Deathliest repartees, photoelectric horsewomen, and problematical ravings endorsing northernmost wriggling

Yet another vocabulary spell that confuses spam filters. Apparently all of my posts are now going to be about words. Words, words, words.

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The twyndyllyngs' uncopyrightable sweaterdresses facetiously scraunched against the teetertotter for tesseradecades minutes.

"The longest word in the English language containing only one vowel is strengths, while scraunched is the longest monosyllabic word in current usage. Twyndyllyngs is the longest word without any of the common vowel letters a, e, i, o, or u (although y is certainly a vowel in many words)....

"The longest words with no repeated letters are dermatoglyphics, misconjugatedly and uncopyrightable....

"The longest word typable with only the left hand (using conventional hand placement on a QWERTY keyboard) is tesseradecades or the more common but sometimes hyphenated sweaterdresses. Conversely, using the right hand alone, the longest word that can be typed is johnny-jump-up, or, excluding hyphens, hypolimnion. The longest word typable using only the top row of letters is not typewriter, as is commonly believed: teetertotter is longer, though sometimes hyphenated. The longest words typable by alternating left and right hands are antiskepticism and leucocytozoans respectively. [6]

"The longest words with the vowels in order are facetiously and abstemiously."

Seriously, someone get me a real job.

Newsflash

I like swimming. And talking about boys. And boys.

Since I have no real-life crushes...

I want to have Andrew Bird's babies. Maybe my name could be Wendy Bird.

Since I've been thinking along these lines lately...

"Surely there is a window from heart to heart:
they are not separate and far from each other.
Two earthenware lamps are not joined,
but their light is mingled as it moves."
~ Rumi

I heart Mystery; Reason, not so much.

Um, SoulMates: Honoring the Mysteries of Love and Relationship by Thomas Moore is surpisingly good and strangely reassuring. I remember when it was very popular I was a young, cynical bookseller, who mocked self-help books, particularly those having to do with relationships, and was wary of anything involving the word "soul." And now it is exactly what I want to be reading. Plus, I only paid a dollar for it - Yeah Half-Price Books!

"All intimate relationships require some degree of magic, because magic, not reason and will, accomplishes what the soul needs."

"The heart is a mystery - not a puzzle that can't be solved, but a mystery in the religious sense: unfathomable, beyond manipulation, showing traces of the finger of God at work"

"The soul doesn't have to know what is going on in life. It doesn't need interpretations, explanations, or conclusions, but it does require musing, reverie, consideration, wonder, and exploration."

Dear Universe, Please send me a magical boyfriend or 2.5 lovers. Thanks, Wendy.

I've been thinking about you, night after night after night. I'm not sure why. Unexplainable. Unexplainable how when I turn off the light and curl under the covers I want you. I want you. And it doesn't seem real, this want, this desire. I don't even really know you. Except...except I do.

But I don't trust this knowledge. Not one bit. So I try to unfool myself, think my way out it, feel my way out of it, mysticize my way out of it. I'm just a skeleton wrapped in flesh after all, oddly alive for a while, forgetful of the mystery, and then gone. And sex is just a way to make more skeletons wrapped in flesh after all, the selfish gene and so forth and so on. Sex has to be compelling to keep the species alive. There is no magic to it, no mystery - its about evolution.

Except. Except I imagine trying to tell you this. Maybe we bump into each other unexpectedly, or maybe we are at Trudy's and you are feeding me vodka-soaked olives and I start to feel...I start to feel... I start to feel that I want more. That I want to be close to you, closer yet, closer still. Which can't be real, somehow. So I will do my best to convince myself that it is not real. I will try to unfool myself, normalize the situation, clear my head, forget the dreams, remember what is real.

Except, what is real is us, alive, right now. Right now. Together, here, in the mystery. You and me and desire and the now now now. The now now nowness of it all. And we are only here briefly, briefly here, before our skeletons undress and dig themselves into the earth. Before our skeletons undress themselves, alive right now, right now, together.

Which of course makes me want to do unspeakable things to you. And normalizes absolutely nothing. And I want to explain this to you, somehow, to see if I am making any sense, if you understand, make sure that I am not making it up. Except. Except in the explanation, when I am feeling for the words, and you are listening to me, looking at my face, and our bodies know exactly how far apart they are from one another, well... we're already fucking. Regardless of whether we are touching or not.

So, I want you. And I can't have you. Oldest story in the book. The end. Except... except I'm looking for a line somewhere, a troublesome line, a line that might not even exist. An edge, a space I might create simply by looking for it. A boundary where I can have you briefly, brieflybrieflybriefly. I want to rub up against that space, rub up against it.

Preferably in your bed.

I am clearly not going to listen to my head when the time comes for me to do so.

Delirious and in need of protein.

Now there is a real sense of burgeoning - of the words holed up somewhere, stubborn yet shivering, refusing to come out. This restlessness restlessness restlessness. Am I in need of a refuge, uncomplicated lover, honeysuckles? Or are these just lovely diversions?

Note to self

Smoking does not make you less restless. And shifts in energy are not problems.

I prolly just miss my own craziness.

I guess there are no words to come. I kept thinking there had to be some, somewhere, secreted away, nestling against one another, waiting patiently for me to coo and tickle them from my underbelly. But it turns out there weren't any. So what exactly have I been doing these past weeks, on hold, hands waiting, lips sealed? Have I been waiting for a dream?

Working at a university during the summer = spending hours on wikipedia

What's almost as good as "colorless green ideas sleep furiously?"

1. "The urchin sat on the roof and cried, as if rabbits were running along the tin-pipe towards the eternity, holding lycoperdons in their mouths."
2. "The exquisite corpse will drink the new wine"
3. "Quadruplicity drinks procrastination"

Or my favorite - in discussing the phrase "colorless green ideas sleep furiously" the wikipedia article explains that it is "the least controversially nonsensical." You read that right, "the least controversially nonsensical."

You know what? That makes me want to wander through a house of mirrors holding my lover's hand, enchanted by the universe.

He collects wheat pennies!

Slowly becoming obsessed with Sufjan Stevens.