Wednesday, September 29, 2004
Let me grope your head
"You are moderately psychic." "You really are quite psychic, so it's worth taking the time to investigate those aspects of the paranormal that interest you. Consider purchasing a dream interpretation book, a beginner's set of tarot cards, or the latest astrology book to see which tools best suite your personality. "
And El Chupacabra originates from third dimension in my closet. Third cork tile in on the left (the "bad luck" direction) right next to the wig-that-shall-not-be-touched/acknowleged (it's back in my room again, in all it's genuine 'real' hair glory, reminding me of the tapestries that my eastern relatives keep that are made of the woven hair of our ancestors. I shat you not. My mother has had the horrifying experience of being shown this artifact with, "My god, your hair looks exactly like *insert irish name of a long deceased person*." Sick. What's next? Toe-nail clippings?
Seriously, I do have some nutty quirks, like my inexplainable attraction to turquoise and pink objects (I gravitate towards them, but yet do not own or wear either), and being able to tell sometimes what my prof is going to wear to a class, but really, I like to think this is due to a) a mild case of autism or, b) the horribly strict and predictable lives that some of my profs lead. And besides, what is the significance of being attracted to turquoise or pink? It was seriously a question on the quiz I took. My guess is that it has to do with aural colors, which I have absolutely no knowlege of, though The Russian swore that he saw people's auras, amongst other things that escape the normal view of the rational. I can sure pick them... Asshats and crazy people = awesome!
Yesterday, I read something interesting in le Papier, among other terrible things. This weeks edition of le papier was truly a terrible thing, and I hang my head in shame for not having something to contribute. Again. I'm sucking at this time management thing. But yes...the interesting thing was surprisingly insignificant:
A boy got arrested outside of Lister sometime around three in the morning with a cashbox tucked under his arm. Apparently he was a resident, and he'd stolen it from a vending machine. Disciplinary measures to follow.
Now, sure, this seems sort of an odd thing to notice, but the whole image of this kid skulking across the road with a cashbox tucked carefully under his arm in the dead of the night is sort of an interesting thing. What was he doing? Why did he need the money? There's a whole story there. And I'm going to write it. I am constantly getting inspired by weird little paper blips, and I think it's high time I start doing something about them rather than accumulating all this crap on little bits of paper and stuffing them into a chinese republic tea can. It's seriously full already.
Mr. Pink called last night, and we talked and talked and talked and talked and talked, and I think it's safe to say that I'm still incredibly enamoured of him despite a short period of confusion about our dynamic and a little blip involving a raspberry pastry. I have discovered that Mr. Pink is the force that keeps me blessedly grounded. He's just as motivated as I am to see and do as much as possible in life, but at the same time, he's always going to remind me of what's important in life, whether he intends to or not, in case I forget. And I'll always remind him if he forgets. It is inexplicable sometimes what we have together, but at times it is so clear it hurts that I could be so stupid and been able to forget that. I feel like such a lummox for the amount of complaining that I've been doing about him. I got so carried away that I was forgetting that he's human, and with that, I'm just as human as he is, and not really entitled to complain about someone who hasn't done anything wrong. And here's the kicker, I've been just awful lately, so if anything, it's him that should be complaining about me. I've gotta grow up. But I suppose by saying that, I've just taken the first step.
He told me another scary Metis story last night that gave me a nightmare about having a nightmare. It was about something called a (I can't remember the Metis term) "wind cannibal." It is about a monster that takes the form of cold cold wind that whirls through the woods looking for human prey at night. Once it finds someone, it freezes them from the inside out, and after it has killed enough of them (attacking villages in waves) it begins to devour them. Little native popsicles. So, the original way of keeping it away according to the oral tradition involved a medicine man intervention, but with contact came the "cure" of using bible pages for tamping materials in a musket and "shooting" the beast. Boo for christianity. So though it is very probably an "abstraction" regarding something else, like the harshness of a winter or something, the concept of this monster scared the poop out of me, and I had this dream that I woke up from sleeping in the Sprite (read: the trailer me and mr. pink will be sleeping in at the cabin for thanksgiving) in that way that we do when we have nightmares: Straight up, eyes closed and afraid to open for fear of being faced with the stuff of dreams. And I open my eyes and look out the "picture window" that is beside the bed-cum-table of the trailer, and see this dark wispy shadow with red eyes and frosty breath that sends me into shivers and spreads hoar frost curliques inching across the glass. And then I woke up. In my own bed, in the middle of a noisy city.
Deuce's article published today. I don't know why this is such a big deal to me, but I was seriously glad to see him published. It's kind of sad that he can't come to the meetings though. His ranty presence would be a refreshing break from the "boy's club" that likes to dominate conversation. I'm starting to feel like I can stop putting concerns for politeness up front. Now, if only I had something valuable to barge into a conversation or debate with other than, "Well, interesting point, but I felt Khofi Anaan should not have had the plasma guns available to him in the new James Bond video game as it proved to be an unfair advantage to the other party involved, who consequently kept getting her slow-moving ass kicked constantly. Perhaps an AK-47 would have proved to be more equitable in this scenerio."
Hm...if you hit the shift key over five times, you turn on the "sticky fingers" quality, which would be useful how....?
As a result of this purge...I have nothing to say other than Mr. Pink informed me that there is a religious sect based on Spongebob Squarepants. To which I say, "where do I sign up? Finally, a faith I can truly devote myself to, once a day on Nicklodeon." Provided I actually had time to watch tv, much less bow to it's general direction during said program and pray to yellow spongiform, jellyfish and crabby patties joints for beauty and happiness, this would be a no-brainer. Link to follow kiddies. But when you think about it, SpongeBob does have this "Jesus" quality to him, albeit it involving him being blindly nice to everyone, no matter what. And Squidward has all the makings of a Judas, or even the devil. Patrick would be an apostle. Not necessarily a smart apostle, but definately a blind follower. Mr. Crabs...the possibilities are endless....The leader of the Roman empire? If any of these guesses have to do with the actual premise of this new faith, I'll shat my pants. Oh, and Rob the lobster? The innocent that helps Jesus shuck his cross along, probably. Jesus needed muscle, and Rob always provides muscle for SpongeBob. And last but not least, certainly would be the Squirrel. I would like to say that her name is stereotypically Sammy the Squirrel, but I can't honestly remember. However- I'm going to venture that there are some Mary Magdalene-esque qualities in her character, other than the fact that she could kick his ass in Karate anyday.
¶ 11:26 AM
And El Chupacabra originates from third dimension in my closet. Third cork tile in on the left (the "bad luck" direction) right next to the wig-that-shall-not-be-touched/acknowleged (it's back in my room again, in all it's genuine 'real' hair glory, reminding me of the tapestries that my eastern relatives keep that are made of the woven hair of our ancestors. I shat you not. My mother has had the horrifying experience of being shown this artifact with, "My god, your hair looks exactly like *insert irish name of a long deceased person*." Sick. What's next? Toe-nail clippings?
Seriously, I do have some nutty quirks, like my inexplainable attraction to turquoise and pink objects (I gravitate towards them, but yet do not own or wear either), and being able to tell sometimes what my prof is going to wear to a class, but really, I like to think this is due to a) a mild case of autism or, b) the horribly strict and predictable lives that some of my profs lead. And besides, what is the significance of being attracted to turquoise or pink? It was seriously a question on the quiz I took. My guess is that it has to do with aural colors, which I have absolutely no knowlege of, though The Russian swore that he saw people's auras, amongst other things that escape the normal view of the rational. I can sure pick them... Asshats and crazy people = awesome!
Yesterday, I read something interesting in le Papier, among other terrible things. This weeks edition of le papier was truly a terrible thing, and I hang my head in shame for not having something to contribute. Again. I'm sucking at this time management thing. But yes...the interesting thing was surprisingly insignificant:
A boy got arrested outside of Lister sometime around three in the morning with a cashbox tucked under his arm. Apparently he was a resident, and he'd stolen it from a vending machine. Disciplinary measures to follow.
Now, sure, this seems sort of an odd thing to notice, but the whole image of this kid skulking across the road with a cashbox tucked carefully under his arm in the dead of the night is sort of an interesting thing. What was he doing? Why did he need the money? There's a whole story there. And I'm going to write it. I am constantly getting inspired by weird little paper blips, and I think it's high time I start doing something about them rather than accumulating all this crap on little bits of paper and stuffing them into a chinese republic tea can. It's seriously full already.
Mr. Pink called last night, and we talked and talked and talked and talked and talked, and I think it's safe to say that I'm still incredibly enamoured of him despite a short period of confusion about our dynamic and a little blip involving a raspberry pastry. I have discovered that Mr. Pink is the force that keeps me blessedly grounded. He's just as motivated as I am to see and do as much as possible in life, but at the same time, he's always going to remind me of what's important in life, whether he intends to or not, in case I forget. And I'll always remind him if he forgets. It is inexplicable sometimes what we have together, but at times it is so clear it hurts that I could be so stupid and been able to forget that. I feel like such a lummox for the amount of complaining that I've been doing about him. I got so carried away that I was forgetting that he's human, and with that, I'm just as human as he is, and not really entitled to complain about someone who hasn't done anything wrong. And here's the kicker, I've been just awful lately, so if anything, it's him that should be complaining about me. I've gotta grow up. But I suppose by saying that, I've just taken the first step.
He told me another scary Metis story last night that gave me a nightmare about having a nightmare. It was about something called a (I can't remember the Metis term) "wind cannibal." It is about a monster that takes the form of cold cold wind that whirls through the woods looking for human prey at night. Once it finds someone, it freezes them from the inside out, and after it has killed enough of them (attacking villages in waves) it begins to devour them. Little native popsicles. So, the original way of keeping it away according to the oral tradition involved a medicine man intervention, but with contact came the "cure" of using bible pages for tamping materials in a musket and "shooting" the beast. Boo for christianity. So though it is very probably an "abstraction" regarding something else, like the harshness of a winter or something, the concept of this monster scared the poop out of me, and I had this dream that I woke up from sleeping in the Sprite (read: the trailer me and mr. pink will be sleeping in at the cabin for thanksgiving) in that way that we do when we have nightmares: Straight up, eyes closed and afraid to open for fear of being faced with the stuff of dreams. And I open my eyes and look out the "picture window" that is beside the bed-cum-table of the trailer, and see this dark wispy shadow with red eyes and frosty breath that sends me into shivers and spreads hoar frost curliques inching across the glass. And then I woke up. In my own bed, in the middle of a noisy city.
Deuce's article published today. I don't know why this is such a big deal to me, but I was seriously glad to see him published. It's kind of sad that he can't come to the meetings though. His ranty presence would be a refreshing break from the "boy's club" that likes to dominate conversation. I'm starting to feel like I can stop putting concerns for politeness up front. Now, if only I had something valuable to barge into a conversation or debate with other than, "Well, interesting point, but I felt Khofi Anaan should not have had the plasma guns available to him in the new James Bond video game as it proved to be an unfair advantage to the other party involved, who consequently kept getting her slow-moving ass kicked constantly. Perhaps an AK-47 would have proved to be more equitable in this scenerio."
Hm...if you hit the shift key over five times, you turn on the "sticky fingers" quality, which would be useful how....?
As a result of this purge...I have nothing to say other than Mr. Pink informed me that there is a religious sect based on Spongebob Squarepants. To which I say, "where do I sign up? Finally, a faith I can truly devote myself to, once a day on Nicklodeon." Provided I actually had time to watch tv, much less bow to it's general direction during said program and pray to yellow spongiform, jellyfish and crabby patties joints for beauty and happiness, this would be a no-brainer. Link to follow kiddies. But when you think about it, SpongeBob does have this "Jesus" quality to him, albeit it involving him being blindly nice to everyone, no matter what. And Squidward has all the makings of a Judas, or even the devil. Patrick would be an apostle. Not necessarily a smart apostle, but definately a blind follower. Mr. Crabs...the possibilities are endless....The leader of the Roman empire? If any of these guesses have to do with the actual premise of this new faith, I'll shat my pants. Oh, and Rob the lobster? The innocent that helps Jesus shuck his cross along, probably. Jesus needed muscle, and Rob always provides muscle for SpongeBob. And last but not least, certainly would be the Squirrel. I would like to say that her name is stereotypically Sammy the Squirrel, but I can't honestly remember. However- I'm going to venture that there are some Mary Magdalene-esque qualities in her character, other than the fact that she could kick his ass in Karate anyday.
¶ 11:26 AM
