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.

Can't sleep.

Sigh.

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.

mmmmm soup.

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. )

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.

sigh.

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.

1. Eat.
2. Swat flies off buttocks.
3. Roll around in dirt.
4. Zig-zag.
5. Babies.
6. Contribute to circle of life.
7. Bedtime!

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.

Well HELLO went the Fizinkaling. A Good Day To You. The Fizinkaling only spoke in titles of little-read novels. It Seems Spring Is Stepping.

Yes, I replied. Spring does seem to be... stepping.

I'm in a crunch for time, ladies and gents. And still on my LJ. I don't know how to time manage. This is a thing we've all learned. Aint' it so, Fizinkaling?

Time Waits, he replies.

So it does, so it does.

But um. Yeah. Hey. Omg. I'm still alive and kicking.

Been around, livin', all that. It's been 5 months and 1 day since I met Emmanuel. We're still together, still quite glad to have met one another and have joined at the hip in ways mostly metaphorical. My kitten has grown into a young sprout of a yellow cat and insists on wreaking havoc about the house. My new favorite word is in Spanish: puta madre. Oh, oh, don't tell your abuelitas. Mmm... I dunno. It's prettier than putain mere, even if it means the same.

I feel the same. I feel the same as I ever did, but I suspect I've changed quite a bit. Sousuke, my doll, sits in his box, languishing. I feel guilty. I have old Dir en Grey wallpapers screaming in pain from their folders, untouched. Guilty. I wonder at how we look back on the remnants of our former selves, if it's like looking at soiled laundry. As if, having changed, what remains becomes a chore to throw away. And I wonder too, that if by letting those things remain, we're only holding ourselves back from going forward. From, you know, really truly changing. Like how I'm never gonna get rid of enough clothes to make room for that spiffy Swedish dresser I've been coveting. Things like that.

Oh my jesus I'm still here!

I feel like I wanna jump outta my own skin, and there transcendant I shall be free of worry.

In other news there is school and dinner and new phones and sexy back.

And I have to be seven months pregnant for a scene. Hoo-Fuckin'-Rah. When Asians Play White Trash returns.

My Personality

This is an entry on that endearing, yet always slightly repulsive and exhausting, race of human we all call 'Manchildren'. You take the mental and emotional awkwardness of teenagery and sprinkle liberally with the advanced stages of puberty, let stew in front of a gaming computer over a flame of familial nurturing and blind love and voila, a generation of tekkie degenerates, spoiling young adulthood for the rest of us.

I brush this topic because today Cory has lied to me. He had told me quite excitedly that he registered for college already and was well on his way to begin his independant life. Today, on asking, he denied ever broaching the subject with me, denying that he had ever registered for college. He had thunk and thunk on it, yes, but he missed that date, flunked that course, dadada, and now he has to stew another semester.

"Gives me a chance to save more money," he gamely points out.

"How's the job search?" I ask.

"Not good," he answers, deflating like a sweaty laundry bag full of Superboy shirts and Tag deodorant spray.

And of girls, I ask? None, he replies. He wants this girl Ysenia, but will she go out with him? No, I say. No, of course not. When you get a guy who considers all of two days a viable relationship, a chica like Ysenia must be bribed to follow.

MANCHILDREN! A manchild all of eighteen years who continues to wear the same sweaty Superboy t-shirts day after day until it falls off his profusely sweaty 200-odd pound frame and buys comics by the box! Who lives with his mother and follows her every word! Who continues to HANG OUT ALWAYS O GOD FORBID!

Yes, okay, maybe I'm being too judgemental, but there's something about grown men who persist in playing WOW 24/7 and spend more time writing reviews on the latest installment of Haruhi than on realizing the desperation of the world around them.

It puts me in mind of a baby playing in his own shit, that's all. Am I so wrong in my disgust? So heavy in my judgement?

These people are my friends, but I look on them harshly and with much pity. Maybe it's because I haven't been a child in such a long time. Maybe I was deprived of such luxury as a kid, and seeing these adults at play clouds me with envy and hate. I've a hammer in my hands while they wield lightsabers and quarterstaffs.

I fear I may be growing up.

My father tells me I have no ambitions. My father only sees and hears what he wants. This has been true from the very beginning. He wanted a son, and so he does not see me. My readers, let me tell you I am not what you want to see, neither am I what you may particularly want to read. But you are reading me, and perhaps, by the end of it, you may begin to see.

My name is Poe. I was born to...

Ehhhh I really have to do more research. Far more research.

I've been a little out of it I suppose. Been kinna doin' my own thang, thinking, writing, reading. There are a few things I HAVE to do, like laundry and school stuff and payin' fines and whatnot, but lately I've had a lot of time to just chills. I've had stories formulating in my b-rain for a while now. Gotta get them out.

Went to see Talledega Nights with Catherine and Patti. I had no expectations that were positive, so I came out deliciously satisfied that I had seen a really stupid movie.

But it was GREAT. It was like they all knew the kind of shit that was comin' outta their mouths. So it was okay to laugh, because they were all laughing at themselves. And we were just laughing with them. It was a delightful laugh-fest.

I went to two different florists looking for the right bouquet for Liz's mum. She's just had a surgery, and it's been brewin' in my head for a few days, like, you know, I oughta do something. A woman just out of a hideous slice-n'-dice procedure has got to be in the want for something comforting. I wanted to bake, but decided that wasn't the way to go, surgeries bein' rather harmful to the appetites, so I thought flowers might be nice. I always liked flowers.

Who doesn't like flowers? Even if somebody got me like a frickin' daisy plucked from a delinquent penitentiary I would cherish it. So yeah. I found a very bright delightful bunch of flora and made sure it got to her. I hope she likes it. I got a balloon too.

I've been having these nightmares about my old boss Shana from Arts XPress. It was weird. Especially since I barely think about it anymore. I was such a clutz.

I've been in a really good good mood. Maybe because I hung with Catherine today. I dunno... we never really chill like we used to, or talk like we used to. I miss all that. I miss hanging out with her and Liz and Ivan. I know things have changed, and I know that I've changed, and made a lot of mistakes, but... in my mind they're still the people I cherish the most, beyond any doubt. So I dunno... even if I'm not the first choice that comes to their minds when it comes to hanging out or solving problems, they're always the first friends I think about. And it's like... any price I have to pay, any distance I have to go to help them out or make them feel better about their day, I'll go that length. They mean that much to me, even if I don't mean that much to them. And I don't want that to change.

o my goddess. I am in such boredom and frustration.