MOOD SWING INCOMING

HERE IS A PUPPY THAT I LIVE WITH OKAY




















I AM VERY PUT OUT

STUPID BLOG

on being a real human being

I'm doing things right, I think. I can tell because the universe has given me a new apartment with a puppy in.

This is because God rewards me with pets.

When I was small I would pray for kittens and they would just pop up out of the lenten roses, rain-soaked and mewling. Fur-urchins with fleas on their paws seemed to spontaneously generate from the tangle of brush near the woodpile, and my benign, soft-eyed existence earned me the companionship of numerous baby birds, wayward turtles, orphaned bunnies, and rather affable butterflies.

When you think about yuck and rot that is what you get and so on. I've decided hereafter to channel my five-year-old self. I am going to take on projects for the fun of it. I am going to think about birds and why the sky is colored just so. I am going to pick out nice friends to play with and skip skip away from the bad ones. (If there aren't any nice ones about I will spin some out of imaginings, pink spun-sugar friends that will melt on my tongue.) I will read big books and think of big questions and then draw little pictures that aren't very good. I will laugh and play and listen closely for the sounds that only the very small can hear. Most importantly, I will love the people that take care of me and take very good care of the people I love.

I am going to be good. For floppy ears' sake I will.

flightless aquatic birds and cake and love

(I love you!)

Two truths and a lie

She goes to sleep early because of the dull throbbing in her head, a steady staccato that pulses in time with the rhythmic hum of the heat vent (that eternal drone of the present moment vibrating in the stale air). She goes to sleep early and she dreams of better places.

I am nineteen, dizzy with gin and distance. I am thousands of miles from home in a place where the sky is made of pitch and glitter and milk. My clothes are soft flowing things; my hair is coiled tight and tangled by the damp air; my skin tastes like salt (or so you say, and oh I’d have myself believe every word of it). You have hair that is long and dark and thick as sin. It falls about my shoulders as we sit tangled together in the open star-lit stillness. Up on the hill, the landlady’s dogs keep watch (they are illegal in most places, having been bred to bite and never let go). Sometimes we can still hear the rise and fall of familiar voices, filtered through the thick air and the drape of mahogany trees. And we know that somewhere out there are our families, our homes, the places we’ve been, the books we’ve read, the people we’ve loved, the rules we’ve learned to follow. But right here, right now, we are breathing air that we’ve never breathed before. Right now all that exists is this moment, this new air to breathe.

Here’s to new opportunities for love, for wonder, and for a few stars and gods to look down on me tonight as I lie alone here.

An update.

Things that have been going on:

Joe came to visit and painted a floating Teddy Roosevelt head
on Holly’s wall.






















I went to pledge formal dressed as the Childlike Empress.
Got toasts and kisses. There was too much naked.

















I have been writing lots of notes to myself, forgetting about them, and finding them later. They say things like “even in my dreams I rely heavily on air quotes” and “how do you absolutely feel?”

How do you absolutely feel?

A new theme at the house has been “the joys and hazards of living with an art student.” Such as: there is barbed wire and cigarette butts in the Jell-O. And: at three in the morning in a dark kitchen, clumps of sawdust on a cookie tray can look deceptively like apple crisp.

I don’t think it is possible to love Jesse any more than I already do. Look at him. Look!



















In other house news, Jess took Binx to get fixed. Bye-bye, Binx’s manhood. You were a smelly manhood and shan’t be missed.

Ilana got married and the wedding was beautiful and perfect. The amazing Kat and I looked after many a bebe and it was verygoodtimes. Babies in tiny formalwear and yamikas are awesome. Kat Godfrey is awesome. Chocolate fountains are awesome. Children’s television programming is dreadful.

I made a friend on the internets. *waves*

Things happened at Linda’s and Skylight and Fuse and The Cave and they were all fun and everybody involved was exceptionally good-looking.

Other things have happened but I’ve mostly forgotten them. This is why I keep this godforsaken blog in the first place. Bah.

That’ll do.

Chapter One: In which our heroine experiences soul-death and later ruins a perfectly good wristwatch.

I am light-headed.

We went to Asheville this weekend to see Broken Social Scene play at the Orange Peel. Early Saturday morning everyone in the house was awake and on drugs and in the process of baking a biscuit the size and shape of Japan. MattThomas got us to Asheville in three hours. I spent most of that time in a contented narcotic haze, having tranquilized myself thoroughly after hearing the words “grad school.” (We listened to Dragonforce as gauzy sunlight spilled through the windows and it was glorious, glorious.) There was lunch at the Asheville Pizza and Brewing Company and then we met up with the others downtown. (total: me, Matt, Kenton, Cameron, Erin, Gene) At a bookstore we watched some bizarre hippies doing performance art…some sort of strange falling-leaning dance where they melted and oozed all over one another. Later, CameronKentonGene attempted to bring this artform to the streets of Asheville.

(pictures ganked from the lovely interrobang)
















There was coffee and dinner and bars and then !! indie rock !! (It was very very cold at this point; we clumped together into an amoeba of warmth.) We played Destructo while waiting for the show to start (cup of meat destroyed by meat sweat destroyed by kidney failure destroyed by electrolysis destroyed by power outage…) and made a few friends in the process (copyright law destroyed by Cory Doctorow destroyed by tragic ride malfunction at Disney World…). Do Make Say Think opened and rocked out like a bunch of verbs. Broken Social Scene played a three! hour!! set!!! and it was incredible.

















MattThomas and I drove back to Chapel Hill after the show because there was babysittin’ to do in the morning, except I am an idiot and we were a week early. (It is really amazing that MattThomas hasn’t killed me yet.) I went back to bed for 20 hours or so and woke up feeling worthless and miserable. Went to work, went back to sleep, feel better today. Is it still raining? Yes? Good.

Poetry Post (not mine, say thankya)

Ezra Pound - Ancient Music

Winter is icummen in,
Lhude sing Goddamm.
Raineth drop and staineth slop,
And how the wind doth ramm!
Sing: Goddamm.

Skiddeth bus and sloppeth us,
An ague hath my ham.
Freezeth river, turneth liver,
Damn you, sing: Goddamm.

Goddamm, Goddamm, 'tis why I am, Goddamm,
So 'gainst the winter's balm.

Sing goddamm, damm, sing Goddamm.
Sing goddamm, sing goddamm, DAMM.

(Pssst. I actually love gray weather and maple leaves and puddles and apple cider and so, yes, the world is perfect perfect perfect.)

Everybody come see The Wall, kay?