For *those that have just lost their keys *those that are well-versed *inebriated ones *wanderers *mermaids *those that belong elsewhere *whippersnappers *marvelous ones *those that are not included in this classification *those that flutter because the moment is fleeting *boundless ones *those colored with slippery fingerpaint *others *those that resemble someone I know from a distance

Wednesday, June 27, 2007

I'm kind-of in love with Jabberwocky.

One Sentence Stories. Go here now.

"One night on ecstasy, I stopped a fight between two drag queens in the ladies restroom and then I made them give each other a hug." - petalthrow

"As I lay on the operating room table, I held my breath to watch the heart monitor slow down and then let it go to watch it speed up again." - truth will prevail

"I think I've been making smart enough decisions so far, considering that my future self hasn't traveled back in time and beaten the crap out of me." - Mr. Johnson

"I know 18 digits of pi and can recite the quadratic equation, but I still need to make an L with my hand to find out where left is." - Jabberwocky

"When asked to name the one person absent from her life that she missed the most, she responded, "'The person I hoped I'd be by this point in my life.'" - Sheryl

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Sunday, June 24, 2007

Maybe I can listen to those old Springsteen songs.

Let's play a game! See if you can guess the existential theme I am currently pondering based upon the songs I have been listening to.

Next Anticipated Existential Theme: Every piece of land is sacred.

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Friday, June 22, 2007

Most of the startling realizations were about how fucking fabulous I am.

I may have had trouble sleeping last night and stayed up until 3 am looking through old photographs while having startling realizations about the nature of my soul. But it was worth it, as you can clearly tell from these discoveries:


Wednesday, June 20, 2007

Dear loyal readers (and anthropomorphized characterization of my sweet bloggity blog itself),

I am not sure how much writing I will be doing here in the next few weeks. I think I have entered the ebb phase of my bloggity blogging cycle. I keep meaning to write about the Manu Chao concert and can't seem to actually get around to doing so. It can be pretty much summed up thusly - las únicas palabras que necesito saber en español son mi corazón, la luna, y esperanza.

If you want to know what I am up to, it is probably one of the following: working, dancing, schooling, having trouble sleeping, hanging out with friends, wondering about what it all means, or going to an al-anon meeting. You know, the usual. So, until the writing bug comes around again - peace out, yo.

P.S. Send men!

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Tuesday, June 12, 2007


I will never get tired of the word homunculus. Never!

Las únicas palabras que necesito saber en español son mi corazón, la luna, y esperanza.

Okay, I finally have a little bit of time to write about the Manu Chao concert. Of course, I have never been one of those people who remembers every single song that was played at a show, let alone in order, AND the show was four days ago AND I don't really speak Spanish, so I am not sure exactly what the hell I am going to write about. Other than that the show was great. And that I think Manu Chao and Michael Franti should go on tour together. And possibly take over the world.


Monday, June 11, 2007

Would have been nice to have remembered on Friday.

Now I remember why I was supposed to get a good night's sleep and have finished all my school-work this weekend. Manu Chao show tonight! Manu Chao show tonight! Manu Chao show tonight! Oh well. I am sure the fabulosity of the show will overcome my exhaustion and guilt.

Thursday, June 07, 2007

"What a strange machine man is! You fill him with bread, wine, fish, and radishes, and out comes sighs, laughter, and dreams."

- Nikos Kazantzakis


Wednesday, June 06, 2007

Caution: Drunken Blogging Ahead!

Today had bad news written all over it from the beginning, in large, bold letters. I should have called in sick to work today, which I considered as soon as I hit snooze at 7 am. I should have stayed in bed all day, drifting in and out of sleep, reading children's books and forgiving myself for all my imaginary sins. But I didn't. Instead I went to work late and hated my job and started drinking at 6:30 pm.

So what should I write now? I would like to write about rhizomes and abundance, of a thousand tendrils springing from my cut tongue, of roots rupturing my spine. Of the way spirit moves in spirals, non-linear, mimicking the movement of the planets, the dance of electrons, the coalescing of our DNA. But I never understood what the hell Deleuze and Guattari were writing about and the starlight doesn't seem quite right right now, even with Venus low in the sky. And I don't have the words to describe the branching, the seeking, the urge for more more more. Always the urge for more more more.

Perhaps I should aim for something more mundane, like when the contents of my purse fell into the toilet at the bar, and how I am currently microwaving my wallet in hopes of destroying any well-meaning but unintentionally destructive bacteria that it may have picked up on it's brief sojourn into the waters of the johnny johnny john. Or maybe I should write about how I love the Arcade Fire. How they remind me of my childhood and those Bruce Springsteen songs I can't listen to anymore, because they always make me want to weep.

Perhaps I should write about how I feel the unfulfilled potential of my parents and their parents and their parents' parents on my shoulders. How it seeps into my own potential. How I am steeped in the unexpressed. And maybe that is why I had a drink when I got home. Except that I don't know anymore if the drink is to make me forget everyone's dreams or to remember them even more clearly, so that maybe one day I can touch them, taste them, admire their crisp edges.

Perhaps I should write about how I am over you. Which is true - which is so very true. Except that I haven't quite found something to replace the space you inhabited in my brain yet, the place of nurturing in which I mistakenly rooted you. Some kind of altar, I guess. I just don't understand who you are. Or maybe I do and don't want to face it right now. I guess I just wanted something true from you. Which is all I ever wanted from anyone. Which is all we we ever want from anyone.

Maybe what I should write is this - Note to self: Do not drink for 5 hours and then listen to the Arcade Fire. Nothing good will come from it. Just heavy-handed metaphors and drunk dials to exes asking them to explain their essence to you.

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Friday, June 01, 2007

Nothing says Burning Flipside 2007 like...

Except maybe

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