I have to go to work in twenty minutes. :\ As much as I enjoy painting kids' faces, the idea of standing there at work with people I only sort of like (ie. those girls) is tiring already. It's not that I don't like them; I just don't really get along with women. I'm more than happy to chat it up with guys-- maybe I feel that they're typically non-judgmental and I don't have to try so hard to impress them? I can't really connect to a lot of girls these days. Half the time they seem so inane, and half of the time I fret over the idea that I must seem inane to them.
Women are a complicated issue I'd rather step around, danke.
Kalen keeps calling me emo at work. I've found that this really, really, pisses me off. I wonder if there are people who are as judgmental as he can be. I think Roger understated it best: "Kalen's very opinionated." Yes, Roger, and the Pope is a wee bit spiritual.
I mean, he points out that I don't smile in my Myspace photos. Yes, I don't. But I can't smile on cue for Mypsace photos. It looks fake and argh and ah. But then he says that "I've never seen a girl not smile for a photo before. That's just really weird."
If he was more narrow he could slide through walls. And then he says that tattoos would make me a "bad girl", and a plethora of other bullshit I'm sorry to say came from him.
Ugh. People. I get angry, easy. I am an angry person. In everyone, there is an empty, black hollow that only gets bigger the older we get. Everyone deals with this in different ways. Some laugh, some pray, some sit around kickin' rocks at it, and me, I wanna ask why. I demand why, kids, I get mad about it. I wanna jump in and tear it apart.
Metaphorically speaking, anyway. IRL, I like to bake and extrapolate my aches away. Easier on the hands.
Lalallalalallalala. :3 :3 emmanuel is away on working holiday, and I am alone. Le sigh.
baked cookies today. pics forthcoming.
also bought shoes from Rite-Aid. They're those cheapo slip-ons all the ironic hipsters are wearing now. I got them in white so I could paint on them. Head is flooding with all kinds of colorful ideas. I am hesitants cuz I don't want to mess it up.
I should buy like a hundred of them. Ahg. I love things to paint on. I love basics, without logos, without designs. Partly why I like American Apparel so much. The plain simplicity of a basic shirt makes a bold, singular statement about solidity and about possibility. at once a field of soil, tilled and turned, at once a vast ocean, a virgin and potentially fecund primordial soup for the soul.
am feeling sort of empty. maybe it's the time.
i usually end up falling asleep unprepared. right now i am washed up and ready for bed, but my body won't let me. i've been sitting here watching trailers and japanese music videos, drawing. i haven't drawn in a long time, so i guess it's a good thing.
i have the tarnation dvd sitting right next to me, but i haven't really the heart to watch it right now. it's only 85 minutes! i hate borrowing things from people because although i want very much to watch it, i'd rather spend two hours watching good eats or three hours napping. it's something about being beholden towards the dvd, towards the lender.
o obligation, how you twist my every desire into distaste.
i want to believe in the inherent goodness of people, but everyday i find one more thing to set back the human race, like the los emos situation in mexico. look it up. you'll hate yourself.
i wonder how long it takes to get your passport renewed? i need it done by august eighth or so. hm. it would be a shame if i couldn't go, but it's not the end of the world. i just, kind of want to get on a plane, never having been on one before. and etc.
ANGELCAKE BLOSSOMS MMMMM k it's time for bed.
Went to see play last night.
It was possibly the most beautiful thing I have ever seen in my life. All things theatre, all things art, will now have to measure up to that woman's performance in Red Dog Howls. Her words, her cries, they will stay with me. When the room is quiet, when the laughter has gone away, my thoughts will turn to her.
I had gone in expecting nothing. I knew next to nothing about the Armenian Genocide, and I still don't know very much, but I have come to understand what the playwright had tried to communicate. I have come to understand some part of their pain.
They say some things are so good they give you chills. I must have pressed up against an iceberg last night.
It's playing at The El Portal Theatre through June 13. I wish I could have only known about it sooner.
I shudder to think that any other actress could perform that part. That play belongs to Kathleen Chalfant.
In less significant news:
( Am feeling felted.Collapse )
guys, things are expensive. i wish, sometimes. like.
i wish i had nothing.
then i couldn't know what having things felt like. i wish i didn't have opportunities, because then i wouldn't know what it would be like to miss them.
because that's my life, man.
something about a rain-dampened road. rain, damp, road. words that fit together, cleave towards each other like a flower blooming in reverse, a biological implosion, a child curling up, a fist around a seed, and back again.
i swear i shall arrive shortly! the sidewalk this summer is empty and full of cracks, and I shall be the hardy dandelion, I shall make a forest of these faultlines!
the ex left a comment, btw. i wonder how he's doing. looks like he snapped his neck in one of his pictures. oh life, how we move.
things with emmanuel: you know how you wade into the waves when you're at the beach, and there's that point you get to where you start to feel fear? where the water is almost too deep, and you don't know if the next step will be too far?
i feel like that now.
today has been fairly eventful. i took an econ final (for which i was prepared!) and talked to my man dave who gives out free facepaints and hugs by the psychology building.
have got a vet's appointment today for Missy. she's been down and out, and i wonder if she'll be okay.
been feeling scared, a little lonely. i feel on the cusp of things, as if i have almost arrived somewhere, and will speak.
tryin' to take j.c classes this summer but have found no openings. just want to take a bio class to get it out of the way. am looking for some acting workshops because those are fun in the sun. possibly volunteer positions somewhere, too. i want to have a summer.
it's weird how school conditions us to think that there are times of intense business where days are fully occupied with things, and then there is summer. where you had whole days without school, whole weeks, whole months. as a kid i had no concept of summer being divvied up into days. summer was a lifetime for me. summer lasted a year. the friends we made in second grade were lost to memory in third. in a way it still is like that, but banish the abominable thought!
allez vivre, je dis, allez vivre!
Hello brain. What is your name.
So have been feeling like a torn-up spiderweb, all kinds of everywhere, centerless, repulsive, floating. And he what who made me is either dead or spewing more white shit out of his ass to make more such fragile and transient structures.
Strong as spidersilk surely.
Kinda sad cuz I missed my last class, Geography 100. The class was canceled? but then I checked my email today to learn post facto that we were all to attend a sparkling lecture that day about international human rights in Rwanda.
Sad mostly because now I look like a callous fool uninterested not only in keeping up with the professional and educational aspects of her life but also completely uninterested in what she says she is interested in: human rights. That makes me a hypocrite, or does it make me a bumbling eejit incapable of keeping her life half enough together to even be interested in anything at all?
Hence the esoteric references to spiderwebs and all that rot.
But I have made a grand-scale plan to make conversation heart cookies for one and all me friends today. They will say yummy things like 'chinga tu madre' and 'i love you' and stuff. Is that ambitious enough or should I sue for world peace?
Have always told self to not worry about ambition because it is a scary idea, as if life ought to be lived out in to-do lists.
Gazelle do not have to-do lists. Nor zebras or hippos. Or maybe they do.
2. Swat flies off buttocks.
3. Roll around in dirt.
6. Contribute to circle of life.
Been reading loads of the good ol' G.R.R Martin. Is that like a name template for great fantasy writers or is he just bein' smug? Or is his name really something like George Reynaldo Ruben Martin?
Anyway, it's all fantastically fantastic stuff. I miss the days when I would just be curled up in places where blood and gore were the norm and everybody who was anybody was either extravagantly beautiful or extravagantly strong and everybody sexed each other and nobody got pregnant unless it was a plot device that was well-planned and didn't make you feel like your life was over because you were gonna pop out the prophecy fulfilled or some shit.
Man life in fantastical terms is truly preferred.
But imagine being a lady knight without some monistat and you're all yeasty on the battlefield or something. I imagine boiled leather and flowing brocade can get sweaty.
Brain all swabbed out. Time for Comm 130.
I AM CONFUSED.
One day, I will burn this into an anthill, and they will scatter in awe.
Something something about indolence... And a kernel of shame all hard and hot in the bottom of my stomach protesting to it, to that and my stumbling words. I swear before I had some sense of articulation, of c'est a dire "turning a phrase", but the very moment I need it is like some gunshot, and all the pretty, sturdy words perching on my tongue scatter, leaving the crusty-winged crows of monosyllabic idiocy and stumbling inconfidence to hobble up and over the corners of my mouth like I was a fucking retard. Only really to say that I suck at talking to people, especially about jobs. OH KITTY KAT HI.
Everybody should read The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Klay. After hearing Mr. Martin say it was the best book he'd read in five years, I knew I had to read it. In regards to literature, film, comics, and cheese, I have never known him to be wrong or to give very strong praise to anything.
So have I been reading every waking minute this new book, at once startling in its ripe style, its content daring and refreshing but somehow realistic and immersive enough to get all lost and cuddly in. Settings, ideas, characters, trains of thought are all linked in a fluid way that makes you look back and read it over, to pinpoint the exact point at which an idea transforms into another, like the second thought in a dream when you wonder where exactly you are when the Chinese ballroom becomes your second grade classroom becomes the janitorial closet of a U-Boat.
In other news, while I may be looking forward to classes at college, to driving finally on my own, to the implicit freedom all those things bear on my spirit and my burgeoning desire to grow and encompass more than the littered corners of my fantasies, I am not looking forward to making phone calls to insurance brokers, to bumble along with the maggoty crows of the vocabulary hobbled by my own nervousness, and not at all partial to counting paper cranes, making lunch, etc. But muscle, I understand, is built upon at the cellular level, and all increasing increments of heft and strength by any amount of exercise are still increments increasing.
I'm just emptying my head. None of it is supposed to make sense. You'd be surprised at the amount of shit speeding around in my cranium. If we were to continue this metaphor of words to birds, and somebody say metaphorically emptied out the contents of my head like tapping out pesto from a food processor, the resultant sludge would look much like liquefied chicken.
Something like my spirit, so to speak.