Fitted

If I never have to hear that word again I'll be a happy girl.

seriously. shudder. its right up there with "flesh".
GROSS

I really do believe that even if I ever should widdle myself down to an impossible size 2, I shall forever hate that word. Forever now, forever.

God Blesses Me. But Have I Ever Really Lived?

SATURDAY from belulino on Vimeo.

"Put THAT In Your Blog"

if only I remember what that was. oh well. good silly times doing nothing at all.

Looking so forward to tomorrow. I wish I didnt have fat face. Or fat tummy or arms or...okay we get the point. Well it is what it is and theres no way I would walk away from this perfect opportunity.
I just knew I was going to win. I knew it.

yes, I'm a little outside the fan base, but even though I care, I really just dont.
I think I'm almost in awe of the good fortune, but then again its just like I knew I would head to the store or go to work that day.

How Exciting! What Fabulous Luck! -- And How Mean and Spiteful.

The universe is polarized today. Its both for me and against me, but in the crazy theres a full moon sort of way.
I dont know whether to be happy or sad.







(oh an in that universe polarization I just knew I was winning this. I could feel it. and not just as a good guess).

Thanksgiving Dinner for One, Served

Thanksgiving Day

This should make me happy, but like the rest of the day, its a sort of upsetting.

Thanksgiving Groceries For One

Everytime I've Ever Let Go I've Ended Up Broken.

Add a because before that and you've a huge reason.

Another plow right into a brick wall. I saw it when I watched a little girl happy on a tire-swing. Its so true.

It is beautiful, and it is this amazing relaxing, floating with the universe kind of feeling.

But it only lasts mere seconds before reality crashes against you.

Story Time

Four years (and 5 days ago) I worked the polls as an election official. I think my official title was "Election Customer Service Official" or something along those lines. Basically my job was to check driver's liscences' and resolve any discrepencies between voters and what the hard list with some PDA that never really quite worked and that wasn't hooked up to the internet, so I'm not even sure what good it ever would've done. Thankfully, we didn't have suspicious characters and most of the voters even brought their registration cards.
At the time I was attending college in a relatively rural part of Missouri. If my college town was what we'll call rural, then the surrounding areas were neighbors only with nature herself.
I was taking a class that required a certain amount of volunteer hours, and as it was an election year, there was no shortage of opportunities. I won't get into the politics of that year, because I'm still reeling from the overexposure. And its still why I try my darndest to continue to swear them off.
Anyway, my teacher had some contacts in the election official's office and they needed people to be Customer Service Officials for this genius new high-tech (cough) process. The training at the local bingo lodge (temporary building anyone?) would count for volunteer hours and the election day itself would be paid. Paid! I was a poor college kid with a dirty (cough) habits or two and needed all the money I could get into my grubby little hands and that I could hide from my parents. This was the perfect mix. I won't tell you what Uncle Sam's dollars went towards, but suffice it to say, it paid for a good time (okay, so I can't really remember, but whatever it was, I know it started off as a good time, albeit even if it didn't end that way, but thats another set of stories all together).
The polls open early and those working them have to get there even earlier. Now, this is not my first time working the polls, but it was the first in some kind of official capacity and this time around didn't leave me sitting outside a poll with my Mother's campaign signs and pens and a friend and a bag of fun things and snacks to entertain us.
So I gather myself, coffee and some book I was convinced I would read and get ahead in class with during whatever breaks we might have. My assignment was a building used as the main gathering place for this particular part of the county. Its dark and I'm flying, because of course I'm late. I have no idea where I'm going or what I'm looking for. Theres a truck riding on my tail and in this part of the country at this hour, it is strange to see another car, much less for them to be riding up behind you. I finally find the place and as I turn into the gravel lot I see that my new found stalker pulls up behind me. Oh fabulous, he's one of the election judges. This is not some modern community town-hall-type building. Nope, its a one room school house thats been around since there were children to teach. There are OUTHOUSES to the side. Yes, full on outhouses, half-moons cut out of the doors and all. I don't see them yet, as its still so dark the moon and the stars stare down at us questioning our sanity. I wander in after my truck-stalker as he gives me some baloney about how he just knew I had to be going the same place he was (which makes no sense as to why he was tailing me so severely, but whatever). As I walk it, it is refreshingly warm. The kind of warm that hits you when you walk into your grandparent's house in the winter. The school is charming, original desks and benches scattered around and the newly installed heating system working nicely. The actual election judges are already there, setting up crockpots and hot plates and introducing themselves. Apparently they all work this same polling place every election and have a sort of routine set up for themselves. Each judge makes a dish for both breakfast and lunch/dinner: sort of a pot-luck-polling place. They are all elderly and quckly hand me a plate of some delicious breakfast casseroles and gravy and the likes of which I remember was delicious but cannot now remember precisely. I of course protest because I have come completely empty handed (I assumed I would just order in food, I had no idea how isolated we would be) but they protest and we all have a nice breakfast together. Its about this time that I notice there are no bathrooms. I wonder aloud and I'm greeted with the unpleasant explanation. I vow then and there that whatever I do, I will forbid myself from needing, nay even thinking, of having to go to the bathroom. Eventually three high school kids show up to check voters in (I still can't be sure what the election judges were for, I suppose just to make sure no one breaks the rules, whatever those may be) and in between the rushes (yes, there were actually people and, gasp!, a line at one point or another: it seems that this is the only polling place within any sort of manageable distance for many of the rural folk) the four of us play cards. Several hours in one of the judges mentions that we get a break, albeit something like 10 minutes. Thank God! The high school girl offered to let me use the bathroom at her house so we jumped in my car, buzzed over, and made it back before we got any serious scowels. The afternoon drags along slowly and the benches lining the side of the room look awfully inviting. I decide I'm going to pretend to read but "accidentally" fall asleep. I am the only one trained to do my job, so I feel mildly guilty, not to mention I always feel a little guilty when no one else is slacking or resting (okay misery loves company) but I just didn't care at that point. I think I caught 20 minutes or so before someone made a loud noise (can we say on purpose?) and I used my one-time-use-oh my goodness did I doze off??-speech. Darn. At this point I can kind of tell that the old folks are getting mildly irritated at me for not only napping but reading and actually taking my alloted absence break, but whatever. I've counted every floor plank and desk and outlet and whatever else I can't stop counting in the ONE ROOM we were stuck in the entire day. The schoolhouse is loosing its charm and so are the people I'm with. I think everyone knows the side effects of coffee. I had to use the bathroom again, and badly. I suck it up and head outside. I go in and admist shudders and just staring at the horrid site before me, I decide I can hold it and go back inside. They seem dissapointed. I decide I can't mention again that I have to go to the bathroom. But I do. So badly that I head out, fling open the door, whisk away the cobwebs and proceed to go at it, keeping both eyes peeled for insects that might decide my bum looks like prime biting ground. Ugh. I still hate the idea of that. But I sort of love that I did it. Whatever, I'm tough. Eventually 7 o'clock rolls around and its about time again to depart. We do, exchanging exhausted pleasantries with people of whom I cannot remember their names much less their faces. I head back into the darkness, glad when I finally reach the highway and even more so when I see the lights increase and know that I'm almost home. I drop off the useless PDA and stumble into bed. Whats funny is that I don't remmeber how I found out who won the election or even what I felt like. I know relieved, because I couldn't handle the naysayers anymore, but nothing that left a lasting impression. Except for the outhouses.

All the Worlds a Stage

I'm begining to hate that I feel this way.
This self, elated by such a tiny victory, just shows how low I am without it.

Politic Personality. The Public Soul.

Your politics should be decided in a room quiet but for your thoughts.
Sans the buldozers and trumpets and roaring waves.
Your politics are intimately connected to who you are.
They are who you are, not what others project on you to be.
Do not be a blank passive screen ambivilous of their use and persuasion.

The Confidence Ratings Should Be High, the Projected Effect is Negligeble

I am drawn to quotes about living your life as you imagine it. To not let fear consume you. To ignore negative voices both from outsiders and those in your head.
They resonate. But I think a little too deeply.
They hit the bottom and rattle around the cavernous tin of my insides.
Because no matter what how badly I want them to pierce the armour of my heart and open my mind wide enough for them to expand it and get me out of here, there are entirely too many well reasoned walls around them both.

Its a joke. The insanity of the laughter pings around, knocking against the hollow walls.

They are so much a part of me. But just enough for the reasoned mind and desperate heart to pick up, albeit never to use. Its exactly how one can never take their own advice.

This hole is so deep. So wide. So slick edged that no one could possibly crawl out. How does someone live this way for the rest of their life? Empty. An empty person can't be loved because they are incapable of loving back. At least not to the extent of being content.

If you're not happy with yourself, how can you be happy with anyone else? I think thats the key to my Mother. I've seen how its destroyed her. How in its path there are expounding casualites, scattered and amiss, pieces left to dry alone, mutilated by a dagger of the tounge. Discarded. I've seen the destruction and the pain. It takes an awful toll.
Its either better or terribly worse that I've got daydreamed plans. But I can see the lines around the eyes.
Those aren't liver spots; they're fear and pain making their mark.

--------
"Don't listen to those who say, your taking too big a chance. Michelangelo would have painted the Sistine floor, and it would surely be rubbed out by today. Most important, don't listen when the little voice of fear inside you rears its ugly head and says. they all smarter than you out there. They're more talented, they're taller, blonder, prettier, luckier, and they have connections. I firmly believe that if you follow a path that interests you, not to the exclusion of love, sensitivity, and cooperation with others, but with the strength of conviction that you can move others by your own efforts, and do not make success or failure the criteria by which you live, the chances are you'll be a person worthy of your own respects.”--Neil Simon

She's Said Meaner. And She Should Know Better.

You cannot stand without your crutches of malice. You cannot breathe without waking in the morning and sucking the sweet happiness out of life.

"Your a weak person who will never be independant. Have a nice life."

I just can't do this anymore. I remember leaving my old house and how I cried for years. Years. When you are 9 you shouldn't then cry for years. Even now the thought of just driving by brings tears.

I didn't loose a family member. The house didn't burn down in a fire.

I just can't put away the terror that plauges me at night. How with the waking day it doesn't dissapear. I don't want to loose it all again. I still have recovered from the first time.

Broken hearts turn dry dreaming sobs to stained cheeks the next day.

Its absurd the amout of anger that floats around us. And its really over nothing at all.

"The Pen is Mightier..."

"Poets...
Words are for the merry and wicked.
It shall be written that you were here--dancing barefoot in the garden, awake in the moonlight with a craving for sweets, beauty, and long lines of tumbling free verse."

I didn't write it, but I like to think it was written with [people like] me in mind, because Lord knows I'm sitting here, awake in the moonlight, with a craving for sweets, beauty, and...

O.A.R.

GORGEOUS NIGHT. Red patent leather heels and white tshirt breezes. The weather and venue and a supersized Bud couldnt be any more pleasant.

I Do.

Because if feels like if I dont, I might die.

And you wonder why when I've got nothing its so much bigger than, well, nothing.

Phenomenal

He needs you to find this.
The world should be so grateful.
Maybe it serves a self indulgent purpose. In fact, I'm sure it does.
Just more proof that such a concept isn't evil.

I've been finding it over and over again, but this one in particular compells me to share.
Please find this.

Its Become a Mantra

"Worry serves no purpose.
You cannot impact the events.
Go on with your life and forget it.
Ok. Smile!!!"

---My Dad counseling me to calm down about the economy--

its like investing in the stock market and not swimming unless its 85. how many people have been given these valuable tools like I have? some people think I'm cold. I just know what I can and cannot change. Even if I do have to be reminded by dear old dad every once in a great while.

Bar Clothes' Second Life

Ingrained with the smell of nicotene and a hundred different perfumes.
Smoke swirled with the remnants of my lotion and barroom floors.
Crashing back memories not only of the night before, but of every other dark night out.

3 buttons, not 4

Its comforting to know that even down here in Miami they appreciate us.

its kind of like the late night rain outside

I've Got NOTHING

nothing from nothing means nothing.

what is this? where have I gone?
anything I try to conjure is just awful and trite.

my empty head and my broken fingers and wine that doesn't seem to spark anything are beginning to worry me.

I happen to be in a very good mood this morning

Cue the big band and brass with mutes.
Today's a toe-tapping kind of day.

The Ten Commandments

They are made to be so very easy to follow, suspiciously easy to break, but not without a back of the mi

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To Err is Human to Forgive is Dad

Me: I'll only miss FOUR games out of FOURTY man.
Dad: That's 10 percent!!
Me: Psh on 10%
Dad: Its half of 20.
Me: And a fifth of 50. I don't even look at merchandise if the sale is only 10% off. Its inconsequential.
Dad: Hmmm ten percent of 156,000 is a new car.
Me: Alas, I'm not a bigshot agent so we're not talking about a ten percent that could actually make a positive life difference. In fact, it would be a detrimental impact far greater than 10%.
Dad: Of your tuituion silly.
Me: Yea, well I still think the harm and personal anguish are far greater than any possible benefit to be derived.
Dad: I have forgotton what this is about.
Me: LOL. Ah, well, suffice it to say I'm right.
Dad: You are a legend in your own mind.
Me: No no, thats where you've gone astray from actuality again. I am a legend. Period. It is fact, not self-indulged myth.
Dad: Fact. False aspirations coming true.
Me: Do tell, how can aspirations be false?
Dad: When dreaming.
Me: Oh no, then is when they are the most genuine.
Dad: To err is human to forgive is dad.
Me: Okay okay old man :)
Dad: Remember your now more than ten percent of my age, more like fifty-seven percent! Now see how good ten percent can be???
Me: 10% is not inherently bad. No, I'll agree to that.
Dad: Would you pick up a dime? I do all the time.
Me: No, why would I? I just walk on by.
Dad: I didn't know I had a wealthy daughter watch your dimes and the dollars often take care of themselves.
Me: I watch my dollars so the quarters look after those pesky dimes. Its call delegating.
Dad: Touchette. Did you schedule your check up? See what I did there???
Me: Uhh no to both.
Dad: Touchette...that cat hair must be cloggin your brain think about it in response to your money anwser.
Me: Its true. My system is shutting down for maintence in the form of a nap.
Dad: Sweet dreams!
Me: Thanks, I did, literally. I dreamt about cake.
---
Afternoon fun with my Dad 1200 miles away.

Bitches in Black Bras with Halos

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I LOVE fabulous online steals. My latest spoils just arrived.

Are you watching this?

You have GOT to be kidding me. There are maybe 300 people there. This brit is being an ass on matters he has no business speaking on.
The nervous laughter is pathetic.
Its been 5 minutes and I'm disgusted and dissapointed.

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Guilty Pleasure No. 75

I've noticed most of my pleasures are incredibly guilty.
I try not to dwell.
Its not pathetic, its a insertprefixhere-day.
And I'm a girl whose in another wedding as of two days ago and took a long nap today and its my constructive Friday and I look like a reverse racoon.
And it hurts.
But I try not to dwell.

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Empty stadium. Foul ball funnery caught on ESPN. Im a sneaky little devil with sweaty fingers. Make that sweaty everything. Budlight can only cure so much here in South Florida.

Her Genius is Exhilarating, Her Youth Enviable

the evil green kind. in the sweetest tones of pink.

As if the pictures weren't enough, her choice of quotation, whether hers or theirs, to explain the settings and concepts are from the mind of old soul, but old she is not. Her overall talent is breathtaking.

Even underwater with a disposable she is undeniable...she floats.

I sink.
or Im sinking.
Can't be quite sure of either.
and neither isn't ever an option.

Do I Just Stop Reading

my favorite words? What makes them my favorite? They are all the same. Each subject matter, every theme. Different authors, same eyes.



Or is this just the sunday blues?

I feel more desperate with every word of yours I come across.

Bouncing balls that just loose all momentum....never being sent back, or being sent off at all.

You can try. And I can try.

But you can never peg me.

Its infuriating.
And exhilarating.

Match up the synonyms with the antonyms and let the duel go.
Its a bloody battle between everything there is to be between.

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French Martinis in BED

"Can I just say one thing? Mr. President! Thankyou for all you do!"--the golden girls. How I love our olympic athletes.

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The Land of The Free...

ETA: Hail the American Dreamer. This is by far my favorite article.

Michael Phelps: Superhuman. Epic. Phenomenal. The hope and dream of a Great Country in the grips of despair. Only rivaling those of Greek gods.

I wish I could have had you here in my living room with me, really. I get more wrapped up in these things than is to be expected. I know one of you out there knows how to let me meet him; I need to. If only to say a simple "thank you", even though it's oh so much more than that. Even if right now it's not perfectly clear. Because to this soul it rings through as bells at the grand cathedral. I always did know 23 was the place to be. And one more August bar wants to shove me in the depths of a shallow grave,but I can't be anything but in love with 080808.

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Sweet Mother Mary. Im such a Phan.

Could this be more nervewreking? Racing home on a full moon. Nerves only amplified.

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"The devil has agreed to only take his soul after the opening ceremonies"--oh npr

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*ahem*

Anything but an easy task

I hear all these things.
They flitter through my head.

Brilliance whispers in one ear.
and out the other in a second.

It sounds lovely
and it sounds coherent.

but theres nothing more than
nothing.

little adheres.
and little remains.

"Sometimes perfection can be--It can be perfect hell"

You're not perfect, except its every way I see you
I've got nothing to celebrate but not being over you

I knew it was you from the back of your head
The bubbles make this hard to go down
and Ive been so high and down for you before
We used to dream, and Im not sure you ever knew
that they revolved around you

aisles and seats, next to you, its only where Id give to be
and if you were to ask me, how yes could be given to noone but you

I swear if I had the proof
it'd be in the way you say my name

it seems like the plainest clue
and the dirtiest trick.
if somehow I knew.

blackened eyes and swollen masks
these songs do nothing but remind me
when nights were meant for glowing
glowing ends of cigarettes
glowing eyes across rooms
glowing embers ignored
glowing skin on skin on skin.

she says she couldnt see it
but then you spun her and she did
you're the kind that can make even the surest girl
think she's forgotton everything she knew

And all I can remember are those nights
and that one...
etched into my mind

I could stare at you forever.
These glowing eyes are for you
and always have been.
The days melt into nights
and nights into years
and years into ironarre reunions.

when the word perfect slides across the table
you're the only one sitting at the other end.
every time.
your face never fails.
and it makes everyone elese's mind bend
but noones seen the you who I've seen.

even he can't get me out of this.
I'm stuck here, in a place that I just don't seem to belong.

so simple. so complicated.

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Its not over tonight. Just give me one more chance to get it right.

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Oh sweet mother Mary. This always happens to me. And I feel the same.

Oh-So-Perfectly-Lush

"Well. Look at you sitting there"

Honey, this is the life I'm meant for.



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This is august. Driving with the windows down and money money on the radio. Walking backwards and driving on walkways, lost i

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Track 4

especially hard today. and probably tomorrow. and it may only ever get worse.

they day is almost over and I almost cried, but not quite. I have come to expect this.

Best friends believe in your lie along with you.

...and Leo needs larger than life existence.

There's a reason why every Lion cast in gold is set with ruby eyes.


It felt good to explain myself. Even if I shouldn't have to.

24-bars tomorrow.

Lordhelpme.

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this blows.

Ive got a terrible case of the sighs.
Please, do tell, what is troubling you?
Today I dont think I would anyway,
but even im not quite sure why.

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Oh the Question

I've never really been asked why it is why I love performing, so I never had to come up with a universally relatable answer. Until recently. And then the words just wouldn't come. They refused to string together, the millions of reasons and thoughts refused to gather from the various points of my mind. All that came out was an unforgivable "I just can't seem to explain. Its just so big".

So, thank you Mr. Springsteen for giving me this. It is invaluable. It is perfect.

"I can’t begin to describe the amount of enjoyment and bliss and fun…you get a sense of your own abilities and power and then you also get a sense of the collectiveness of being with somebody…and there’s something in that being that is its own validation. when it comes down to it it’s the way it make you feel. I do it because of the way it makes me feel and the way that I can make you feel when I do it, and I like you making feel a certain way when I do it. It thrills me. It excites me. It gives me meaning."--B. Springsteen

I love when you turn the corner and run smack dab into the moon.
Its so low and so close you could almost just reach up and swing on.

What a Place...

...What a Crowd...

Uh. Brothers.

...What a Lucky Girl.

Summer Saturday Adventures

Platform noses begging the sun to shine, negating blocker to turn that ever familiar shade of strawberry red. Girls whose skin turns into caramel on demand and hair that lets the sun weave 24 karat spools. Wind roaring louder than the engine and a Queen's view of the world as she sees it: each hop and skip and rush eliciting bigger smiles of pure enjoyment than the last. Scales that shine iridescent in the glow of dusk and peaceful rides home beneath the highway lights.

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Just Push the Knife in a Little Further

"We`re in the business of making friends. Its not just a moto. Its our way of life."

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"When are you running for President?"

it scares me when you say things like that.
how is it you remember me?
how do you make those thoughts regarding me?
it rips me to pieces. these girls here. and we've always been women.
13 going on 30 for years.
what was I doing? what am I doing?

"I haven't been gone but it feels like a lifetime"

He replies to me " I figure if I live life right the first time around there wont be any regrets"

I always knew there was something about you.

i rememeber the nights we were together but left alone. and then called because we were lonely. meeting mid-campus. cold nights in jeans and tennis-shoes.
somebody owns it.
you've got willpower. and the biggest house on the block.
who is this? you called me. you bet i did.
why me? why you?
why me?
because I said so.
disaster just means features blur.
and i've got more disasters than i do phone numbers.

and the yellow bird watches me from her pretty cage.
she never lets me forget her.

Its So Fucking Ironic

I just write about what its like to be me and be here. And then this happens.

Fuck you both. Seriously.

I don't even think anyone outside can imagine what this is like.
And I'm too angry to even begin to explain it.

Summer in St. Louis

This is what I meant, or as close as is possible to describe...
and just my luck, this happened to be on tv this sunday afternoon, playing to help me show you. show me.




its that feeling, right at 2.50.

I wish you could see this the way I do.

Quiet grassy banks.

Still waters reflecting time that stands still.

Lighting burning holes in the same air since the start.

I could sit there for hours, watching the same un-moving scene.

Melting. Congealed.

Content.

Holy Burned Blankets

I do not not thank God nearly enouggh for this. I missed feeling my heart beat against my chest bones this year. We cant always have things the way we want them. Lesson of 2008.

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Friday nights at the enclave.

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Oh. I see what you do all day.

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Late, but delivery was ontime.

I've Got to Stop This

"What did we talk about you not doing anymore?"
"Covering for you?"

I think my heart stopped. Because I know what I remember thinking. Add in two substances with known tendencies to take away what little ability to say no and keep things from slipping I have, and you'll understand why I literally stopped breathing.
Please. no. no no no.

no no no.
it just can't be.
if so. theres nothing taking it away.

vodka and I have a horrendous love/hate relationship. unlike anything else out there.
and just when i thought it was safe.
i'll never be.

i think i lie more to myself than i let myself believe.

Her to Him

“All I knew is that she was a force to be reckoned with. How was I going to reckon with it, I had no idea. She’s not someone you can ever dismiss or put into any category. She’s many things.”


who doesn't want to be this her to a someone him?

I could stare forever.

flaberghasted.

goodnight.


[Edit: I wish I could remember what this meant]

It takes one to know one

I remember when I used to shop for what I would wear for you.
As silly as that may sound.
Somehow a perfect picture would always emerge.
And as much as I loved it, Id be bound.

I did most of my own binding.
I want to go to sleep
and forget everything you were.
Only I hate every second without it.

I'm a terrible Gambler.
this is why I only bet on hotel rooms.
even then. who wants to head up to chicago?
you get the gas. i've got the room.

you've got a lot of nerve ignoring me.
and i've got a whole lot of nothing in the morning.
its the amber that lead the fingers and mouth.
they even play dead without it.

"the reasons all have run away, but the feeling never did"

i get so tired of all of this.
pouring out to space.
and i see you there.
but you leave less than a whisper.
i couldnt even smell you in the wind.
but i see you there.

Thats a Lovely Way to Talk About Love

he says: it is like a sore on your tongue, you just can't stop noticing that its there.

"Bad Actors with Bad Habits"

"I'm a lot like you, so please, hello, I'm here"

you'd think those words would ring true and someone would pop into this pellucidly clouded mind.
trying to convince myself that someone fits. that their piece of the puzzle would match a blank spot in mine.
at first glance it works. the curves fit. but the more i beg myself to squint, i can see there the tessellation that doesnt tilt together. there are gaps, more pieces missing than either one could help fill. the edges are rough and jagged and only see each other from across the board as, at most, compliments.
you just know we could never make love.
and theres nothing left worth turning off the lights and locking the door for.
turns to be a waste of a pick and a gammut of faked emotions you wish you didn't have to.
why then, have i been convincing myself this should work?
theres nothing to work at. nothing to work for. nothing for work.

the last thing i need is a stranger who means less than nothing in the mix

All Kinds of Abuse

Someone is going to call me tomorrow and I've got to reject the hell out of him.
(and I know he is going to press me for "but whys?" and "but I just want a friend right now"-b.s.)
This is sick, but I'm excited about it. ONLY because I am going to pony up and say exactly what I need to say, and try my hardest not to pussy-foot around it.
I figure this is a big step in being solidly, consistently, directly honest with people.
I'm so tired of lying because I feel bad.

Thats not soooo crazy, right?

friendcardabuseissowrong.
i mean it.

Sweet Escapist Indulgence

its why and how I do some of the things I do.

IcePicks and Left-Hand Diamonds on Right-Hand Girls

one girl's left is another girl's right.

"I deserve to have prada". Really.

And I'm Telling You

though you may have never been told

its all about the corners
and it always has been

"i can 'fend for myself"~ said a 3 year old she

shes still fending, and its the way it always shall be.

but its all about the corners
and it always has been

All Across the Board

what happens when its us that is keeping us numb?

who would've thought id find you in our last year.
"thank God I have the sense of smell"
say no more.

im every player and we fight to the death. too bad the pieces get thrown everywhere when the board gets thrown upside down. but the board is the board. the lines are all there. the spaces are fixed, if not blind.

if not blind.

Mad About You

enough said. perfect dynamic. not real, no, but as ideal as this little mind gets sometimes.
i bet they met in the middle of summer.

whispers of a breeze,
on which the night blossoms' perfume rides
past the blinking fixtures of summer
and the cicada strains of evening

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Miss u much! -meg

Multimedia message

I miss my best friend-matt

One Fine Day

that it was indeed. sad its over.

I smell like paris at night. prada.

Why does every moment have to be so hard?

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Im getting oh so very tired of these fierce pangs of deep unhappiness.
And exhausted of constantly racking my brain and keeping myslef "in check" when the lines get closer and closer together.

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Sweeping Insensitivity

Trapped between two bad decisions, with no other option than to make a poor choice.
Seeing you both on a split screen.
Right on the edge of making you happy and chiseling a wider divide.
The anwser is the same, no matter which way I look.
I haven't even made my mark yet, and you're both so annoyed.
This heavy heart sags a little farther down, and bleeds a little more.
You just missed the two tiny tears that made their grand escape.
One down each side. One for each of you.
The ones for me only come out in dreams, wreking an uneasy sleeping body with heaving dry sobs.
Whats going to give? We're all so exhausted.

spin me around

hide and seek
I'm going to be posting some of the stuff I wrote last summer before (and partly thereafter) I activated this account again last year. I kept it all in my myspace, and its just a running account, leaping from one to the other without dates or titles. I had it all visible at once, but have made it private for a while now, mostly because most of the subjects aren't especially family friendly. But those words are some of my favoritely placed.

its times like these i doubt the avaliability of future well strung strings.
so many holes.
and i'd rather not have the heartache.
but tortured syllables roll right off fancy tounges.
-----
neverending.
how so do I wish.
-----

jsyk

I have so much left to say.

I've got 5 but you're pockets are empty.

The funny thing about becoming an adult is that you can't call in the dogs if your just going to sit yours on the porch. Life foul.

"I got problems up to here, I got people in my ear, Tellin' me these crazy things and I dont want 'em"

I got 99 problems and a bitch ain't (waiiit) one.

I'm allowed at least Five (count them: 5) solid irrational moments in a year. Give or take a few. But I'm allowed them. I am human. Even if it isn't part of my normal character, even if you've never seen it before. I've got it, and I'm allowed it. Accept it and leave me the hell alone when I cash one in.

And chilll the fuck out. When its all about you, it never completely is. You're only setting yourself up for heartache if you're foolish enough to think so.

Sweet talking and bloody bitten tounges.
Bronco Bill will be proud, I can hear his compliment now. I am sophisticated and wise and kind.
And all I wanted to be was a snot and spit all the barbs I forced myself to choke on. It would be so much easier to just cut out the rot, like I've done so many times, even if theres enough healthy material around it.
You'd be surprised how far rot's spiny fingers can pry themselves into.

Just Kissed by the Missouri Sun

        Sweet crimson siren songs

                        strummed on

                                                old vines

rising up past the sun

                                                down

                                                        the moon's

                                                                spine

        deep

purple hourglass

                                                                dreamers inside

roping the night in

                                on their

                                        plum-colored ride.

Sugar Creek. Sunset Red.

[odd connections presenting themselves once again. these twists and turns of fate that dont do much other than send a fierce tingle up my spine]

To Go My Way

"I know what that means" she replies with a sly smile. and she has no idea. I thought she might, but with an anwser like that, she couldn't possibly.

Tell Me All Your Thoughts on God

when you can pick out the piccolo strain and instantaneously imagine what it would be like to create that character and perform it for a scene you know you should've never left

and when a fellow artist, who also was 'forced' to leave, can finish your sentences, you know your poor hearts are broken in the same places

and we do it to ourselves. I love Ayn Rand. I love being a capatalist. But I don't love it for the same reason I should be an artist. Although Ayn Rand may beg to differ. And agree with me in the same breath.

Sometimes I wonder where this black vs. white came from. I don't see it in anyone around me.

I is a powerful word. Just as powerful, albeit more so, than why. And we all know my feelings on why.
The former must always be anwsered, and if you don't do so, or at least get a grasp, you could never utter those sacred words and have them mean a damn thing.
The latter is a forever mystery.

my ginger snaps say that according to 16th century European folklore eating them made people kinder. I told my dad this, and being half funny/half serious he asked "is it even possible for you to be any kinder?"
Thing is, I really want to go somewhere to see someone the night before my best friend's wedding. I've already promised her I'd spend the night with her after the rehearsal dinner (only a few blocks away from this event! if not a few hours removed in time), and I've given up a lot for this wedding and done a lot for her---because I love her, and it makes me happy to do so, really and honestly, but....
I know I shouldn't go out. But it just all seems so perfect except for the damn timing.
What makes this so much more pressing is this feeling of immediacy I have about the whole situtaion, for no real good reason. I happen to find out they'll be somewhere by total luck, luck I wouldn't otherwise have, and something keeps nagging at me that this is important. But I've got no proof that its important. And no one else to go with me if she doesn't. And I'm not sure if this nagging makes it important enough to go alone (that would be a huge leap). On top of that she would be so unhappy if I went period. And I don't want her to be unhappy before her wedding. (I'm getting tired of the word wedding).
Am I being too kind for not going?
Should I go?
This will either immensely matter in 30 years or won't even be a blip on a 30 yr. radar.

this is a full on pout. and to be quite honest, i am hating pouting. can't we just make it work?

I just want something to go my way for once in a long while. (passing classes doesn't count, as thankful as I am)



naggingfeelingnaggingfeelingnaggingfeeling

"Every Last Stitch"

ordered at a sleeping me before my dad left for work

im pretty sure I should be doing laundry right now
----
"Citizens of the United States, my fellow Americans...spend freely and behave yourselves."
The President in Israel for their 60th birthday.
He's funny.
----

I'm back. The previous posts were from the road.
I've been here a full week now. Leading up to Saturday was chaos, saturday was chaos, but it was all pulled off.
Listen to me.
there are too many holes.
iapologize.
bye for now.

Elegance. We craved elegance.

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Ride the curve {in}, not the wave {out}

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We Still Hold the Token Title

I'm a pillar of strength and you're a beacon of hope.

I'm not calling myself stupid.
I'm just saying that I'm not the star player here, and I'm never going to be.
But hey, at least I know how to play the game.
*fingers crossed I've still got some moves*

I'm behind, surprise suprise, far far behind.
I just wanted to let you know I may be in tiny pieces in the parking lot.

"[M]asochists who feel pride in rising above impossible odds”

Its a funny thing, when you've maybe thought it all along, but when you actually admit that not only do you have a masochistic streak but that it is undeniably thick.

I'm afraid of what admitting this might mean as far as how people interpret me, but today was just too uncanny not to point it out.

Because two completely seperate conversations in a matter of hours is one of those brick walls you smack right into where the anwser is written right there. Well the anwser isn't quite there, but as much of an anwser that exists, I suppose, is.

Here's the second convo., just for crazy's posterity sake.

thats it. it must be. thank you peter hall. even if every so often i create my own impossible odds.

and its not always me. dont misinterpret this.

Call It Corny, BUT

They're full of a little thing called TALENT






I make no apologies should this turn into a regular feature.

Favorite New Poem

I know I promised some of you the whole text of this a while ago, but something I read today especially reminded me of it.

I thought I only had room for one favorite poem, but this one bellies up right next to it. I suppose I've got two. The more I think about it, the more the two are mirror images of each other in life's twisted reflection. I'll type up the other later.

I presume my contorted affinity for this piece is because it is exactly how I'll be at 32 if I don't stop it.

Lawyers on the Left Bank

So this is me at thirty-two, the strange dream seemed to say:
the lawyers order coffee in a louche Left Bank cafe
and read their menus carefully, and sit extremely still
while all around them lips kiss, fistfights rage, and glasses spill.

What they are doing in this rowdy tavern is not clear.
It's obvious they are not prudes, for after all they're here.
But in this topsy-turvy room where tables serve as beds
and tarts are jumping out of cakes, what thoughts race through their heads?

Perhaps they harbor fantasies of trading in their suits
for clingy leather bodices and sleek stiletto boots;
perhaps they scan the revelry and contemplate a fate
where working hard is not the solemn foe of playing late;
or maybe they just tease the air with legions of small sighs
and burn holes in the carpet with averted bedroom eyes.

------------------Rachel Wetzsteon----------------------

I Admit, I'm Biased

"An art song is a vocal music composition, usually written for one singer with piano accompaniment. By extension, the term "art song" is used to refer to the genre of such songs. Aficionados of the genre consider art songs (when written by composers who excel at text setting, lyrical vocal lines, and beautiful, supportive accompaniments) to be among the highest forms of art, unsurpassed in sophistication, subtlety and dramatic truth."




Also, I've got these hung in my apartment and love them. "Rivals" and "Flapper". Beautifully Telling.
{well, maybe propped against the wall for a few months, but someday to be hung}

Some Strange Entente

the last time i saw you
it was red hair and pink beds
sly smiles behind all we knew
and always left unsaid

and its all just headaches with hangnails
goodnight and goodmorning
goodmorning goodnight

a disregarded month, a forgotton week, a misspent hour
all adding up, tossed aside together, collectively joined:
a demon that steals the wind right out of even the prettiest sails

living in someone
i can't quite recognize
shes even begun to show
something like death behind the eyes

goodnight and goodmorning
goodmorning goodnight

A Glorious Missouri Spring

And lovely random text messages from a best friend of the prettiest of the first spring flowers makes a girl's day, even if she isn't around to see it for herself :-)

oh how I do love tullips. they are my favorite in ground flower.

L&L Final: "Law School Blawg"

Advice to entering 1L students:

You’ve watched the television shows, you’ve read the John Grisham novels; for the most part your entire perception of the law and law school to date have revolved around what has been gladly handed to you on a tray of popular culture. Law school is not as awful as Hollywood portrays it, nor is it as glamorous. Classes are not as scary as The Paper Chase makes them out to be, but will not be as easy going for you as they were for Julia Roberts in the Pelican Brief. Granted, I am not finished with law school yet, but I have yet to meet an Atticus Finch. I have also yet to meet an Al Pacino devil-like character either. Remember that for all the flack lawyers receive as the butt end of jokes, as wicked portrayals or glorious figures in the media or culture (whether present or past), it is all derived from some semblance of truth: a truth which many people do not properly take with a grain of salt. You must. I would say forget those notions, but it is impossible. Law school is less about the law, and more about who you were, are, and become as you relate and comprehend and process it. Remember also to take what I say with that aforementioned salt. If there is any advice worthy of passing along as you prepare to enter into your first year of law school, it is this:


Take the summer off. Don't even pay attention to the 'suggested reading' list. It cannot and will not help you. The best it will do is make you more anxious than you probably already are. This anxiousness doesn’t give you an edge-it is just detrimentally distracting. Travel to Europe. Have sleepovers with your Grandparents and stay up late with your siblings. Spend the time with your friends even if you think you are too tired after work. Go to barbeques and pool parties. Visit all of the tourist attractions your city has to offer. Go sit in the field you drive by on your way to work everyday but have never stopped to enjoy. Take pictures. Many, many pictures. Close your eyes: make mental notes of how your best friend's voice sounds, the smell of your mother's perfume and your dad's hair, what its like to give the perfect present, how the sun feels on your face and what your hometown's air smells like. Remember the way you feel when someone tells you why they love you. Listen. Remember the "why", it is important.

Orientation is daunting, even though the school believes they are giving you a proper welcome. Listen closely to what everyone has to say to you (there will be many people talking at you) and promptly forget every word.Trying to remember what got them through law school, and what to do and not to do, and how to outline and read and prepare for class is a surefire way to spin your already reeling mind into convulsions.


"Do"s and "Dont"s do not exist.
The only thing that exists is you. You got here because you deserve to be here. You have successfully navigated the world thus far, and you will successfully navigate this one. This is a different animal, but to buy into the over processed hype of “shoulds” and “shouldnots” and the panic that exudes from your fellow classmates is certain suicide. It will be difficult to forge your own way and not succumb to the pack mentality.


You will have at least one professor that has the distinct dialect made famous by Charlie Brown's grade-school teacher. There is nothing you can do to understand him or her, and it is highly unlikely meeting with them during office hours or after class will provide any benefit. You can try, but as soon as you realize that, you'll be better off teaching it to yourself than working yourself into a sweat over the meaning of "is". The same goes for getting explanations from classmates. The way they understand it in their mind is not the same way you need to put it in your own.

Expect nothing and rely on no one. But always make an effort to be friendly, to smile, to stay after class and chat, even if it is only about how horrible everything is, because that is the only conversation you will be able to sustain for the first great while. But moment by moment, person by person, you'll draw the human they used to be to the surface. Through it all, be kind. You don't know who else is breaking and in desperate need of a smile. Be honest. This is not the place for cheating and side-dealing. The people who behave this way always get the same in return. Karma does still exist here, if not more so.

There will be days when you wake up and know for certain that you must either cry or throw up, and the two sensations will have never felt so identical. You have never and will never feel so alone. People at home love you, but for whatever reason they simply cannot understand; some will never fully grasp how much you need them and their silence will hurt the worst. People here understand but cannot stop to breathe, much less to love someone. And you can't understand why you've decided to subject yourself to this, because the end doesn't seem to justify these means. Whatever made you come to law school doesn't cut it anymore. And the debt might just be what keeps you going, because to turn back isn't financially responsible, so you sacrifice your mind and personality. You are shell of your former self. You were amazing, flocks of people loved/counted on you: you mattered. You were interesting, had stories, and laughs, and midnight loves. That’s the funny thing about shells, it all looks deceptively the same, but your personality has written a Dear John letter and left it pinned to an empty wall.

For an unfortunate moment you will be lost, a stranger to yourself, and desperate to feel something. Remember those pictures you took of your last summer? The smells? The way you felt? The reasons people love you? Its all still there, and if you try very hard, you can almost feel the sun on your face.

You will prove to yourself what you are made of. And realize things you could never let go. The fact of the matter is that you are who you have always been, even if slightly tweaked here or there. You were never lost, you just had to look a little harder to find yourself.

You successfully navigated the world before enrolling in this beast, and will successfully navigate this new version of this strange world. Because you brought yourself here, all on your own, and as time passes, the end slowly begins to justify the means, once again.

Be kind to those around you. Be kind to yourself.
Listen with trained ears.
And do not be afraid to not take anyone's advice.
And that's the best advice I could possibly offer to you.

Take it with a grain of salt.

Tounge Tied and Oh So Squemish

everythings only half there half thought of half remembered and all these pieces keep getting jumbled.
getting pretty tired of it.

palm of my hand keeps itching. i can only hope the wives tale comes true.

"oh dead.
did you get what you deserve?
if life ain't just a joke, then why are we laughing?"

at this point laughter is right at the brink of madness and i simply can't contain it or stop. then its right back to the poker face, a mask of intensity covering apathy and whatever the exact extreme opposite of that is, with plenty of boredom and loathing mixed in for good measure.
my cheerfulness suprised even me today. i know you didn't have a good weekend or a good day today, and i don't know why i don't stop asking.

The Procrastinator's War

My exterior is calm and nonchalant
And yet, my insides ARE SCREAMING.
I'm almost to the point of caring.

Where she watches, by her golden perch or her sapphire throne.

Summer.
Thats where you should find me.
In the Summer of the year, summer of your mood, summer of our lives.
Summer's firefly eyes and sun induced sighs.
Through the haze of the heat and the weaving wavelengths of light,
where the cut grass mixes with the sounds of children playing, and birds calling your name.
Where the song the cicadas sing tells the sun its time for bed, and to kiss you with the final rays of daylight before the moon bathes the world in silver.
Thats where you should find me.
Because the harsh summer sun, isn't really that at all.
She's just a fellow wanderer, whose mind may pick you apart, but only to love you, and to know how to catch you should you fall.

I wouldn't trust a halloween romance anymore than I'd trust a bar-room marriage. I know the sound waves are bouncing around; I wish you would hear me.
But thats the kind of advice that just floats aimlessly around, because though everybody sees it, no one would dare reach for it.

If you'll take one thing, I hope its that to step outside that which you know, that which you've never changed, if even only to slide a toe across the line, you'll start to understand why you need to shift. Just to find the sweet spot; the sweet spot between here and there and what you used to know, and what you've always known but forgot to hear.

EARTHQUAKE!

I missed the Earthquake today. When I was very little I felt a tiny tremor from a tiny little seismic bump in our fault. No one believed me until the news reported it, but I was indeed right. All growing up in Missouri schools they told us about the New Madrid fault. Its not very active but one day, they told us, one day it will be. I've been waiting for that day my entire life. When California was having its bout of problems with their fault, this only spurred our school system to increase their teachings on what to do in a quake: videos, pamphlets, drills, you name it. Of course, I never wanted it to be as huge as those CA suffered from, I didn't want anyone to get hurt, but man was I ready for the day our Madrid would give us a full sneeze instead of a hiccup. AND I MISSED IT. So dissapointing. Apparently I've lived through a hurricane. A hurricane that did not produce one single drop of rain. Boo. This doesn't make up for missing the world around me shake. "Swear to shake it up, if you'll swear to listen". Well, dear Missouri and Illinois, I was listening. Oh well, my best friend called until I woke up this morning and whispered into the phone "i'm sorry to wake you, but we had an earthquake!"--if you would've heard it as she said it, you'd laugh too. I guess her mom didn't believe her when she woke her up, which made it even funnier. I called my parents and got their renditions of the event, which too brought laughter--laughter that brought tears; so it wasn't all bad or a total loss...it was a nice way to wake up, even if the world wasn't trembling around me.

I really do love Cased Crystal

mcr is playing chi tonite. i want to be in chi tonite.
i want to be anywhere. thats there.
my skull is bored and my chest is restless.
and now all the cookies are gone. damnit.

To say this made my week, or even month, would be an understatement.

I got this message from a college friend, whom I haven't heard from or talked to in two years, today...

"ok so...
the other day this girl was wearing your homecoming shirt
you know, the coca-cola one
and i was like oh! i love [her]!
and she was like i don't even know who that is
and i was like
well. that's unfortunate. because she is AMAZING."

I miss that lovely place, and [some of] those [lovely] people, and the wonderful way we were, more than mere words could ever be strung together to express

St. Clever and Sir Cabaret playing with Grass Rabbits

Auto Response from Xx STxX (7:53:13 PM): Knockin' on heaven's door.... I wonder what it's like inside?
lovely (7:53:13 PM): ______________

Well I hear, I hear its paved with gold

And the souls taking up residence there

Seem as though they've never been old

No more hardships or life's wear and tear

But then again, thats just what I hear

Xx STxX (8:26:44 PM): where's that from?
lovely (8:26:51 PM): my head

(names changed)

"Beautiful Line"

"Honey, I'm both sides of every coin in your pocket"

yellow and white luncheons
to black eyes and gloss bleeding lips

what if non-fiction is all these fingers have left in them
or that creative only comes in how well spun the spin is

You're a cool cat, but as a species you spend too much time yawning.
There's a reason every Lion cast in gold has ruby eyes.

"I don't want to" simply means it. though I can be talked into many things. mostly because my mind is 10 steps ahead of you in the weighing and balancing act, consequence vs. not, not vs. opportunity, and that you can't always pick out what I care about.

It didn't mean "Beautiful Line" but I like it.

Schools of Thought

I realized as I was putting up an away message just now that I forgot about something someone said to me recently about my messages. I've covered the "depressing" ground just a few posts ago, and whats funny is that this other individual brought it up to me that, to him, A) my messages are either hilarious rants, or B) sappy lovey dovey creations.

Funny, no? The dichotomy between the two 'schools' is strange enough. Beyond that though, its that I cannot remember one thing I've put up that was about love, and if there was anything broaching the subject it was certainly in a strictly observational fashion-or sweet talking, because I was happy with the world, manner.
Regardless, it was definatly not in a sappy "I see rainbows in your eyes and I've got butterflies in my heart" kind of way. And thats for sure. I'm not in love, I don't pretend to be in love, I'm not wistfully wishing for love. So it makes me wonder where in the world he got this.

Then it dawns on me. He's reading into the messages just like everyone does. They read them off their screen, each with their own little cheese-cloth filter into their minds of particularized circumstances, and though its English, its read with so many different dialects that without spelling it out-as I do in most of my rants-the words and feeling behind them are wide open to interpretation. And as frusterating as it can be, its really quite wonderful and exciting. Here I explain until the words run out, and other times I'm so purposely vauge that the gaps beg your imagination to take over.

Because maybe, just maybe, the company there will have something to review for the application.

That, every little once in a while, your imagination wanders from point A to B using my words as skipping stones is more significant than you could possibly fathom. Even when traveling along.

I hope I hear in your voice what I think I do. Because of all that Ive said, you still delight in trips down memory lane holding our tiny toddler hands.

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I love the smell of a group of well dressed Europeans mingling with the night air. Thats really not as weird as it looks to be.

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Stock Plot Moments and Not-So Stock Pairings

We dont get to choose who we'll be standing next to
when the clouded night sky gives way.
I'm there, in that memory too,
whether its where I wished I was or not.
They may feel like moments stolen
by and from the open hands of the greedy and lonely.
But we don't get to choose who is standing next to us when the night sky gives way.

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To the 29th Degree

Put the phone down. Flip the sidekick shut. Close the computer in half.



I think that if I were in a room with other people I could be/should be socializing with and only saw their faces by the blue electronic glow, that I would be very angry. I just think to the times I travelled Europe and the interesting conversations I had and the entertaining exchanges I have added to a list of "fond memories". And how awful it would've been to have filled those moments with meaningless clicks. We were more or less forced together and used each other out of boredom. Socialize. Nothing online is so important that it needs more than a five minute dedication. No one on AIM or by txt messaging needs to speak with you for longer than 30 seconds. It doesn't matter if you wish you had brought different shoes, or that their lunch break was cut short. What matters is what's going on around you. Be part of it.

Yes, I'm on here. ALOT. But never in a crowded room sulking to myself. And txting/msging someone that could be breathing on you isn't any better. In fact, its probably worse.

Many people have been giving me what I percieved as grief in regards to my away messages. They call them depressing, and while some may not be full of sunshine and smiles, I never thought I was coming across as so 'down'. Turns out, after a little more explanation, its not that they are that bad...but read as a type of tragic eloquenence, and with that combo. I'm declaring it to have a level of depth. Well, what do you know. Their words, not mine. Now I've just got to get this worked into vocalization and I can finally edit my mysapce about me.

And for some AIM convo. loving: (names changed)

Xx STxX (12:59:25 AM): u and *crazy* are psychically connected
lovely (1:01:06 AM): huh????
Xx STxX (1:01:13 AM): u IM me
Xx STxX (1:01:18 AM): 2 seconds later
Xx STxX (1:01:21 AM): there he is
lovely (1:02:37 AM): euwh
lovely (1:03:14 AM): that must be the reason he is needing "awe" from me, because he is completely vapid and void of it himself
Xx STxX (1:03:26 AM): LMAO
Xx STxX (1:03:34 AM): can that be my away message???
Xx STxX (1:03:38 AM): pleaseeeeeee
lovely (1:03:45 AM): LMAO
lovely (1:03:51 AM): ummmmmm
lovely (1:03:57 AM): I dont want to die a meathead death
------
------
Xx STxX (1:52:03 AM): what is that thing?
lovely (1:52:08 AM): ?
Xx STxX (1:52:20 AM): the picture u just sent me?
lovely (1:52:25 AM): its a 'secret' somebody made
Xx STxX (1:52:38 AM): oh, okay- so it's not a real person
lovely (1:52:41 AM): no no no
lovely (1:52:43 AM): yes, it is
lovely (1:52:45 AM): Its *soandso*
lovely (1:52:54 AM): in his 'stage'
Xx STxX (1:52:55 AM): IT'S A BOY???????????

I've gotton that same reaction twice now this week. I do not make the most sense. But no one ever said I had to prove that I can.
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I appreciate how oil and water the first and last parts this post are.

I drove all the way with the the label sticker stuck around my finger.

Beautiful melancoly and smoked velvet blue walls reflecting the ivory and lemon chiffon.

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{Not So} Very Random

I sometimes like to play random little games. I think it stems from my belief in the inter-connectivity of so much. I've been over this before, and I know I'll cover it again, when it blows my mind out of its universe once more.

Anyway, I like to play "ask the radio" every once in a while. Its a lot like a magic-8 ball. And I don't think it counts if you use your computer media's player. Its got to be the radio. I digress. I didn't play that today, so moving on.

Here's a new little game:

Directions:

1. Go to Wikipedia and click on Random Article (at the left). This will be the name of your band.

2. Go to Quotations Page and click on Random Quotes (at the left). The last four words of the very last quote of the page is the title of your album.

3. Go to flickr and click on Explore the Last Seven Days (you'll find it at the bottom of the page). Third picture, no matter what it is, will be your album cover.

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Answers:

1) "Woolshed" and because I'm not an Aussie, "SxC" (yeah, thats a cheat)

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2) "And fall fast asleep". I love this. (from the Craig Ferguson quote page--didn't cheat this time, I swear).

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3) Found Here. I like it and its title that reminds me of my Grandma.

I don't know this artist, but a quick browse through the rest of her (his?) images satisfied a need for dreamily conjured images I didn't realize I was so missing. They remind me of books I used to have as a child, all of my love for everything equine, and how many of the images in mind exist: fuzzy with sun and moonlight.

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And because searching Flickr gave me these I'll give them to you:

"Capture that feeling and you will understand what is means to be a person of destiny. "

This is beautiful and reminds me of Cabaret. Even though Sally was most certainly a blonde.

And finally, another creation from the first picture's creator above. I think that if (WHEN) I need cover art for something somewhere, that I would like to contact her. I enjoy the dreams matched with reality. If that isn't a snippet of me, I do not know what is.

"Photography records the gamut of feelings written on the human face, the beauty of the earth and skies that man has inherited, and the wealth and confusion man has created. It is a major force in explaining man to man."--E. Steichen