is that I have this profile on Myspace, and I have been looking around, messaging a couple of folks who are in my prospective track at Fuller, to get their feel for it. as I come across a plethora of Fuller folks, I notice that quite a few of them have one thing in common, which is blatant Christian advertising all over the page. Everything is all about Jesus, all the time. ok, I realize I might come under some fire here for this, but stick with me.
If your life is all about Jesus, do you really need to advertise the fact? Shouldn't (ACK! ACK! THE APOSTROPHE IS WORKING) it be obvious to everyone? Does your headline need to be "soldier for Christ" or "looking for a godly man so I can be submissive" or "I save up all my toenail clippings in a little box so that Jesus can have all of me".... ? (disclaimer, no, these aren't actual headlines. I tamed them down considerably.) What I don't understand is why people do this. Do they think someone will be impacted positively for the gospel through such ridiculousness? Is it an attempt to prove to everyone, their friends, heck themselves, how godly they are? Look at my righteousness. My profile screams evangelical from a mile away. LOOK, PEOPLE! LOOK AT MY RIGHTEOUSNESS! COWER BEFORE ME!!!!!!
I wonder if some people know right off the bat that I believe in God, or if they're left hanging. The fact that I am totally consecrated to God is something I'm secure with, and I guess I don't have a need to smear it carelessly around the internet. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm all in favor of well-done cyberspace Jesus talk, as can be found at places like Midwest Mindset or John's Blog.
I guess asking for taste and tact from twentysomething christians in the US is just too big of a stretch.
Thoughts?
so what is on my mind then, is that I have this profile on Myspace, and I have been looking around, messaging a couple of folks who are in my prospective track at Fuller, to get their feel for it. as I come across a plethora of Fuller folks, I notice that quite a few of them have one thing in common, which is blatant Christian advertising all over the page. Everything is all about Jesus, all the time. ok, I realize I might come under some fire here for this, but stick with me.
If your life is all about Jesus, do you really need to advertise the fact? Shouldn't (ACK! ACK! THE APOSTROPHE IS WORKING) it be obvious to everyone? Does your headline need to be "soldier for Christ" or "looking for a godly man so I can be submissive" or "I save up all my toenail clippings in a little box so that Jesus can have all of me".... ? (disclaimer, no, these aren't actual headlines. I tamed them down considerably.) What I don't understand is why people do this. Do they think someone will be impacted positively for the gospel through such ridiculousness? Is it an attempt to prove to everyone, their friends, heck themselves, how godly they are? Look at my righteousness. My profile screams evangelical from a mile away. LOOK, PEOPLE! LOOK AT MY RIGHTEOUSNESS! COWER BEFORE ME!!!!!!
I wonder if some people know right off the bat that I believe in God, or if they're left hanging. The fact that I am totally consecrated to God is something I'm secure with, and I guess I don't have a need to smear it carelessly around the internet. Oh, don't get me wrong. I'm all in favor of well-done cyberspace Jesus talk, as can be found at places like Midwest Mindset or John's Blog.
I guess asking for taste and tact from twentysomething christians in the US is just too big of a stretch.
Thoughts?
7.27.2006
i'd dance like the king of the eyesores
Massaging at the county fair: dusty, shuffling passersby refuse to make eye-contact. For some reason every time a person is asked if they want a chair massage, they laugh. Is it funny? Is this because people don't know what else to do, so they laugh? Do they think I'm funny? That the notion of getting a massage is somehow (not good funny) ridiculous? I don't know.
Tonight I bought a gyro on the way out of the fair, and walked alone among the throngs in the not-so-dark dark, lit up with all the carnival rides and booth/foodstall lighting, bubbles from a bubble machine flying through the air. Fat kids stood about, eating popcorn. The girl who made my gyro had a little piece of fried chicken on her ass. There were sounds off to the right, from the pit area, where maybe there were ATVs. Little boys crawled around in the grass off in the darkness, and a very butch young woman belted a dance-remix version of Alanis Morrissette's "You Oughta Know" at the karaoke contest. It smelled like manure, and I was eating. For some reason, this satisfied me; at the county fair, it makes sense to eat and smell shit all at the same time. I decided to keep my foil wrapper in my breast pocket of my scrubs; the trashcans were disgusting, and had lids on them that you had to push up in order to throw away items. I'm assuming this is meant to keep flies out, but it discouraged me from touching the lid. All the trashcans were like this.
This morning all my ideas came to me in the shower. Everything else waited until later.
Tonight I bought a gyro on the way out of the fair, and walked alone among the throngs in the not-so-dark dark, lit up with all the carnival rides and booth/foodstall lighting, bubbles from a bubble machine flying through the air. Fat kids stood about, eating popcorn. The girl who made my gyro had a little piece of fried chicken on her ass. There were sounds off to the right, from the pit area, where maybe there were ATVs. Little boys crawled around in the grass off in the darkness, and a very butch young woman belted a dance-remix version of Alanis Morrissette's "You Oughta Know" at the karaoke contest. It smelled like manure, and I was eating. For some reason, this satisfied me; at the county fair, it makes sense to eat and smell shit all at the same time. I decided to keep my foil wrapper in my breast pocket of my scrubs; the trashcans were disgusting, and had lids on them that you had to push up in order to throw away items. I'm assuming this is meant to keep flies out, but it discouraged me from touching the lid. All the trashcans were like this.
This morning all my ideas came to me in the shower. Everything else waited until later.
7.15.2006
many waters
I disregarded friends tonight and had a three hour dinner date with my grandfather.
Then I went and had ice cream in the bug with my mom and grandmother and cousins. I have not felt this familial- nor this stuffed- in quite some time.
I feel more peaceful right now than I have in a long time as well- becoming that leaf in the stream, I suppose. I am the tsubo, the jar, the holder of chi. I am like the wind, not even knowing where I come from or where I'm going.
I'm just glad Someone does.
Then I went and had ice cream in the bug with my mom and grandmother and cousins. I have not felt this familial- nor this stuffed- in quite some time.
I feel more peaceful right now than I have in a long time as well- becoming that leaf in the stream, I suppose. I am the tsubo, the jar, the holder of chi. I am like the wind, not even knowing where I come from or where I'm going.
I'm just glad Someone does.
7.12.2006
verbatim
the following is why I love my dad.
*ring, ring*
"hello."
"hello? who's this?"
"your fairy godmother."
"oh, sweetie! hi!"
"hi bubz."
"is mama there?"
"no, she went shopping with Sharon."
"oh, I thought you went with them?"
"no, just eating."
"oh. where'd you go?"
"TGI Fridays."
"oh boy. what did you eat?"
"Jack Daniels Salmon."
"oh boy. what did mama eat?"
"Jack Daniels burger."
"oh boy. what did Sharon eat?"
"Club Sandwich."
(a beat)
"anything else?"
"Uh, spin dip."
"oohhh..... gross."
(a beat)
"Well have a good day honey."
"you too, dad."
*click*
*ring, ring*
"hello."
"hello? who's this?"
"your fairy godmother."
"oh, sweetie! hi!"
"hi bubz."
"is mama there?"
"no, she went shopping with Sharon."
"oh, I thought you went with them?"
"no, just eating."
"oh. where'd you go?"
"TGI Fridays."
"oh boy. what did you eat?"
"Jack Daniels Salmon."
"oh boy. what did mama eat?"
"Jack Daniels burger."
"oh boy. what did Sharon eat?"
"Club Sandwich."
(a beat)
"anything else?"
"Uh, spin dip."
"oohhh..... gross."
(a beat)
"Well have a good day honey."
"you too, dad."
*click*
7.10.2006
a rare parrot teacher
this is so beautiful, I wanted to share it with everyone.
Her name is Regina Spektor.
The song is called "Samson."
Her name is Regina Spektor.
The song is called "Samson."
7.08.2006
an unguarded moment
well, it has been some time now since I have talked to you. and mostly, I'm "getting over" things, or you, or whatever. or so I tell myself. the real truth of the matter? I'm afraid to even open that box.
I'm listening to you right now, and you are damn good. damn. I get a head shake and a sigh and a smile, because I know it- I know that whatever else happens with you, and I, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. I've never stopped believing that. you are everything I wished I could be for a long time. I finally started figuring out I needed to be my own dream. and all the bs I told everyone about your guitar player needing more melodic development in this demo- a load. a total load. I friggen love it. I wish you were here because I'm writing this song on keys, it's ok yeah, but I'm totally having issues with the stupid chorus transition, and I just don't know my way around well enough to do it right, you know? you could fix it. you would know what I was trying to do. that's where we started out, after all.
all of it, all of it, it was all what I wanted. it was always some of the best I've ever had. shoes and coats and crazy and you, elbowing me in the nose in the dead of night.
to borrow a line,
I think I've finally found myself.
(your wailing still gives me chills, just like the first time I heard it, kid. just like the first time)
how are you doing on that?
I'm listening to you right now, and you are damn good. damn. I get a head shake and a sigh and a smile, because I know it- I know that whatever else happens with you, and I, you are the most amazing person I've ever met. I've never stopped believing that. you are everything I wished I could be for a long time. I finally started figuring out I needed to be my own dream. and all the bs I told everyone about your guitar player needing more melodic development in this demo- a load. a total load. I friggen love it. I wish you were here because I'm writing this song on keys, it's ok yeah, but I'm totally having issues with the stupid chorus transition, and I just don't know my way around well enough to do it right, you know? you could fix it. you would know what I was trying to do. that's where we started out, after all.
all of it, all of it, it was all what I wanted. it was always some of the best I've ever had. shoes and coats and crazy and you, elbowing me in the nose in the dead of night.
to borrow a line,
I think I've finally found myself.
(your wailing still gives me chills, just like the first time I heard it, kid. just like the first time)
how are you doing on that?
7.06.2006
speaking words of wisdom
I think I have a sternalis. Yes, very exciting. I may even have two.
Tomorrow is a biggie- the DM comes, and will look over what I've been doing since the ole step-up-the-ladder. I'm not nervous. I growl at her, and she laughs. I'm interested in what she has to say. However, I am more interested right now in writing some of these one short stories that kind of fit together but mostly don't but are all about the same thing.
gah.
My hair looked good today. So did Dustin's. We pretended to be siblings with people that already knew us, and then he told me I was his best friend as he tossed a stack of Japanese language CDs on the info desk. He sounded really bored about it. It's ok.
My right ankle is still kind of dodgy. Although the good news is, I can leave BW3s without falling in the gutter every time. I can laugh just as much, though. And feel the texture of the wall, really feel it, because texture is everything. Sometimes the backseat of your own car is the center of the universe, and your hand hanging out the window to ensure the perfect temperature of coolness is like a small flesh-covered, tethered satellite.
all the "hey man"s are my homilies.
haha I just remembered this joke:
And I'm begging you to give me eyes to see
And I'm begging you to give me heart to love
And I'm begging you to give me hands to serve
And burn, burn, burn
pyromaniac requests lead to fiery deaths. I should know- I write them all.
kick up your heels!
kick up your heels!
John Philip Sousa is alive!
Tomorrow is a biggie- the DM comes, and will look over what I've been doing since the ole step-up-the-ladder. I'm not nervous. I growl at her, and she laughs. I'm interested in what she has to say. However, I am more interested right now in writing some of these one short stories that kind of fit together but mostly don't but are all about the same thing.
gah.
My hair looked good today. So did Dustin's. We pretended to be siblings with people that already knew us, and then he told me I was his best friend as he tossed a stack of Japanese language CDs on the info desk. He sounded really bored about it. It's ok.
My right ankle is still kind of dodgy. Although the good news is, I can leave BW3s without falling in the gutter every time. I can laugh just as much, though. And feel the texture of the wall, really feel it, because texture is everything. Sometimes the backseat of your own car is the center of the universe, and your hand hanging out the window to ensure the perfect temperature of coolness is like a small flesh-covered, tethered satellite.
all the "hey man"s are my homilies.
haha I just remembered this joke:
And I'm begging you to give me eyes to see
And I'm begging you to give me heart to love
And I'm begging you to give me hands to serve
And burn, burn, burn
pyromaniac requests lead to fiery deaths. I should know- I write them all.
kick up your heels!
kick up your heels!
John Philip Sousa is alive!
6.28.2006
the pen and the sword... or, picking up where I never left off
hello.
there are a number of reasons I haven't written much lately, most(ly) of which is the fact I've been doing some music again, and it is good for my bones. and lovely. and my lovely bones.
the other reasons will be dealt with briefly now, and I do mean briefly.
a) if you want to know me, to see my point of view, to get me and my perspective, as it were, I have never meant to make it difficult. I have written on here for many months. I plan to continue for many more. that is the one thing that has not changed. and none of it is hidden. the archive tabs are just below and to the left, feel free to use.
b) I have not ever, nor will I ever, belittle, berate or bewitch anyone but myself. ok, and maybe the sitting U.S. president. if this is what you think I am doing, refer back to point A.
c) and this point may be key, which is why I saved it for last. I am twenty three years old. Yes, cyberspace, you heard me. And with this potentially damning piece of evidence, I may lose my identity, my dental fillings, and my existence, just like what happened in the necklace game I used to play with Jericho. (to further illustrate point A, I will at this time draw attention to the fact that the entire last sentence I just wrote was incredibly sarcastic. by telling you this, I am lampooning my own humor. oh well.) Yes, I am twenty three. Which means I'm a person, and an adult, and I do possess a cell phone, and live in a house with a phone, and have email that is perfectly good and frequently receives all sorts of messages. So, please approach me if you have an issue with me. Or my writing, which is my vehicle of self expression, and after re-reading quite a few posts recently, demonstrates a fine writer at the ripe old age of twenty three trying to figure herself out, and nothing more.
sorry to be so anticlimactic.
to end on a happy note, I like oatmeal cream pies. yum.
there are a number of reasons I haven't written much lately, most(ly) of which is the fact I've been doing some music again, and it is good for my bones. and lovely. and my lovely bones.
the other reasons will be dealt with briefly now, and I do mean briefly.
a) if you want to know me, to see my point of view, to get me and my perspective, as it were, I have never meant to make it difficult. I have written on here for many months. I plan to continue for many more. that is the one thing that has not changed. and none of it is hidden. the archive tabs are just below and to the left, feel free to use.
b) I have not ever, nor will I ever, belittle, berate or bewitch anyone but myself. ok, and maybe the sitting U.S. president. if this is what you think I am doing, refer back to point A.
c) and this point may be key, which is why I saved it for last. I am twenty three years old. Yes, cyberspace, you heard me. And with this potentially damning piece of evidence, I may lose my identity, my dental fillings, and my existence, just like what happened in the necklace game I used to play with Jericho. (to further illustrate point A, I will at this time draw attention to the fact that the entire last sentence I just wrote was incredibly sarcastic. by telling you this, I am lampooning my own humor. oh well.) Yes, I am twenty three. Which means I'm a person, and an adult, and I do possess a cell phone, and live in a house with a phone, and have email that is perfectly good and frequently receives all sorts of messages. So, please approach me if you have an issue with me. Or my writing, which is my vehicle of self expression, and after re-reading quite a few posts recently, demonstrates a fine writer at the ripe old age of twenty three trying to figure herself out, and nothing more.
sorry to be so anticlimactic.
to end on a happy note, I like oatmeal cream pies. yum.
6.26.2006
6.22.2006
just as I am
well, being around real friends has shown me one thing....
I really don't know how to be a friend anymore.
suck city, I am your mayor. welcome. stale doritos can be found in the corner on the card table. feel free to use the tv- be careful with the rabbit ears; they're duct taped to the back of the set. and nobody else will be coming. sorry.
can I simply say that I'm burnt out? that I feel wasted, used? unneccessary? how many consonants are in unneccessary, anyway? am I even spelling alright? even if my social life is a shambles, I'll cling to my spelling. or throw myself into book slinging. is it ok to feel empty inside while you sort stacks of trade cloths on the civil war? I'm sure it is. I don't even know what I want. I want nothing and everything, nobody and somebody, companionship and an empty bed.
maybe I'll punch myself.
I really don't know how to be a friend anymore.
suck city, I am your mayor. welcome. stale doritos can be found in the corner on the card table. feel free to use the tv- be careful with the rabbit ears; they're duct taped to the back of the set. and nobody else will be coming. sorry.
can I simply say that I'm burnt out? that I feel wasted, used? unneccessary? how many consonants are in unneccessary, anyway? am I even spelling alright? even if my social life is a shambles, I'll cling to my spelling. or throw myself into book slinging. is it ok to feel empty inside while you sort stacks of trade cloths on the civil war? I'm sure it is. I don't even know what I want. I want nothing and everything, nobody and somebody, companionship and an empty bed.
maybe I'll punch myself.
6.20.2006
friviolity
Go to google, type "(your FIRST name) was arrested for" and see what you got sent to the slammer for. Remember to use the quotation marks! Stick your result below...
1. Noah- I was arrested for murder during my wedding
2. ERICA- Erica was arrested for maintaining a crack house
3. Carrie- I got arrested for making sexual advances towards a cop.
4. Meagan was arrested for lewd behavior. There are no other details available at this time.
5. Jacob was arrested for riding his horse on gravel sidewalk and splashing folks with mud.
6. Walter was arrested for violating Penal Code section 642, otherwise known as grave robbing.
7. Elizabeth was arrested for witchcraft.
(I tried Liza and got 0 returns. Apparently they don't know about my sinister past...)
1. Noah- I was arrested for murder during my wedding
2. ERICA- Erica was arrested for maintaining a crack house
3. Carrie- I got arrested for making sexual advances towards a cop.
4. Meagan was arrested for lewd behavior. There are no other details available at this time.
5. Jacob was arrested for riding his horse on gravel sidewalk and splashing folks with mud.
6. Walter was arrested for violating Penal Code section 642, otherwise known as grave robbing.
7. Elizabeth was arrested for witchcraft.
(I tried Liza and got 0 returns. Apparently they don't know about my sinister past...)
6.17.2006
changes come
Today my family traveled north, to Anderson, where my earliest memories come from. One Megan was marrying one Jonathon, in the Free Methodist church I attended from ages four to six years. Megan's mother, Connie, is my mother's best friend. There were obligatory "trophy moments" at the reception, as my brother and I call them, where my mother turns half way to us, and gestures, and halfway is still looking at some older person with an open jawed smile.
"These are my children."
During the wedding, as we sat sweating in those old holiness pews, I looked up at the ceiling and remembered something. I leaned over to my mother, and told her in college I wrote a poem about those beams, those lights hanging on their chains in the heavy air. She had the same response she always does when I talk about my writing, which is only significant in it's lack of significance. Not even feigning a response, she turned her head and said something to my dad, and that was that.
I sat for a few moments and just smiled at the lights, for them and for me. Then I put my arm around my brother, and we joked about the modern American woman's look: Short hair that looks like she takes her hands to the back of her neck, liberally coats them with gel, and shoves violently upward. Complete this with plastered down bangs, mercilessly tweezed eyebrows, and a perpetual look of surprise on the birdlike features, and you have a whizbang combination of trendy beauty. I sat in my linen dress and flip flops, with my great shaggy mop of hair draped over my shoulders, shoved my glasses up and sweated.
**
Someone at the reception asked my brother what he was doing. He told them he'd just graduated with a degree in Law and Society from Purdue University, and is seeking employment as a Police Officer. Sufficiently impressed, the inquisitor turned to me, dwarfed and hippie looking, standing next to him. And what are you doing?
"Oh, a little of this, and a little of that," I replied, offhandedly. I am at ease. The inquisitor seems expectant of forthcoming additions to my short response. I wait a moment, then smile broadly with closed lips. After a moment, she turns her head, resplendant with it's surprised visage, and displays shoved-up hair for us both to see. She quickly says something to someone nearby, relieving herself of the awkward moment that has descended on us all. Dan and I look at each other out of the corner of our eyes and smile.
**
Over the meal, my mom was talking to the young mother of a little girl who also shared our table. She asked if the little girl was prissy or a tomboy, and the mother replied that the toddler was indeed the former.
"Seems like you're born one way or the other," my mother said. "Not much you can do about it."
"These are my children."
During the wedding, as we sat sweating in those old holiness pews, I looked up at the ceiling and remembered something. I leaned over to my mother, and told her in college I wrote a poem about those beams, those lights hanging on their chains in the heavy air. She had the same response she always does when I talk about my writing, which is only significant in it's lack of significance. Not even feigning a response, she turned her head and said something to my dad, and that was that.
I sat for a few moments and just smiled at the lights, for them and for me. Then I put my arm around my brother, and we joked about the modern American woman's look: Short hair that looks like she takes her hands to the back of her neck, liberally coats them with gel, and shoves violently upward. Complete this with plastered down bangs, mercilessly tweezed eyebrows, and a perpetual look of surprise on the birdlike features, and you have a whizbang combination of trendy beauty. I sat in my linen dress and flip flops, with my great shaggy mop of hair draped over my shoulders, shoved my glasses up and sweated.
**
Someone at the reception asked my brother what he was doing. He told them he'd just graduated with a degree in Law and Society from Purdue University, and is seeking employment as a Police Officer. Sufficiently impressed, the inquisitor turned to me, dwarfed and hippie looking, standing next to him. And what are you doing?
"Oh, a little of this, and a little of that," I replied, offhandedly. I am at ease. The inquisitor seems expectant of forthcoming additions to my short response. I wait a moment, then smile broadly with closed lips. After a moment, she turns her head, resplendant with it's surprised visage, and displays shoved-up hair for us both to see. She quickly says something to someone nearby, relieving herself of the awkward moment that has descended on us all. Dan and I look at each other out of the corner of our eyes and smile.
**
Over the meal, my mom was talking to the young mother of a little girl who also shared our table. She asked if the little girl was prissy or a tomboy, and the mother replied that the toddler was indeed the former.
"Seems like you're born one way or the other," my mother said. "Not much you can do about it."
6.16.2006
nighttime ghost
here I am at 4 am again, on my father's computer.
My laptop officially died 2 days ago. Oh well, it's not like there was anything important on there. just works in progress. scribbles, and thoughts, and incompletes.
just like me.
I'm on the verge. I'm on a roll. My hands look old in the pale screenlight, the only illumination for miles and miles and miles.
I close my eyes.
I open them.
I'm still here.
My laptop officially died 2 days ago. Oh well, it's not like there was anything important on there. just works in progress. scribbles, and thoughts, and incompletes.
just like me.
I'm on the verge. I'm on a roll. My hands look old in the pale screenlight, the only illumination for miles and miles and miles.
I close my eyes.
I open them.
I'm still here.
6.15.2006
I feel like a monkey
what a weird schedule my body is on. work at different times of day, leisure in the middle of the night. not that I mind... but things become somewhat complicated when people want to hang out normally. or should I say, at normal times of day. I don't know if I'm capable of hanging out normally.
so, I'm fighting muffin tops right now, which for those of you who are unsure of what I am talking about, picture a girl with some extra love on her. you know the kind I am talking about. and somewhat tight pants, so said love spills out in all directions- note- especially the sides and back. those areas are key. so the entire business begins to resemble a muffin, with the pants being the paper cup part, and the extra love being, well, the muffin top.
I think I got so excited about living in a house with food that I forgot that I don't have to eat all of it, all the time.
a year on Ramen, table scraps, and eggs will do this to you, my friends. even if the scraps are organic.
so the rule is, no food after work except for fruit. problematic, yes, because it's late at night and I'm so hongry and have only eaten two meals prior during the day, a sort of brunch before work, and a linner at 6 or so. so I come in and devour peaches, strawberries, bananas, whatever.
only tonight, there were no strawbs, and the peaches were hard. so I ate three bananas. it is at this point that I begin to feel as if I should swing from a tree. perhaps I'll just go sleep in my bed instead. a very potassium laden good night to you all.
so, I'm fighting muffin tops right now, which for those of you who are unsure of what I am talking about, picture a girl with some extra love on her. you know the kind I am talking about. and somewhat tight pants, so said love spills out in all directions- note- especially the sides and back. those areas are key. so the entire business begins to resemble a muffin, with the pants being the paper cup part, and the extra love being, well, the muffin top.
I think I got so excited about living in a house with food that I forgot that I don't have to eat all of it, all the time.
a year on Ramen, table scraps, and eggs will do this to you, my friends. even if the scraps are organic.
so the rule is, no food after work except for fruit. problematic, yes, because it's late at night and I'm so hongry and have only eaten two meals prior during the day, a sort of brunch before work, and a linner at 6 or so. so I come in and devour peaches, strawberries, bananas, whatever.
only tonight, there were no strawbs, and the peaches were hard. so I ate three bananas. it is at this point that I begin to feel as if I should swing from a tree. perhaps I'll just go sleep in my bed instead. a very potassium laden good night to you all.
6.10.2006
lay lady lay
Ah... days off.
I've been writing things down with my hands lately, trying not to be so blogophiliac. There's something about a pen in your hand that just feels right; something permanent about ink and paper that keyboards and microchips can't replace. I'm not writing for anyone's posterity but my own.
the bro has been home much- things are moving forward with his employment, but there is lots of free time at this stage of the game. I however have been home little, some days working 3 different jobs. Tired little nubbins, I can tell you that. But it pays the bills.
Speaking of which, news my little newsies, is that I got a promotion at work, yippee hoo rah. And that means a dollar more an hour. And I'm signed up for benefits, including life insurance, so you can go ahead and kill me whenever you want. Just wait till I get new glasses. I want to stick it to the man a little, first.
I got my transcripts from CIMT yesterday. I never realized they kept track of GPA and such- so it looks like I had a 3.7 cumulative. I do really well with gettin about 3.6-3.7.... no more, no less. I fake just enough to make it look like I try, I suppose, but not enough to bring home the gold. But anyway, also included in the packet from school was my actual certificates, which are nice and sheepskinny, which I will probably frame (why the hell not? I earned them) along with my college degree that my parents still have. It only seemed appropriate for me to leave it with them; they paid for it, and it's not like I'm using it right now.
And still no word from Fuller. ha. grad school. what a maroon.
I've been writing things down with my hands lately, trying not to be so blogophiliac. There's something about a pen in your hand that just feels right; something permanent about ink and paper that keyboards and microchips can't replace. I'm not writing for anyone's posterity but my own.
the bro has been home much- things are moving forward with his employment, but there is lots of free time at this stage of the game. I however have been home little, some days working 3 different jobs. Tired little nubbins, I can tell you that. But it pays the bills.
Speaking of which, news my little newsies, is that I got a promotion at work, yippee hoo rah. And that means a dollar more an hour. And I'm signed up for benefits, including life insurance, so you can go ahead and kill me whenever you want. Just wait till I get new glasses. I want to stick it to the man a little, first.
I got my transcripts from CIMT yesterday. I never realized they kept track of GPA and such- so it looks like I had a 3.7 cumulative. I do really well with gettin about 3.6-3.7.... no more, no less. I fake just enough to make it look like I try, I suppose, but not enough to bring home the gold. But anyway, also included in the packet from school was my actual certificates, which are nice and sheepskinny, which I will probably frame (why the hell not? I earned them) along with my college degree that my parents still have. It only seemed appropriate for me to leave it with them; they paid for it, and it's not like I'm using it right now.
And still no word from Fuller. ha. grad school. what a maroon.
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