Early morning laugh!

Get Your Sexy Name

John Irving

I'm reading some John Irving and I really like it. He's very straight forward and when he uses description, he slides it on like a pair of nylons. What he writes seems very clear and the clarity makes me want to believe it to be true. Although everyone knows that artists are liars. What is there to believe? I try to find things that apply to my own life. One character in the book I'm reading is a reader. She is asked if she will become a writer and she responds 'no'. Readers preferably marry writers. Is this true, I wonder, what will define happiness in my own life?

I picked up the book because I was tired of reading the manual for my teaching job in Austria. The text is dry and very formal, heartless, and unimaginative - very discouraging. Reality is discouraging sometimes. The manual causes a familiar stir in me, something I like to call "premeditative sorrow." I'm afraid that I will be graceless and awkward in front of the kids - students being so much more receptive than I ever was to insecurity (being so insecure myself, probably). I'm afraid to be alone, bored, ill. I'm going to miss my family. I'm going to have to settle into a new place again. I'm going to miss my new found heart. It's going to be hard. But that's life.

Now I've found that it's much easier writing to someone (even if that someone is an imaginary ear on the internet) than writing from my imagination. Jenny Fields, a character from my book, says that no one is born to be anything, that success comes from hard work. I guess we will soon see.

Warriors are strong and healthy

This sentence, a subheading for one of the pictures in BBC's Pictures segment, bothers me. It makes me wonder: are these tribesmen seen as human? Or are they viewed en par with wild dogs or horses? Untrained, backwards, mindless?

It's very interesting to me. I had always thought of the entire world as a victim of globalization. But there are people out there living without the knowledge or the pressures of the international world.

Another misconception smote.

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/in_pictures/7426869.stm

Bloggin abroad

Hey loyal reader(s)!

I will be returning to my travel blog shortly. Just an FYI that this blog will now be reserved for the non-traveling related things. Like my inner dark and dirty feelings. Just kidding! But not really... Yeah!

I'm in London right now. Using the last bit of paid internet.

Greetings from abroad! The adventures continue...

Memory

This past weekend was intense. To begin with, I drove about 2,000 miles in about 5 days. In addition, my grad party was awesome. Amazing amounts of Southern Comfort and Jäger Meister were consumed between only three people. This was all the result of brilliant planning. After every song on Rock Band a shot would be had. To the dismay of the liqueur, we played for two and a half hours.

Afterwards, everyone was wearing my pants. Juli wore my jeans and the two boys obligingly wore my pajama pants. I would like to say that they would never have done so sober (that perhaps I was clever in getting them to wear one-fish-two-fish as well as pink pig pajama pants) but these two are so chill and cool. It all goes. Lots more happened and it was a great evening all around.

My brother just handed me a move called The Prestige. Just from the cast, I can tell it is all around awesomeness. Check this out: Hugh Jackman, Christian Bale, Michael Caine, and David Bowie. A solid UK cast of attractive and talented men! I cannot believe nor can I wait to see this.

But it may have to wait. Saturday evening I leave for Sweden. I cannot believe where the time has gone nor how things can change. I like driving better than flying - the scenery changes more. Granted, planes have clouds! But the novelty wears off after the first four hours or so. I think I really am a sucker for traveling. It's the appeal of starting new. Fresh start. New faces. No biases. Second chances.

Being an American, it's not my duty...

But I'm reading the news anyway. A friend once jokingly told me: "You're an American, you don't need to read the news." It's probably true that most Americans find very little time to acquaint themselves with the goings on of the world, excluding Obama vs. Clinton politics. More is going on out there. No country is an island. In the spirit of my new degree (I have to do Wittenberg proud), I am now liberally reading the news. All thanks to same said friend introducing me to Google Reader.

The first thing I learned that sent me off my chair was that Putin had, at some point in time, been ousted from Russia. I remember watching the election date approach, Putin toe it back, and it creep back again. This is a head-in-hole revelation. More researching is in order. Who is this Dmitry Medvedev?

I also learned through other non-internet sources that New Mexico is equivalent to Nirvana in terms of beauty. No one ever told. North America's best kept secret? I've seen the sunken plains of Holland, the Black Forests of Germany, and the White Cliffs of Dover but I've never seen anything like New Mexico. It makes sense.

Time to get shit done.

Impressions

I once thought that at some point in my life I would stop being impressionable. The idea terrified me. Was life to be a waiting game? Would I eventually become an old stick-in-the-mud with warts, cursing teenagers, and complaining about "these days"? My fears were in vain. After these past few weeks, I can kindly rest in comfort. Whenever I meet someone for the first time, it's like creation. A new part of me is born.

The only way I can think to explain it is through chemistry. When two compounds heretofore separated are mixed, the reaction has yet to be experienced in the world. The birth of a new compound and the recording of a new reaction!

I met two gentlemen during the end of this semester who have left undeniable impressions on me. What I want to know is, do good times have to end? Do I have more control over reality than I think? What do I want? Is this happiness?

Pretty common questions. They should be easy and I suppose they are for some but I sure am stumped. How much more messed up can I get? I don't even know what happiness is. I only know the simple things:

1. It's fun being with them.
2. I'd drive across states to be with them.
3. I'm sad to leave them.

Is that selfishness? "Nothing gold can stay" "Let it Linger" "All good things come to an end" I don't know anything anymore. Part of the problem is my inability to talk things out. I am afraid of shame along with assumptions so I drown in the silence between breaths.

This is where my head hits the tabletop. I will go back to the waiting game. I wish to be more but I can't. I want you to want me. But you don't. Here I go, wrapping myself in dunce clothes and being vague.

I'm stumped by every blog, facebook, profile that asks: About me. Shittastic question.

Spreading invisible wings

When reality hits you in the face like a wet fish, I suggest you do your best not to complain. It's a fish and it's reality. Why make a fuss?

This morning I woke to a silent house. The Cottage could very well have been nestled in some wayward glen as I so often imagine when hearing its name. There were no noises save the sound of a few morning birds and, if the imagination worked, the sound of light glancing off a wooden floor. It was like waking up to a peace filled with promise. Sunlight does that to me. Here I am, getting things done and thinking far away thoughts.

When things slow down around me, thoughts inside speed up. Albeit inverse occurrences, they always seem to happen. That's where I am right now. Thoughts inside of me are wildly spinning at a sideways angle. My gut reaction every time is to disappear. It's quite easy, especially when you are an old pro like me. As I get older, however, the pain of irresponsibility or flight affiliated with disappearing wears me down. It's not fair to my parents or my friends. I don't think they understand and how could they, when I barely understand myself? It's not just the thinking, although that's a large part. It's me and my damn expectations.

The slightly sick thing is: when sanity returns or the ropes of reality come back to play me like a puppet, I have the expectation that all will be exactly as I left it when I return. I realize now that that can never again be the case. If I disappear again, nothing will be the same. And that's partially because I won't let it.

I'm not really as sad as this seems. I am actually quite perky! A new wind is coming and if I were a bird, I would say that my feathers are tingling. It smells like spring, it looks like spring, and if I got down on my knees I would say that it tastes like spring.

Frank Sinatra says it well: Come fly with me, we'll fly we'll fly away.

At the beginning of paths taken

I started today rather sluggishly. In a fit of rebellion, I turned my alarm off after graduating from Witt. That being the case, I haven't been up before 9am since the fact.

Today I got up around 11 after having gone to bed around 3am. It felt really strange to wake up in an empty house. I realized that there was not another living soul around me for at least 400 feet. In fact, I can only hear birds and the distant buzz of a plane engine. I'm not sure if it's relaxing or unnerving. It's nearly 3pm and I haven't left my room for any real length of time yet.

I decided to move my furniture about but decided that the 15% downward gradation of the floor counters my placement of desk and bed. I will say it again: old houses are interesting.

Now that I failed to get through to the Austrian Consulate in NYC (I listened to a tape recording whose voice was a dead ringer for the governor of CA) I think i will put on the sneakers and hit the tarmac and sunshine for a few minutes. Then maybe I will make Okonomiyaki (Japanese delicacy) for lunch before getting together supplies for dinner.

On a side note, a darker side note, I can't seem to think or feel anymore. I'm gripped by this industrious drive that inhibits me from feeling much of anything. Although I will sometimes just stop whatever I'm doing and lose myself. I was going through books for storage and I suddenly felt near tears. Memories of Wittenberg and all the friends that I am separated from came to mind. It happened in the kitchen too when I was getting water to drink. It happened when I drove to the store. It's this unhinged quality of my mind that really bothers me. I either feel too sad for words or only an ache like I forgot to plug in my heart that morning. I am perplexed. There is a reservoir inside that I cannot keep filled. I miss all my friends. I miss their happiness and their company that had become my life.

Time for sunshine and thoughts about the pain in my lungs and legs rather than the pain in my heart.

Standing there in front of me

Back in the saddle again. That's me. I'm back in my room. My brother is fighting with my parents and quoting South Park. My Dad is rushing off to work, while pushing pleasantries. My Mom is drifting around at a more relaxed pace also going to work.

Here's me - calmly preparing myself for a day of various activities. Honestly, I'm listening to Backstreet Boys to make this trip down Mem-Lane complete. "Let me tell you the story 'bout the call that changed my destiny".

There is one new addition to my room. It's name is "The Nibbler" and it's a small kitten with a gorgeous face. This little fuzz collection likes to nibble on it's legs, your clothing, fingers, anything within nibbling distance. It seems prepared to adopt the mantle of Futurama's creation. Copyright violation go!

OK, when at home, my happiness depends on success. I must run off.

Is this reality? *shakes head in bewilderment*

Serves One

It was a great release today to finally get in my car and drive. The car is strangely the one place where I feel most comfortable (even though a one-jerk-of-the-wheel-is-all-it-takes feeling hangs over the swiftly moving landscape). I can turn the music up and yell and holler at the top of my lungs, make operatic and epic faces, and pretend that the destination is anyplace. Sometimes I'll zone out and only catch bits of the lyrics (is it so bad to say that sometimes Green Day lyrics really nail it for me?); my thoughts will wander.

As well as the fun, there's always that dangerous release. The rain was hitting the windshield and the Ohio landscape was, as usual, unchanging. Every time, I find myself fighting sleep, singing louder, or popping mints like potato chips. When I was a fitful baby, my parents would always put me in the car and I would, after a few turns around the block, fall asleep. Training? I'm not sure.

Once, on my way back home, I made the mistake of leaning my head against my hand as it rested on the door. For one second (I hope) my eyes dipped closed. When I jerked upright, I couldn't remember how far I'd gone, what was playing on the radio, or my speed. I realized it was time to rest and I promptly did, pulling into a PA Turnpike rest stop for a nap. I was lucky.

A few years ago, I was with my brother in the car. He was a freshman, home from college on some kind of break. Being in military school, he was exhausted, even though he never mentioned it. One day we were driving home from some outing, listening to Andrea Bocelli - my parents car. My aunt, uncle, and oma were following us in their yellow Chrysler. Suddenly, my bro starts drifting off the road and I shout at him. He over compensates and we cross violently into the other lane. Jerking on the wheel again, we spun around and flew off the road into a cornfield. The dry corn left on the stalks smashed into the hood and cranked the shield.

Again, we were lucky. My brother's best friend's dad fell asleep at the wheel coming home from the late shift one night. He flipped his car, broke his spine, and is now a paraplegic.

Just one jerk of the wheel. That's all it takes. Yeah, I'm being macabre. But it's the truth.

Flying so High

My mouth tastes like Twizlers but that's not the point. No, not really.

It's one of those nights where the mind falls sideways into quiet corners of familiarity. Home seems so close. I think I should return. "I'm flying so high, high off the ground." Return home to idealized tranquility. Cool shadows under trees, secrets hidden under the covers, creeping through the hallway with a flash light towards a Lego castle. Hah, take me back again.

Give me a moment, I'll pull myself back after sending out the line. Today. Mark of import: I went with a crew to Schmidt's German restaurant in Columbus. I ate food and drank beer that brought back good memories. We talked and laughed, posed for pictures, and drove home. I was then listless and proceeded to play backup on guitar for Krista and Anna as they sang about a homicidal killer, aka Dexter. Random fun. The girls of Rivendarth were watching something on TV that killed my hope for humanity. I was fully reminded why I never watch television!

I'm off to bed; it's a safer place. Goodnight, moon!

Softly Bound

I saw this image of Heartbreak Ridge,
An image to which I claimed
No affluent understanding:
A softly bound book
With secrets of the Knight,
Unto whose pages I seek
The wet whisper of a dawn
Bird's voice. But though
the pages are long,
The days are not. As poets pine
in solitude, so do I lay
on green grasses, closing the eyes
of the Naked Sun,
paging through hearts.

Questing for Diamonds

I feel very sleepy. Status. Check. Running later on would be a good idea. Running.

I remember being the wheezy kid who plugged around the track in just under the 12 minute mark in elementary through high school. In the span of a few months, I'm working around a mile and a half in about 15 minutes. When I stamp on the last line of the track, I don't feel dead anymore. I don't taste iron in my mouth or see the clouds wobble in the sky - I feel quite alive. Alive.

I call home quite a bit lately mainly to hear voices that love me without doubt. In the end, the calls always swing around to questions like: How does it feel to be nearly out of college? Can you believe it? Etc. The honest fact is that, ever since coming to Witt, my "normal" life has never been the same. Leave Witt? How can it hurt to leave a place that has never really felt like home? It's been beautiful, my friends are great, the profs stir the gray matter but the place has never called to me. Maybe it's the constant moving from housemate to housemate or the constant stints of study abroad. I'm not sure. Maybe I'm the plant suffering from too many transplantings. Another move only makes my eyebrows twitch and my ears grapple with my own resigned sighs. I believe that my life is moving on. And I'm going to lose my best friends to a greater world.

The net bursts. All the fish swim back into the sea in a cloud of diamonds.

Teenagers are no longer visited by the Fae. Witt seniors no longer feel the Witt bubble.

Notes from class

I don't like to throw things away, especially anything that I've created. It's the mortal streak inside of me tainted by ego. In any case, here I sit in the kitchen, going through my notebook, weeding out every scrap of paper related to my Chem class. I want to throw it all away. There is barely a thing from that class that I really want to remember. In principle, it's all good to know: why the ozone layer is rotting away, why the world is warming up, the difference between an unsaturated fat and a saturated fat, or the purpose of glycogen. The remembering would be healthy. But I care not. The class was all note taking, dashing my pen across the paper, absorbing knowledge from a PowerPoint. There is nothing interesting at all in the margins. All that paper, ink, and arm muscle is going in the scrapper.

On the other hand, my senior seminar was ripe for margin-wanderings. I drew a Cheshire cat smile, a cat stretching, a tiny mouse running, the word Japan with the 'J' and 'p' as Koi fish, an origami star, and a fox wearing a sheep hat. Not bad for my semester but frightening for Kandinsky or Gogh. Good thing my aspirations snuggle with bears in dark caves or else I might be dispirited. (You couldn't hear but somewhere close a baby rabbit called.) Here are some journeys from class:

"It's amazing the people you meet, sit in class with - wish they'd notice you. I saw that they didn't and I grew used to not caring. Now the faces that turn are those that I didn't know. Those that remember me, I didn't. I realized we were all sharing the same pair of shoes. We all walk blind in some ways. When I realize - the hope to realize - the joy, the privilege of realization sets the mind free, unpinned, unchained to float and simmer above in lofty exultation."

"EATING A BLUE SMELL
DRINKING A GREEN SCENE
Touching a white taste."

"She has set herself questing in the sea of knowledge,
Mining in the mountain of thought,
Harvesting in the field of dreams."

"There once was a girl who was not so young. She saw tigers where she used to see kittens. In the light of a dying sun, herself at the beginning of a long road, she knelt in the brown earth outside her door to say a prayer. Words fell from her mouth with the slow consistency of cold oil. She had not sent a prayer upon the wind in a long time."

Don't forget, self.

Straight from the book...

"Practically everything we use has been changed from its natural state of little or no utility to one of very different appearance and much greater utility."

"Energy is the ability to cause change."

I am one snowflake amongst an uncountable cloud of other beautiful snowflakes.

I want to be Mozart’s piano.

My roommate can clap with only one hand!

Wash it away

The rain outside my window.

Claude Debussy plays the piano.

The smell of wet.

And the soft light of my Kitchen walls.

Ruined only by the Chemistry textbook, squashed under my elbow as I write.

Rolly-polly

I was taking the trash out early this afternoon. My head was bowed down under the weight of the soggy bag when I noticed a rolly-polly making his way across the sidewalk.

Now, rolly-pollies don't like sunlight. They in fact prefer the moist underbelly of a stone or rotting piece of wood. But this little guy was making his way across a grand expanse of concrete with a sure stride. He looked so small, so far away from my position in the sky. He didn't seem to notice that I was there.

Suddenly, it came to me. The grandest 'what-if' that I've had in the longest time: Invisible giants - they must exist - it would explain everything.

This world is not our world. What if, just as I walked unnoticed above the rolly-polly, there were giants walking unnoticed above us? When they are standing, we are forced to make life decisions and choose different paths around their foot or leg. When they chance to step upon us, tragedy strikes. Our brains detach. It would explain all those stupid choices: not stopping at the red light, choosing the red pill, standing to watch the car come upon you as you crossed the street. Our brains sometimes leave us. What if this were evidence of a giant stepping on us?

And suddenly, a swath of imagines unfolds before me... Worms trapped on dry sidewalks. Spider webs in the mist of a lonesome morning. Centipedes speeding across my fingers. My finger bleeding from the bite of a Praying Mantis. A Robin's beak crunching upon a grasshopper.

An exoskeleton. I wish I had one. I wish I had tougher skin. My dad once told me: Grow thicker skin, Katie. The world hurts. Tougher skin would help.

Into Hands

They fell into my hands, apple-round. Soft and smelling faintly of sweet curry, the stuff in my hands reminded me of the fluff under my bed. It was free and barely conforming to the idea of fixed matter. A newborn dreams usually like that - finding pleasure in thoughts of light, color, and sound. The simplicity. Without a world to know, there are no boundaries on creation.

A cat's eyes are trapped on the paper of my desk. Beautiful symmetry, they conform to one another and yet no other. Fronting black eyeliner, who could blame Cleopatra for the paint she smeared on her face in honest imitation. It's to draw you in, accentuate the black iris and the pointed corners. Draw you in beyond the emerald sea - past a land beyond all walls. The magic of a cat's eyes trapped on the paper of my desk.

The Left Corner

In the tattered corner
behind the gray fuzz and
the half chewed piece of
spearmint Wrigley's,
I swear you will find the
cold truth of emptiness
in the blue darkness of my
favorite pair of jeans.

Today I saw the meaning of everything and it smelled like pizza. It made my eyes burn even though I couldn't see it on the table. The smell was everywhere and the meaning was everything.

The flowers on my desk, bought on sale at the grocery store, are dipping low towards the table top. The yellow tips are turning brown and the white tips are turning yellow. A candle burns. I smell roses. What a quiet irony; the flowers are daffodils and they are dying.

Fantasy Land

When the tiny princess looked in the mirror, she broke it. Her round fists bled freely onto the red carpet, vanishing into the thirsty material.

Mirrors only tells lies.

Shores

I would gladly go to you on bleached shores, where the sun shines as yellow as a lemon in the palm of a blue giant. But there stands at the door of my castle, a scorched scarecrow with arms akimbo. I am too afraid to leave.

Japanese Love Poem

Ono no Komachi

Original Japanese:
夢ぢには
あしもやすめず
かよへども
うつつにひとめ
見しごとはあらず

Romaji:
yumeji ni wa
ashi mo yasumezu
kayoedomo
utsutsu ni hitome
mishigoto wa arazu

English Translation:
Though I go to you
ceaselessly along dream paths,
the sum of those trysts
is less than a single glimpse
granted in the waking world.

Drowning

Some people drown in the sea of past deeds, things that haunt opaquely. Others sink under the waves of today, the assignments to hand in, the sorrows to combat, the joys to survive. And still others are driven under the cool translucent water of the future, struggling with the worst of all - the unknown.

The deceptive clarity of that water is what burns the most as it fills the lungs, the esophagus, and the mouth. Deception! Betrayal! The hidden shoals, reefs, wrecks under the waves. You said it was smooth sailing! Lies! Deception! BETRAYAL!

As the water wraps around, caressing the face with more intimacy and tenderness than any mother, who wouldn't wish to become a dolphin and to swim away with a strong tail to propel you deeper into the darkness? No matter how deep the dolphin goes, the pressures they submit to, the light they relinquish, they always rocket up out of the water - reaching for the moon, the sun, the star - arching over the broken water, becoming momentary joy, before plunging back down. Down and up.

For every down, there is always and opposite direction.

Snippet

The Crucifixion,
Salvador Dali (born
1904)
______
Abelard's idea was that
Christ came to be crucified
to evoke in man's heart the
sentiment of compassion for
the suffering of life, and so
to remove man's mind from
blind commitment to the
goods of this world. It is in
compassion with Christ that
we turn to Christ, and the
injured one becomes our
Savior.

Pg. 113 - The Power of Myth Joseph Campbell

O Tannenbaum

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie treu sind deine Blätter!
Du grünst nicht nur zur Sommerzeit,
Nein, auch im Winter, wenn es schneit.
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Wie treu sind deine Blätter!

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!
Wie oft hat mich zur Weihnachtszeit
Ein Baum von dir mich hoch erfreut!
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Du kannst mir sehr gefallen!

O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Dein Kleid soll mich was lehren!
Die Hoffnung und Beständigkeit
Gibt Trost und Kraft zu aller Zeit.
O Tannenbaum, O Tannenbaum,
Dein Kleid soll mich was lehren!

Excerpt

From Cyrano de Bergerac

Second Marquis
[with little cries of joy]

Ah, gentleman! she is fearfully - terribly - ravishing!


First Marquis

When one looks at her one thinks of a peach smiling at a strawberry!



...That was just too bizarre for me to let it slide into the belfry.

Carpet Bombing

I am full of delectable Vietnamese cuisine. The foreign spices, herbs, and sauces all suit to electrify my palate in an array of color and sound that only the tongue can comprehend. The very act of eating, enhanced by foreign flavors, suits to enliven the ritual grown old through bland American foods - like the enlivening of sex in an old relationship by introducing new positions. It works and brings joy back to the diet.

Here I am - typing in a senior center an otherwise completely boring piece of literature that only my professor and I shall ever read. What is the point? The point is that, even though I'm not touching worlds or making waves, I am shaking the core of my being. Sometimes I think that's the most honorable accomplishment in the world. First I'll destroy my own misconceptions and childhood stereotypes. And then I'll destroy yours.

Watch out, world - I am going to make love to you in a way you've never felt before.

Throwing towels

Whole heartedly do I relinquish my two day learning streak. This morning I officially lacked the mental will to leave my nice warm bed, covered in a tiger skin blanket - fake, of course. Yesterday, I felt the disease tightening like the grip of a snake upon a wood mouse. I, being the mouse, felt my death and today was completely smothered by the need to spend an extra hour in bed. Ah, this is spring break.

Time to shower, pick up my basket and red riding cap, and off to grandmother's house I go.

Library - reading

I never thought reading, developing ideas, seeing patterns, drawing lines to connect the dots of history, and then writing my own conclusions could be so fun. I've spent the past two days in the local library working on my senior thesis. Granted, I've been wandering about the topic, checking email, youtube, facebook, and reading the titles of the books on the shelves in front of me: A Jockey's Life, Bowhunting, The Complete Brown Trout. One cannot say that I have been at 100% levels of productivity for the entirety of the past few days. But it's been fun for all the running around I've been doing.

For the first time in a long time, I'm having fun learning at my own speed. But the solidarity of this style of learning is palpable. It would be nice to have someone who is 'old hat' at the topic I am currently focusing on. Someone to bounce ideas off of, ask questions of, or to confer in when I have doubts about my train of thought. What I am left with is a very haphazard approach to writing and documenting my thoughts and findings. Is this what every researcher goes through? Is this the bumpy road to discovery and publication? What if I find or say something wrong? I hate generalizations but this is the only way that I can feel secure that I am not brainwashing people with falsehoods.

I hope that tomorrow will be the last day that I need to stay in the library. And yet... I will miss it. A public library is a beautiful place. All sorts of people are wandering in and out of here. Children, teenagers, poor people, people with canes, people with smells. they all come here with one purpose: to broaden their minds. Wittenberg Library is surely an isolated bubble that attracts only the students, professors, and authors of the area. I miss the people who are barely literate but want to read regardless. I miss the people who aren't looking for Machiavelli but rather Emily Dickinson or Stephen King.

To every place there is a feeling, I suppose. And in my stable ship of internal peace made of gossamer threads, I look around and smile at the beauty resonating from all the fucking variation.

Chu Chuus

Somewhere over there, beyond the empty warehouses and the packed cemeteries and penitentiary, the train whistle calls to me. It always heads east and east is where I point my finger whenever someone asks me where 'home' is. The conductor blows his whistle 9 times before he leaves town perimeters - as if each whistle symbolized each hour it would take me to drive back to my doorstep.

The light is fading and so is my energy. Nothing, not even the pressure of tomorrow, can keep me from just. resting. my head. upon. the pillow. For a few short moments. It would mean the world to me. I will rest until the next train comes. Not a moment longer, I swear, mom.

Undecided Sources

"Only thoughtless people chatter about the low intelligence of the average filmgoer. There is no such person. There are several classes of public entertainment, including several classes of film. And there are several classes of film director, including some who are so illiterate that they cannot conceive anyone being interested in anything but crudely presented police and divorce court news, and adventures out of boys' journals.

They are usually ranked as infallible authorities on the suitability of scenarios. These gentlemen have never had any use for me; and I cannot pretend that I have any use for them."

- Bernard Shaw on motion pictures in general and the film of PYGMALION in particular.

Trial and Distraction

This is a week to end all weeks.

I would do a 'recap' of what has been accomplished... but I doubt my brain's capacity to remember everything!

Needless to say, I still have 'miles to go before I sleep.'

BIG accomplishment for the past three days is the conclusion of an 8 page thesis proposal due today. For the same hard-ass professor, I wrote a summary and prepared a chapter presentation for today as well. I can also take a note of pride in saying that I have been handing in Japanese homework reasonably close to 'on time.'

What has been keeping me sane for the past few days? I am riding off the high of a very good visit from my parents over the weekend. Friends, a guy friend in particular, are keeping me upbeat and in control. See, how lucky I am!

Early Tudor Poetry - Sir Thomas Wyatt

An excerpt from Egerton Ms. 2711

Tangled I was in love's snare,
Oppressed with pain, torment with
care,
Of grief right sure, of joy full
bare,
Clean in despair by cruelty, -
But ha! ha! ha! full well is me,
For I am now at liberty.

The woeful days so full of pain,
The weary night all spent in vain,
The labor lost for so small gain,
To write them all it will not
be.
But ha! ha! ha! full well is me,
For I am now at liberty.

...

Too great desire was my guide
And wanton will went by my
side;
Hope ruled still, and made me
bide
Of love's craft th' extremity.
But ha! ha! ha! full well is me,
For I am now at liberty...

snow time/ohio time

Church bells. They ring bright and early in the morning whenever I go to work - promptly at 9am. Technically, I should be at work by then but that is an idealized goal. I arrive habitually 5 minutes past the hour and I would like to blame my lateness on the church bells (this time).
The bells are too pretty. Too joyful. Too celebratory. ;) They make my mornings beautiful. I was an extra 3 minutes late today. Excuse: a light snow was falling and it succeeded in dampening all sounds except for the bells, which rang clearer and more eupeptic than ever.

Working Doldrums

Alice Kopp is taking over my life and I don't know who she is. Her body may be gone but her books remain and it is my esteemed job to sort through the 25 brown boxes of novels, periodicals, reference materials, travel guides, language books, dictionaries, and all other forms of WORD that she had collected over her seemingly long and venerated life.

I can smell her house. I can smell her cats and it's in my hair, in my nose, and in my clothes so much of every week that I feel like 'Alice Kopp.' Together we discovered 'The Gateway to France', 'World Religions', Portugal, France, Italy, Korea, Japan... Or rather, it is as if I were looking over her shoulder as she poured her life over these books and then over these whispered locales. In this red swivel chair, I've gone to more places than I ever thought to before. Through the pictures and the fingerprints I imagine staining every cover, I've touched, smelled, and tasted many spices.

The truth is, Alice Kopp is my job.

Test

Procrastination is a sin that I enjoy nearly the most.