"Going Gone"

There's a lighthouse in the harbour
Giving guidance with its light
But I have no one return to
As I wander through the night
From the first time that I saw you
Standing silent by the shore
I knew my search was all over
And I would look for love no more

Deep in the waters of love I am falling
Sinking like a stone
Deep in my heart I can hear love calling
Going once! going twice! going gone!
Going once! going twice! going gone!

There's a ship on the horizon
Making its way against the wind
and from the place where I stand watching
I swear my ship is coming in

Deep in the waters of love I am falling
Sinking like a stone
Deep in my heart I can hear love calling
Going once! going twice! going gone!
Going once! going twice! going gone!

Deep in the waters of love I am falling
Sikining like a stone
Deep in my heart I can hear love calling
Going once! going twice! going gone!
Going once! going twice! going gone!

Just for you in my drunk exhausted state

It's not an oval, it's not a twitch. It's not a jaw-movement-back-and-forth, not a scrunch. Not a frown or a smile, but an annoying circular motion of the lips. I can see no muscle movement. No jaw movement. No anything. So how the HELL does he DO IT!?!?! It's so DAMNED ANNOYING! STOP IT!

I'm begging him, STOP IT! And I'll see him in a few hours...ok, my time is all messed up. Tomorrow (Tuesday) first thing in the morning. The circle will prevail. The motion. Like centrepetal force pulling his lips around and around his face. WHAT THE FUCK!?!?

It's not HUMANLY POSSIBLE!!!

Try it. I dare you. *circle* Betty Boop can't even attain the motion except through some horrible, awful, dreadful mistake of the placement of her little pout by a very uneducated, dull-witted animator.

Yet the boy does it. *Wumph*

Just shoot me.

Maine Run

I went up to Maine today with Jordana and her mother. It took us about 8 hours because we stopped in about a million places on the way up. So the 2 hour trip was quadrupled. Anyhow, we stopped at the Ba'hai school, Green Acre, where Jordana spent the summer and clothing stores to get Jordana a coat. She got this awesome one and I want it!! I got a really nice pair of leather gloves because of the cold that has suddenly ambushed me (first snow today!) and then we went to the ocean and looked at rocks and kelp and the waves. Afterwards, we went to Maine's most famous lighthouse. I don't know what it's called but it's the absolute stereotypical lighthouse, equipped with the red flashing light, the house attached to it, the rocky coves and tide pools surrounding it, and no way to get to it by boat or dolly.

Next, we finally made it to their area, and stopped off to get this amazing homemade apple pie that I'm dying for again. Just as we pulled up to that, I finished making my hat that goes with my scarf. Yay! I talked to Lindsay for abotu 8 million hours and told her I'd make her a matching set like mine if she buys the yarn. Peacock color rocks. Naomi is making a blanket from it and it's amazing.

Finally, finally, we made it to the farm. I went right to the computer and finished my medieval lit paper...before 9:00!!!!! MiRACLE OF MIRACLES. Kienan from home edited over the internet and I'm such a dork that I actually cut and pasted all his comments into a file so that I can go back to it tomorrow and put them all in before I go peer edit with Keen and Rachel.

On top of things, Kienan just told me (reminded me) that tonight daylight's saving time ends! Hell YES! And extra hour of sleep!

While I was having my 8 million hour conversation with Lindsay Mark called to tell me that he was calling me. No shit. And then I said I'd call back and he said his phone would be off because he had no batteries. So: WHY THE HELL ARE YOU CALLING ME WITH NO BATTERIES?!?!!? I don't understand people who do that. Whatever.

In the middle of the 8 million hours I tried to help get Jordana's pants hemmed but that didn't go over so well. One pair was red and bleached at the bottom so she said she'd color the white spot in with permanent marker. *what a strange, ingenious idea?????* And now I'm exhausted.

MUST SLEEP.

More Paper

I'm procrastinating with David Coyne outside the Hillel office. And not doing the paper. I will do the paper shortly. When I leave and go to the library and get a book on werewolf symbolism and paganism blah blah blah.

I got almost three whole pages written last night. So yay. Maybe it won't be so bad after all. It's supposed to snow tomorrow! Snow! I'm not really looking forward to such a long winter but I guess that's what I get for going to the cold. I love the cold, but I don't like the lack of color. Bland to the eyes. I've heard people say that the white bores into you so much and depresses the whole world that people cut their wrists just to see the bright red when they bleed.

Midterm etc

So I just got out of the midterm for Medieval Lit about an hour ago. Not so bad, I don't think. Hopefully, that'll prove to be true. I guess I was stressing more about the midterm than I thought because as soon as I was done I felt a huge weight lifted off my shoulders.

Now I have to go back to that paper. I'm stressing beyond measure over that one. It's ridiculous. I feel like I'm failing out of college when I think about it and everything. Thank G-d the SpecFic essay was moved back to Thursday. I would have really died if it had remained Tuesday. That would have killed me. Keen, too. I'm out now. Iquo's coming home, though!! So exciting. All because I'm desperate and don't spend any money.

Grieving for the Seraphim

Some people fade. Many people fade. They fade into the hovering, glowering mists of the dirty Past that pound at my consciousness. So let them fade. Whether they be sister, friend, or brother. Let them fade until there is no memory.

I'll throw you back there. I'll throw you back so that it will all be black. I'll throw you back so that my mind knows nothing of you. I'll think of you like I think of Africa--that far off continent I know nothing of. Where the sun pounds ceaselessly, yet looms high and low like a dark abyss in my mind.

Make me come around. The angels loom. I turne and they stand across from me, around me, inside me.

"You're delusion, aren't you?"
"No."
"Liar!"
"Make us end, then, Little Girl. Make us end."
"What happened to our Dreaming?"
"Aah, what happened? You taste the distraction, Little Girl. You feel the wind. You feel your life. You are growing up."
"What's that got to do with Dreaming, Uriel?"
The angel smiles. "Everything."
"Uriel! Don't leave me! Don't leave me now!"
"The sand and the stone are one. The rain and the sea are one. Dream of all that is good and bad and you will find that the Dream goes on."
"Without me?"
"No. Without anyone. All Dreams intertwine. We are the difference. The homogenuity. We are the same, Little Girl."
If he had hands, his fingers would be reaching, caressing my chin. But he doesn't, so I feel where he would be.
"Will she forget me? Like everyone else?" I ask.
The angel looks down and I can't interpret his expression, because, like all angels, he has none, except what I imagine it to be. If I could see, I imagine it would be sorrow.
"Yes, Little Girl. She will forget you. Like everyone else."
"Why?"
"Because you are too much to take."
"They don't think so."
"Aah. They are different."
"Can I ask you a question again?"
"As always."
"Are they you?"
He smiles again. I can almost see it this time.
"Yes?" I ask.
"They feel you, Little Girl. They give up nothing for a heart. They were born with hearts."
"Do they love me? So that they won't forget me?"
"Who can tell from this moment?"
"You know everything, you said. All Eternity. Where has that gone?"
"To sleep, Little Girl. To sleep."
"Your Sight has gone to sleep?"
"No. My heart is born. I will not fall again."
The angel looks away.
"What is it?"
"The desert calls."
"Wait!"
He turns back.
"Yes?"
"Did I destroy you, Uriel?"
"Yes."
"Did I destroy others?"
"You will."
"I don't mean to. I don't mean to break hearts."
"I know, Little Girl. I know," he whispers.
"Like you know Eternity?"
"You saw me the other day. The other boy you dream about."
My eyes snapped to where his would be if he had them.
"That was you?"
"Yes. Go to him."
"No."
"Yes. I am real."
"You are an angel."
"I am human. Human for a lifetime, then back to empyrean skies."
"That's why he's always smiling and passing me by..."
"Yes, Little Girl. That's why I'm always smiling and passing you by."
"Uriel?"
"Yes, Little Girl?"
"Why?"
"Because I promised you."
"You didn't save me."
"No."
"He didn't either, did he?"
"No."
I smiled as happiness spread over me.
"I saved myself."
"Aah, Little Girl. Now you understand."
I smiled again.
And the angel was gone.

Again and Again

Power went out again in the quad. wtf? Anyhow, I've just gotten off work, rushed over to this computer to check some stuff due to power outage and find out it was back on awhile ago, so hopefully, I'll have nothing to worry about. After this, I'm running to the library to do that research and then find Keen and work on the papers. Joyous. Then, back to work. I finished The Man in the High Castle and all the Hebrew homework, minus the 6 other sentences about "me." I'll do those later. As in tomorrow. And then there's AR homework but easy stuff. Then, maybe maybe maybe I can rest. Do all the research today, write the paper tomorrow. Be done by Thursday. Then do the other paper. And now there's some issue with whether I can go to Maine or not because Dan D(the second) says he forgot about the coverage and might not be able to do it! Damn it.

And Miles To Go Before I Sleep...

Well, I'm done with the 300 pages of reading! For today...Tomorrow: Spec Fic (I actually took notes the entire time and highlighted--aren't you proud??) All in preparation for the discussion, of course. Then, work 12-3. Keen and library for MedLit paper 3:20-6ish. Work 6-7. Then, guess what? More studying!!! Maybe a movie if the stupid thing actually gets here. AND paper writing! Because the SpecFic was posted and I'm going down to the dungeon journal archives (pre1975 and post) with Keen tomorrow in the library and so maybe (maybe maybe maybe) we can actually get some research done and write the damnable paper(s?). Probably just the medlit. enough enough! Yes, I'm cracking. SO much stress.

Finally got through to Kelly Long today. Apparently, she was in the hospital with chest pains until today. She's ok now. "Anxiety." I've been trying to reach her for two weeks or so. She handed the phone over to Big Scott and we blabbed on for about half an hour. The kids were screaming in the background. Then I went back to reading.

Got my package from Daddy today. Pillow included. *I missed Pillow* Naomi's going to fix him for me once I get the material for the cover and some stuffing. Yay for Pillow! Mom has just completely done it on time. *tisk* Friggin YEAR and nothing. Anyhow, I got my New Yorkers, too, my medicine and a letter from Dad. And a mug. So I sat here reading The Man in the High Castle and drinking hot chocolate out of my own cup!

Due to all the business, I haven't seen anyone here for two weeks really. At least we haven't hung out at all. We're all too busy scrambling for books and grades. Actually, found out about the MedLit midterm on Thursday. Open book and note for the two essays. So I'm going to chum over those with a few people to get some ideas mulching and then blast it out of the water. (Hopefully) NO! DEFINITELY.

Hmmm what else? Almost better. Just stuffy/runny nose. Tired as hell, too. Haven't talked to some people in a while. *Ahem* Mark called today for about two seconds. Woke me up, as usual, during my mid-day Monday nap. So I got up anyway and went to class a little early. And I think that's fast. I have to fix my clock. The power outage fried it so it's been getting continuously faster. I think it's up to 12 minutes now. :-(

That's all. Nighty night!

What Jogg'ed Memory

It began Christmas Day, 1995. I stood on the sidewalk, buried in my coat and gloves, watching as my parents cursed the four feet of snow that encased the Dodge Dynasty. After an hour or so of exuming, my father climbed in the car and unsuccessfully tried to spark the ignition.

Ten minutes later, Emerett Parson from downstairs and one wall over was giving us a hand, juicing our car. And then we were on our way. It was the last time I would ever live in Brooklyn, New York.

We made it to New Jersey and stayed the night with my grandmother. In the morning, my parents rememberd they'd forgotten the lockbox and went running back to the Belt Parkway and Brooklyn.

But damn it! Enough of the Past! Enough of it! Enough of it! Enough of the goddamned Past!

And those were the last momenets--me--standing in the snow.

Me.

Standing in the snow and it melts around to water until the Mason-Dixon line.

They said the ocean was 85 degrees Fahrenheit when we arrived. No more winter clothes. December 27. But I don't rmember going to the ocean then. I don't remember.

We ran into the house. A house. No more inner city apartments. Rowhouses. My brothers ran along behind me. Into the house.

Rented, of course--but a house. Date palm in the front, magnolia beside it. And we looked out the wall-window from our knees on the oatmeal floor at the sunny, burning street.

And we didn't go to the ocean.

I walked along the lip between the grass and the gutter, and I found a boy across the street but I didn't find a friend.

Later, he went away from his father and stepmother. Eventually, two more children were born, but Terri wasn't there. I became friends with his stepmother--Charlene--if a person 21 years or more older than you can be called a friend when you're 11.

She said he had to go because he never quite got over the death of his mother from two or three years before--maybe more, but I can't remember now. Ten years is a long time. I guess two years is, too.

His mother was crossing the street--going home, maybe, or to lunch--when an eighteen-wheeler came by.

Sometimes paths corss too closely. Sometimes too closely.

So the boy who never became my friend got sent away to learn to cope with his mind--and the memory of his mother and the truck that took her life.

* * *

I climbed the magnolia tree. Fifty feet wide and fifty feet up. This is the first time I've metioned it. But Bob said he hated children in his tree.

"No monkeys in my tree."
"Sorry. Sorry."
"Git out. No climbin in my tree."

So for the rest of the time, I only imagined.

Sick

I'm sick. Almost very very sick, but only very. I feel like collapsing. To write this, I had to force myself to get up, dragged myself out to go get some water and come back here and write a few coherent sentences. On top of all of that, I have the rotation shift at work tonight from 11-3. (That's a.m.) And in the morning I have that shift from 10-1. Then I have to go to the library and get sources for the paper I don't know what the hell I'm doing on.

Manual labour is the best for this sort of condition, isn't it? It's not that hard tonight, Brendan said. Only set Grace lecture style for 50, I think. BUt I'm not looking forward to it and I think it started raining again. I'll definitely be taking escort over there and back. And asking a police escort to haul me to and from the gate. All these rapes and muggings lately. One thing I don't want is for any of those to be me or anyone I know. So far, I haven't known anyone who's even known someone this year. And they arrested someone last week, but I'm a little nervous that one day, the idiot with the knife or whatever his weapon is isn't going to be a coward and put it away everytime someone says "Oh, put it away! It frightens me!" and stabs someone.

Anyhow, back to sleep, I guess. Eating or trying to (glad I went to Price Chopper) and more of Grettir's Saga (aka the asshole's saga).

More of Life

Well, it seems to be that I'm getting sick. Not much of a surprise considering the past week's middle-of-the-night junk. Waking up, being woken up. Well, mostly woken up. Last night I couldn't sleep for whatever reason and kept tossing and turning. Maybe it's something to do with the fact that I actually made my bed and have kept my room neat for about a week. That always gets me edgy and when things are neat it's almost certain I won't be able to find anything in the morning or whenever I need them because they're away. Who ever thought of that?? Organization sucks. (When it comes to bedrooms.)

Anyhow, saw an aforementioned person again (I won't mention the name here, but considering I've told you other things concerning them...yeah, you can guess.) Moving on with the story, I sit down after going to Price Chopper and finally getting my kosher meat for my refrigerator so I can actually eat in this place and not get inorganic body poisoning and she asks me "So, what's up? I haven't seen you in forEVER."

"Oh, nothing much. Just went shopping."
"For what?"
"Food."
"Oh..." (makes face). Then, jumpy all happy: "What else is up?"
"I don't know..." so I say the first thing that comes to mind. "My two best friends are becoming friends."
"Is this a good thing?"
"Yes."
"Two boys?"
"No."
"Two girls?"
"No."
"One of each?"
"Yes."
"Oh..." looks down, then looks up. "Are they going to kiss?"
"Umm..."
"Do you want them to?"
"Ummm...." (wtfing in my brain) "I don't know...it's not likely, but who knows what can happen these days?"
"Oh! Well that's good!"

Wow.

Well, there. The weirdness of my life continues. Just what we all want to be thinking of. Since maybe both of you are reading this, I'm still just going to say "wow" again and laugh. What is up with this sexual obsession with people???

I seriously don't get it. I can definitely more than live (definitely survive) without any of that crap. Oh well.

Other part of the night last night: right after this, I went to perform at Freud's again. There were actually other performers but one of my groupies missed me because of some lab or whatever, so after it closed, I gave her and a few others a private concert. Then Dan D(the first) walked me back to my dorm and we hung out until about 1:30-ish.

That's kind of nice. Jordana was reading when we walked in, and we couldn't tell whether she was actually reading, asleep, or pretending to either. I had to walk over to her and look. Reading. Then Dan left and I went to sleep or tried to, but I couldn't quite get there until about 4:30. Lovely.

Oops. I have to go now! Hillel dinner and stuff for shabbat. Oh. The Chabadniks have been roaming the campus. It's so funny. They walk up to you say: "Excuse me are you Jewish?"
"Yes," I said. "I already shook it." "Oh," they say and walk away dejected. (Shaking the lulav and etrog of course...for Sukkot.)
Dan said he ran into them, they go: "Excuse me, are you Jewish?" "No! But how are you?" "Fine..." and they run away. Aaah, the joys of proseletyzing to your own religion and being so isolationist and scared that you pee in your pants anytime you find yourself anywhere near a goy.

And I went to school with these people. See why I'm tramatized?

Unknown but Checked

Everyone's a hypocrite. At least in the end.
I remember them screaming "America!" at the same moment they flew the Stars and Bars. I remember them crying "Traitor!" at the First Amendment.
But we still have a democracy--as long as we can keep it? It's slipping. It's slipping, sliding, like the salamanders of Whitemarsh Island, of the marshes and the humid, sickly, swamps of the thriving South.

Oh, they will win the war, rise again. I see it now. I saw it then--through the eyes of a child--almost comprehending the chants, vibrating through my skull along the heat.

Stones.
I remember stones.
And the chant, too.
"Jew! Jew! Jew!"
And the stones because of the Jew.
And the stones because of the Jew.
But I don't know the stereotypes--still, today.
I don't understand the difference--or why.

But it's all caught up in the Southern heat and my memory buckles to its own defeat and their hate and their hate and their hate.

And I remember--it's never too late for the black-white blank slate--the racial bait that spits and tears.

But they're winning the war--faces grinning, muscles sore.

Creep on-Creep off.

And the stones bombard my bones for the quick-fix death of my race
-your race
-And the Stars entangling Bars erase my face.

The stones don't get it--
The bones don't get it--
The laughing, throwing hands don't get it.
So humanity remains disgraced.
End it.
We will.
In the Alley of Finale because never never never never
does hate abate.

Random Brothers' Moronic Whatever

Here's my brothers' whatever to me on the internet today. I think it was worse on the phone, though...don't ask. I don't understand it either.

(20:23:29) FireEmpire55: hi
(20:24:35) a HangMansBurden: hi!
(20:24:38) a HangMansBurden: noah, right?
(20:24:46) FireEmpire55: yeah
(20:24:55) a HangMansBurden: feel like calling me?
(20:24:58) a HangMansBurden: i miss you:-(
(20:24:58) FireEmpire55: sam's here 2
(20:25:03) a HangMansBurden: hi sam!
(20:25:07) FireEmpire55: i know
(20:25:15) FireEmpire55: sam says hi
(20:26:16) a HangMansBurden: yay
(20:26:19) FireEmpire55: hello
(20:26:19) a HangMansBurden: so are you calling me?
(20:26:24) FireEmpire55: wut?
(20:26:39) FireEmpire55: do u meen
(20:26:41) a HangMansBurden: you're not calling me:-(
(20:26:42) a HangMansBurden: on the PHONE
(20:26:44) FireEmpire55: ?
(20:26:46) FireEmpire55: oh
(20:26:47) a HangMansBurden: call me on the phone
(20:26:52) FireEmpire55: :-D
(20:26:56) a HangMansBurden: :-D
(20:27:00) a HangMansBurden: 770-***-****
(20:27:09) FireEmpire55: can't call rite now
(20:27:23) FireEmpire55: 2 lazy to go get phone
(20:27:24) a HangMansBurden: why?
(20:27:30) a HangMansBurden: aren't you sitting next to it?
(20:27:38) FireEmpire55: :-D
(20:27:43) FireEmpire55: no
(20:27:43) a HangMansBurden: i hate you
(20:27:48) FireEmpire55: wait
(20:27:50) a HangMansBurden: the white one by the computer?
(20:27:51) a HangMansBurden: HELLO
(20:27:54) a HangMansBurden: it's right there
(20:28:02) FireEmpire55: do u meen the cell phone
(20:28:11) FireEmpire55: :-D
(20:28:12) a HangMansBurden: no
(20:28:15) a HangMansBurden: i mean the house phone
(20:28:19) FireEmpire55: ok
(20:28:20) a HangMansBurden: i'm a local number, guys
(20:28:23) a HangMansBurden: duh
(20:28:28) FireEmpire55: i'll call later.
(20:28:31) FireEmpire55: he he
(20:28:38) a HangMansBurden: *tisk*
(20:28:41) a HangMansBurden: i'll be busy studying later
(20:28:43) FireEmpire55: he he
(20:28:46) FireEmpire55: ok
(20:28:57) FireEmpire55: :-(
(20:29:04) a HangMansBurden: yeah
(20:29:09) FireEmpire55: i hate hw
(20:29:13) FireEmpire55: it sucks
(20:29:27) FireEmpire55: silent sam
(20:30:04) a HangMansBurden: yes
(20:30:08) a HangMansBurden: what about "silent sam"??
(20:30:18) FireEmpire55: he's not talking
(20:30:21) a HangMansBurden: fine
(20:30:24) a HangMansBurden: can you PLEASE call me/
(20:30:27) a HangMansBurden: i want to talk to you
(20:30:33) FireEmpire55: but he's mad at rockie
(20:30:45) FireEmpire55: wutever
(20:30:58) FireEmpire55: its retarded
(20:31:18) a HangMansBurden: i'm calling you. answr the phone when it rings
(20:31:19) FireEmpire55: wut there mad at each other about
(20:31:19) a HangMansBurden: ok?
(20:31:25) FireEmpire55: sure
(20:31:39) FireEmpire55: i still want to im though
(20:32:16) FireEmpire55: D:-)
(20:33:05) FireEmpire55: O:-):'(
(20:33:16) FireEmpire55: O:-)
(20:34:02) FireEmpire55: :-*
(20:34:15) FireEmpire55: this is rockie to someone
(20:34:23) FireEmpire55: then
(20:34:36) FireEmpire55: sam's like:-O
(20:35:12) FireEmpire55: >:O
(20:35:30) FireEmpire55: then rockies like >:O
(20:36:14) FireEmpire55: than i'm likeO:-)
(20:36:54) FireEmpire55: than sam and rockie r both like >:o
(21:06:12) a HangMansBurden: you're both nuts

Grades and the Freshman Experience

Ok. SO it turns out the Hebrew midterm wasn't so bad for me. A lot of other people in the class had no idea what the hell it was about, but for me, it was fine. I actually went up to the desk when I was finished (for the first time), stood there as she looks it over, tells me what I got wrong and hands it back to me to fix. She does this twice. So I think I'm ok. Also, the whole U thing with the grades turned out to be some computer issue and I'm not failing. I still think she's a bitch though. She calls everyone idiots if they don't understand Hebrew. In friggin 101.

Anyhow, heard some weird freshman college experience shit today. I'm so glad I'm not in a freshman dorm! Apparently, it's normal for kids to just walk up to someone's door and pee all over it because they don't like the person who lives behind it. Then, the resident of the room's comeback is even better: "Dude! You're sick! You just whip it all out and piss all over my door? At least I have the courtesy to store my piss in a jar" (and he points to it).

WTF?

Then, I get woken up at 3 something in the morning last night. Don't really know what that was about, except Jon told me it was Leeba calling him from my phone to ask him to call her suite that's two doors down from me so that she could get in. Another WTF? She could have just gotten my phone book and called directly.

Then, I get up at 7 this morning for Sukkot services. I was supposed to lead the haftarah but of course no one's there enough for a minyan so we don't even read Torah. Joyous. So I'm exhausted, start drifting off in Speculative Fiction which really pissed me off and I found out I got a B on my paper which made me really sad. My flippant style sucks, apparently. No, Betsy didn't say this, but I think it. At least now I know what to do (or not) on the next one.

Two papers due on the same day. Spec Fic essay #2 and Medieval Lit essay#1 and the midterm which is really freaking me out. Anyhow, at least I figured out what the hell I'm writing it on, finally. Only took me all semester until now! Art as the only vehicle to express true love that doesn't channel through G-d in reality. And there's actually lots of scholarly BS on it that I can use to BS it more because thank G-d the Lais of Marie de France are older than hell.

All right, also, Jordana has been sleepwalking apparently and not remembering anything of the random light turn-ons at 2am or such times. WTF?!? I brought it up at dinner and she had no idea what I was talking about. Joy. I thought I was the sleep walker!

I have to go read now. The Man in the High Castle. Very good reading actually. For Spec Fic, so of course!

Going NUTS

I friggin hate Hebrew and that Tzila bitch. I've made at least a friggin 100 on every quiz, turned in all the friggin homework, participate in class, go to ALL the TA sessions, and she calls on me for EVERY SINGLE hard question and I always answer correctly--and she's giving me an Unsatisfactory.

What.
The.
Fucking.
FUCK!?!?!

Well, I'll assume it's because of the damn homework. Because SHE doesn't know what the hell she's talking about. So I do the homework, write down exactly what I'm supposed to do, do it (even if the thing doesn't friggin exist which happens often--don't ask) and then I get it back with a DO! on it and I'm like "do WHAT?!?! I did it!" OR there's absolutely NOTHING to do.

WELL
I'm turning it all back in tomorrow when the friggin midterm is. Someone found out somehow that if you mess up on one thing she doesn't give you credit for ANYTHING. And when do we find this out!?!?!? FUCKING TODAY! And we haven't had CLASS for a week! And the midterm is TOMORROW! Oh, sorry. OVER A WEEK. I HATE HER.

BITCH

OMG

SHE'S JUST LIKE
BARRAS.

Fuck Hebrew.

Follow On

Paul Brady rocks and says it all...

Shutters on the windows, chains upon the door
Sleepless nights spent waiting for an answer
Dreams of heaven falling, panic in the town
Lonely men with fingers on the future...

When all is said and done
You are the only one

Follow on
For the open road is waiting,
Like the song,
We will welcome what tomorrow has to bring
Be it fair or stormy weather
Take my hand
And we'll walk the road together
I won't mind
If it turns out that we never find the end
For all I ask is that you want me as a friend

Days of beauty calling, vanish through a haze
Lost inside some spiral with no ending
Still you bring me loving, free me with a touch
Lead me out to greet the calm descending

When all is said and done
You are the only one

Now

I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.
I am a waste of space.

Song for Jon

*finally some kind of musical inspiration...I guess it took complaining about it to someone to get any...*

I don't know the way to happiness for you
It took me time everlasting-still going for me
The most we can do is just keep-on keep-on keep-on
And then maybe we'll find the answers
what's true

And then we'll go on down and up and all around
to that little-bit little-bit little-bit
of our sweet dreams

But now the time is running fast
and all the pictures on the walls are fading:
That used to be me, that used to be you

So basically, what I'm saying is I don't know
The most we can do is just keep-on keep-on keep-on
And then maybe we'll find the answers
What's new.

Home

There's no home anymore. I guess I realized that when I was eight years old--and that was more than half my life ago. I remember the endless nights screaming over and over again "I want to go home! Take me home" and the reply was always the same: "This is home now. This is home now. This is home now."

I never believed it.

So now, there is no home for me. The grass is just as green on either side and neither side is very green. That's not a bad thing of course. Just...part of it is brown, pale green, or covered in something else.

Right now I'm with Anthony...the closest to home I can get right now--a person. Which is all home really is. It's funny because I didn't talk to him for so long for reasons I won't put on here. If you know them, you know them, if you don't by this point, you never will. I'm glad I'm talking to him again, though. He never ceases to inspire writing with his music. Each time I'm around him, he plays something that starts the words flowing all over again.

It was his music that gave me the death of Aliya. It was his music that gave me the end of In Pursuit of Wind, so I guess I have him to thank for a lot. For being there when other people weren't. For staying and not pretending. Still, I don't regret what I did and he agrees that I shouldn't.

Anyhow, I guess it all reminds me of this time when I was very young. I can't even remember my brothers being around yet. It goes like this:

One day, when my mother was still somewhat of a mother and still a little bit human, she brought me home three cocoons. I watched and waited and it seemed to take forever. But one day, I came home and in place of the cocoons were two beautiful monarch butterflies. The third cocoon never hatched. I kept those two butterflies for a while. They lived on sugar water swabbed onto cotton. Just like with all things, I never wanted to let them go. But they were vibrant, alive, bright, and beautiful. The season was ending and I didn't want to see them die. So I did the only thing I could in order to make them eternal in my five or six-year-old mind. I opened the cage and let them fly.

I still see them flying away. And I remember crying at the thought of never seeing them again. And I remember smiling because I set them free. I guess what I'm saying is that in the end, to truly hold on and make life forever immortal, you must kill the reality and commit it to memory. In other words, set the butterflies free.

And freedom means no home except the wide, wide world. When there's nothing left to lose and nothing to gain but freedom again and freedom again.

Someone said it perfectly...

Here's what I've been thinking lately, except, Jim Croce sums it up better than I can in his song...SO like I played it for Dan Derks--(sorry, too many Dans)--I'll give you people the lyrics:

Which Way Are You Going?

Which way are you going? Which side will you be on?
Will you stand and watch while all the seeds of hate are sown?
Will you stand with those who say "let his will be done"
One hand on the bible, one hand on the gun
One hand on the bible, one hand on the gun

Which way are you looking? Is it hard to see?
Do you say what's wrong for him is not wrong for me?
You walk the streets, righteousness, but you refuse to understand,
You say you love the baby, then you crucify the man
You say you love the baby, then you crucify the man

Everyday things are changing, words once honoured turn to lies
People wondering can you blame them?
It's too far to run and too late to hide

Now you turn your back on all the things that you used to preach
Now let's let him live in freedom if he lives like me
Well your line has changed, confusion reigns
What have you become?
All your olive branches turn to spears when your flowers turn to guns
All your olive branches turn to spears when your flowers turn to guns

Voices

The strange is becoming familiar and that's a horrifying thing. But it's necessary, for what is there to life than familiarizing the new? It comes upon me hardest, though, when I hear their voices, particularly the ones I haven't heard in a very long time. Some voices are better in person. There's nothing to say over machanical lines.

Time eats away, as usual. I'm built up now, though, and I can't erode. But the tarnish is ruined. The lime builds up on the rock--or something like that. The point is, I miss their voices, as I've said before. And to top it all off, Leeba just walked in with my copy of The Fountainhead and made me think of everyone and home all over again.

So perhaps there is some familiar in the new. I feel like curling up and crying, though. I need someone to love me. That's all. To let me know it. To let me really know it. Voices take their toll, infringe upon my composure...voices that are merely memories or distorted through invisible lines. The speed of light amazes me...converted to the speed of sound. When will someone's heart break that barrier to mine?

I'm tired of looking in the mirror and only wondering who thinks of the face. I'm tired of wondering because I want to know. So where will I find my voices again? Where will I find my silence? The silence I need now is far from the lonely kind. It's the tense kind, where the person is right there next to me, in the same room--or touching me, even. I need the silence that fills itself with conversation. Wordless conversation. I love that kind because I can only speak this way with a select couple of people.

Will I find them again before I'm gone? I don't know. I'll keep them at least, I hope. My voice might leave a legacy, an impression on the world. A world so big it spans across an entire single mind or two. And that is all anyone should need. At most. That is all anyone should ever wish.