| When I snap my fingers, you will awake and remember none of this. |
[entries|friends|calendar] |
|
|
Captain Subtext and the Sock Gap
|
|
|
|
[12 Dec 2004|10:39am] |
So apparently, I was a bit too ambiguous in my farewell post. ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) redundantcliche is me, ya goofs. My old journal. I went back to it. Add me and start reading againh, doggonit!
|
|
| Well, I think it's finally time. |
[12 Nov 2004|12:07am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
peaceful and a bit nostalgic |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Sunny Day Real Estate |
] |
So then. This redundantcliche character. Sure, she had her issues, but she also had some pretty good ideas. We've made our peace with each other and, perhaps more importantly, I miss her. A lot. So much that I'm going back to her.
Check your user info page, kids. I've added you. Let the good times resume.
|
|
|
[11 Nov 2004|05:26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
Novemberish |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Missa Brevis |
] |
I've recently caught myself resuming the role of the hurt, innocent child around certain people. I don't know whether it's because they honestly make me feel like a small child again or if it's because doing so is a useful defense mechanism. Either way, I'm frustrated with myself for not being able to shake it off and behave like an intelligent, articulate adult. It's an insult to myself and those around me for me to behave as anything else.
I went on a rant about poetry this afternoon. My love affair with words has grown to a nearly unbearable level lately and I fear that if I don't find somebody else who's willing to talk rhyme and meter with me, I just may burst. If I do, don't say it was unexpected.
Really, nothing I do is all that unexpected. I'm embarrasingly predictable. 19 years old, female, loves pretty literature and napping in the sunshine, terrified of corpses and failure. You can map out the rest from there.
|
|
|
[08 Nov 2004|08:11pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
agitated |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Tori Amos |
] |
How many muses does it take to make an epic? How many naiads and how many dryads and how many mornings spent moaning with bad hangovers? Dionysus danced on Homer's nightstand and, it seems to me, Bullfinch hasn't come anywhere near enough to truly understanding either of them.
I wrapped myself in vellum this morning and dumped a bottle of ink on my head before prancing out to join the sonnets and the chronicles in their unending hymns of praise to Calliope and Clio. I plan to weave a wreath of words so that I may crown my head with iambic hexameter and let its loose ends trail down my back in a cascade of poetry. A parchment gown would complement it nicely. Perhaps there's a possibility of a tryst with Keats after all, if I return tomorrow adorned with enough bright stars and carrying a Grecian urn.
Maybe one of these days I'll learn to stop murmuring platitudes through clenched teeth.
|
|
| Rediscoveries: An old love, dormant passions, and a Language Lesson, 1976 |
[07 Nov 2004|12:26am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
wistful |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Radiohead |
] |
The Dead Poets Society always leaves me feeling as if I'm going to burst - as if my heart, lungs, veins can't possibly contain everything I feel. I know of no more certain manner in which to regain my grasp upon my delicate humanity, to rejoin the world in all its violent passions and desperate struggles. It reminds me that I am in love with the beauty of life and that, no matter how angrily I sometimes rail against it, there is nothing more satisfying than the comfort I gain from knowing that I'm not alone on this journey.
My own raging emotions have, of late, taken over and created within me a distinct restlessness. I've been blinded by disappointment that knows no bounds, sorrow that slinks beneath my skin like a wary lioness, euphoria that causes my cheeks to burn bright and my toes to go numb. I can't remember the last time I've been so passionately absorbed in the daily details of life, but the fact remains that I've flung myself headlong into nearly every opportunity that presents itself. I don't know whether I'm being reckless or merely myself, after so long of suppressing that old instinct to shoulder the world. Do you understand what I'm saying?
...I'm saying doubletalk
with me. I'm saying go so far
the customs are untold,
make nothing without words
and let me be
the one you never hold.
-Heather McHugh
|
|
|
[05 Nov 2004|11:18pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 exhausted |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Air |
] |
Today I had a cold and went to class and didn't finish my reading and took a 4 hour nap and skipped dinner and giggled with Chelsea and made Spanish flashcards and... and God, this doesn't feel nearly as good as I was hoping it would. How do people write stuff like that, day in and day out? Let's start over.
Today I lived. And it was good.
Also - SLOTHS! I'm so in love.
|
|
| Ten cents up, two bucks down... |
[04 Nov 2004|09:25pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
sick and sad and hopelessly infatuated |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Ryan Adams |
] |
I didn't have any paper to make notes to myself today, so I used my left arm instead. I find it odd that I scribble lines on my arm while time etches lines in my face, and I don't know whose notes are more important. Mine are certainly more legible, but I have a terrible feeling that time's memos are trying to tell me something I need to know and can't decipher. How horrible is it to have all the answers and be unable to read them?
I feel very lost and directionless right now. It has nothing to do with the election and everything to do with Ryan Adams and my own confused heart. I have to kick it into gear here but can't seem to figure out how.
|
|
| This is disjointed and a little crazy. Deal. |
[03 Nov 2004|08:39pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
resolute |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Boy Sets Fire |
] |
I may be overdramatic, but at least I'm passionate about something. I'd rather be too passionate than apathetic.
I feel like the world chewed me up and spat me back out today. Not only that, but the world has a bad case of halitosis and three rows of teeth, just like a shark. The combination of headcold and heartache did little to help me concentrate in class.
Well then. Cheers, America. Pull up a lawn chair, sit back, bust out a six-pack and some peanuts, and watch the grand spectacle. I promise you, this is going to be better than fireworks on the Fourth of July.
|
|
|
[03 Nov 2004|08:19am] |
|
I don't feel so good today but, for some reason, I'm still going to class. My emotionally masochistic streak is out of control today.
Also. I had a dream last night that I had a baby, and he was so beautiful and he never cried, but I kept forgetting to feed him. I'm a little worried as to what that might indicate.
I didn't set my alarm this morning. I had no intentions of going to class. For some reason though, at 7:45, I awoke right on time. Thought process went like this:
Dream--> Greg was eating an egg burrito in my dream that he stole from one of the guys in Pi Kapp --> Hey, Greg is in Bruin Democrats too --> Bruin Democrats! --> ELECTION! --> Oh fuck.
|
|
|
[03 Nov 2004|01:54am] |
|
I don't know what to say. America, I believed in you. I believed.
|
|
| It's November first and I feel like crying |
[01 Nov 2004|05:26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
accomplished |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The Faure Requiem |
] |
When I was in kindergarten, my mother took me with her to vote. The kindly people working the polls showed me how people punch holes in the ballots with the machines and even let me punch my own ballot so I could pretend I was a grownup. I proudly took my ballot to school for show-and-tell the next day and, ever since, I've eagerly awaited the day when I could vote in a real election.
Well. Here I am - nineteen years old, my first presidential election. I don't count last year's recall or the primaries. This is it. This is the real thing.
As I sat on my bed and punched the little perforated circles out of my absentee ballot (Ventura County is old-fashioned like that), my mind wandered back to the little five-year-old who stood in front of the class and proudly announced that she had voted just like her mother. For once, I am certain that the little girl I once was would be proud of the big girl I've become. She would smile her little gap-toothed grin and beam gleefully if she could see herself, 14 years later, curled up on her big college bed and voting just like a grown-up.
That fact alone is enough to make me grin for her.
|
|
| And it begins already! Yay school! |
[31 Oct 2004|10:36pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
crazed |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Thrice |
] |
I am positively manic and I can't actually post this entry because I've intentionally disconnected my internet in an attempt at forcing myself to finish my second paper of the day. I am twitching and alternating between bouts of hysterical laughter and gritting my teeth. By the time this entry is posted, I'll have written 10 pages of carefully-constructed prose, detailing key points and outlining important ideas. By the time this entry is posted, I will be entirely sick of Procopius and Byzantine history and questions of historical accuracy and progressivism and the failures of idealism and the unbeatable influence of monopolies and corporations. By the time this entry is posted, I will be absolutely exhausted and in need of a good night's sleep.
By the time this entry is posted, I may very well be incoherent.
|
|
|
[31 Oct 2004|04:38pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 cheerful |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Amelieeeee |
] |
Not long ago, while shelving books down on level two, I found a man in scrubs watching cartoons on his laptop and giggling like a small child. He looked rather sheepish when he realized that he wasn't alone in the room anymore, and surreptitiously turned down the volume. I wanted to tell him that I didn't mind, but I think, somehow, that would have only added to his embarrassment.
It pleased me, however, to find this grown man clinging to one last piece of what made him happy as a child. It seems that we all too often abandon our youthful pleasures in an attempt to seem more mature and more serious, somehow more dedicated to our work. Here was a man, however, who had one of the most stressful careers around and yet, he found time to relax with a little piece of his childhood. That says something, at least to me.
I've given up on a lot of my childish tendencies lately, but one of the joys to which I stubbornly cling is my love of Disney music. I sing songs from Cinderella in the shower, stroll across campus humming the Sleeping Beauty waltz, and do homework to the fabulous "Les Poissons" of Little Mermaid. I refuse to believe that, in order to become the adult I must be, I must also give up all the things that once pleased me as a girl.
"Les poissons, les poissons, how I love les poissons!"
|
|
| Ah, might as well. |
[31 Oct 2004|12:10pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 curious |
] |
Stolen from huck_uh_bee12:
Post a memory of me.
It can be anything you want, just so long as it happened.
Then post this to your journal.
See what people remember about you.
|
|
|
[31 Oct 2004|12:21am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
fidgety |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Jeff Buckley |
] |
People often joke about going to the funeral of a nasty old cur for no other reason than to make sure he's really dead. Tomorrow, I'm going to a funeral of sorts, just to make sure that what I once felt is really and truly dead. I'll never know unless I look the corpse in the face, and I want the closure of dumping a shovelful of dirt onto the top of the casket. I'll wear my best black, slide the onyx back onto my left hand, curl my hair, and set out with a jaunty stride. I'm unstoppable these days.
On a separate note, applications are now being accepted for a new cuddle buddy. I'm cold. It's only October and I'm freezing my toes off. What happened to our fall heat wave this year?
|
|
| Mamacita te invito a bailar |
[29 Oct 2004|07:57am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
exhausted |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
none. Chelsea's asleep and I don't want to wake her. |
] |
I awoke this morning to find an apple covered in staples sitting on my desk. I'm trying to assign it a name and some intense symbolism, but it's far too early for that.
In other news... there is no other news. Life is really busy. I'm happy. I'm behind on all my reading and I have two papers due on Monday and I'm okay with that. Really.
Sidenote: while writing "bailar," I accidentally wrote "vailar" and grinned from ear to ear when I realized what I'd done. Granted, I know my Spanish spelling, but it's a good sign when I start blurring the distinction between b and v.
|
|
| A quick thank you on a morning washed clean by rain |
[27 Oct 2004|08:48am] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
resolute |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Bright Eyes |
] |
-To the people who've opened my eyes in the last year, be it to beauty or to ugliness. Thank you for helping me see past my own perception of the world.
-To the people who called my bullshit. Thank you for knowing what I needed to hear, even if I didn't always want to hear it.
-To the people who've loved me. Thank you for your unwavering support and encouragement.
-To the people who've hurt me. Thank you for helping me grow.
-To the people. Thank you for teaching me what it means to be human.
I've been trapped in my own patterns again. It's time to break free and keep searching for untraveled roads. I'd ask if anybody wants to come along, but I have an inkling that this journey must be undertaken alone.
|
|
|
[26 Oct 2004|11:32pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
pleased |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Brazil |
] |
Aaaaaaaaaand, after an evening of intense apathy, I'm all riled up again. It's nice having a sense of indignation. Spurs me to do stuff. Yay for productivity!
|
|
| navigation |
| [ |
viewing |
| |
most recent entries |
] |
| [ |
go |
| |
earlier |
] |
|
|
|
|
giggly