that was mean...

i'm sorry.

you get some redemtion for the book reference about me...that was very sweet. i think we're almost done fighting. maybe maybe.

as if...


I try to understand you. The complexities, the wit, the soul, the diversity, the spirit. Each time I look, the depth keeps getting deeper. Is that the intrigue? It's like a great book. A long book. A book that's never ending. It's a tale of life and humanity. You fascinate me, drawing me closer everytime I'm with you.

It's no longer a question of why? I've opened the book and can't put it down. Good, bad, happy or sad, it doesn't matter, because I know the next chapter is only another 8 pages away.

yeah. you finally got me i think.

you've filled too many holes
that one was for you
there's been many before
but none will come after

you've been my love
my best friend
you've filled so much
and now
we've come to
the triple screening of each other...

leave

me

alone

now.

(please)

how's that for juxtaposition?

and where'd you get the thesaurus?

LOFT

What used to be termed as a 'Studio Apartment' (+/- 400 SF) is now being marketed as 'loft' by real estate people to capitalize on current trends and confuse the buying public that any one room apartment is a 'loft'. (A REAL loft is a minimum of 1,000+ sf with no walls, but could be divided up into several rooms if so desired.)

Or, rather...


LOFT

inhabitable premises with a view (especially of the sky in the early morning), usually in trendy downtown locales where frequent kissing, hair pulling, hand feeding, and viewing james bond flicks occur.

the loft gods, no matter how hard i have tried in my worship of them, are not on my side. it would appear unless i wanna live on queen or in the candy factory or knitting factory...all very cool but utterly yuppi-fied...i'm screwed. loftscrewed. sigh.

brok
en-ly

drop me like a bomb
i wanted to say
but couldn't
never can say
anything i wanna say
when i wanna say it
for fear of the
discomfort involved
in my inability to vocalize
the stuttering and mispronounciation
involved

i'm back
in speech class trying to pronounce
my f's so someday i can say
**** *** and when that day came
i said

all the **** and *******
given to me by you
multiplied by that which
was given to me
by those before you

i'm back
in math class
trying to graph a slope
so someday i can lay
****** and when that day came

i said

drop me like a bomb
i said
as you turned the door
**** me once more
i thought
as you turned away.

I love this book

it is eggers, so why shouldn't i? he rocks...

it's great, reallllllly great.

horoscope...

Happy Holy Daze, Cancerian! I've been meditating on the perfect holiday gift for you. What symbolic offering might put you in the right mood to deal proactively with potential problems in 2007? I've decided on a set of those specially-designed clothes-storage bags that allow you to suck all the air out, compressing your sweaters and pants so that they take up significantly less space in your luggage or closet. Hopefully these bags would inspire you to come up with creative applications of the "less is more" principle, which will be a recurring theme for you in the coming months.

i'm starting to think i should be a pack rat. how come i don't get the honey horoscope? i like honey. noooooooooo i get sweater bags for my luggage. did the horoscope just call me chubby? erggggggggg i hate them.

Atwood, on Grace Marks, from Alias Grace:

Well, she doesn't have a middle-class, genteel imagination, which would have said, "I couldn't wear that dress, that's the dress the dead person ..." She doesn't have that kind of sensibility. A shawl is a shawl, a dress is a dress. You don't just throw something like that away. Shoes are shoes. When you travel in India, you find that everything is used, just everything. You don't find any plastic bags blowing around because nobody would let a plastic bag go to waste. It would be used for this and that, and when finally it can't hold anything anymore, it would be cut up into decorations. This is where the patchwork quilt came from; you don't throw things out, you make them into something else.

It’s not that life here was ever distasteful
or unable to float upon my tongue
to me or you
you were just there
and I was just alone
wanting to know what takes a lifetime to learn
and turn around and around again
and after this
to turn around and around
and learn again

and it’s not really a mystery
i swear
what i want

in time all i will think of is you

when i’m folding blue shirts or pouring my tea
or some other empty maternal moment of domestication
when im expecting the least
and getting the most

it’s not a mystery really
not a mysterious moment
it’s almost silver cased displayed
and if our love
is ever disposed, exposed, or underproposed
i hope you remember all the streetcars never taken
and remember all the conversations always stated

it’s not a mystery this new found bond
not at all
it’s just that we’ve filled too many holes
triple screening each other…
un-elaborated that is said…
to with lowly between
us.

apparently I'm INFJ and since Jung is in my list of famous INFJ-ers I feel confident that I scored well.

I didn't see anything about competitive but if I'm competing on personality tests, I probably should have.

Other famous INFJ-ers...Chaucer (which how the fuck did they measure that? honestly?), Goethe, Gandhi, and Tom Selleck.

My childhood Magnum PI watching days with my Dad eating tomato soup and grilled cheese causes me to find that list both funny and kinda pensively pleasing.

ten thousand words meshed and squashed and surfacing upon the pool made of in between us hands and smokeprinted flesh that will not go down that will not drop that will not hit hover toward us quiet ones true ones i see.
pick up my new my new hands you put them into the brightawakeness and new and free and young once more which no one needs to weep or name but us in silence in silence. how much oh how much world! how many paths crutch wings wine scented and candy coated words..
we shall move. (that thoughtrhyme) do you? do you hear with the hue with the man with the human being with the one with the hands between? with the hands atop with new hand pair of eyes that lay ready there? as
tear-upon.
and bough bending knee bracing days gone before they were thoughts made before it was one eye today give to it a second both closed now.
follow the current to its shadow of the pool shored outward toward to the hook of a land a sand bar in front of a small unnavigationable uncoloured discovered unknown feared

silence.

rambles and rambles i thought we'd get away with silence and individual thoughts that would merge between crumpled pillow cases and falling lights but no but no such a thing deserves more than words and more than silence.
something else an other; a being; a nothingness; an other; ‘yes yes i said’ an other; we may never know until we are.
i fear i fear ,
silence, , ,

my throat hurts from the complete and lengthy sing-a-long last night...

man

who knew elton john could sound so good huh? huh? and wwo missed it...too obsessed with the toilet pucks. which is like 80% worrisome, and 20% kinda cute.

going christmas shopping. i'll report, exensively i'm sure, on my complete abhorrence of and loathing to the entire process. erg...

horoscope..

Imagine you're with a team of explorers in Antarctica. You're climbing the 2,000-foot granite spire called Rakekniven that thrusts up out of the ice in Queen Maud Land. The temperature is ten degrees below zero. There's not a plant or animal in sight. The blinding white emptiness of the wasteland beneath you fills you with desolate reverence, alienated awe, and soaring gratitude. As far as you are from everything that normally gives you comfort, you've rarely felt stronger or more alive. Got that scene in your mind's eye, Cancerian? Though you won't experience it literally, I bet you'll experience emotions similar to those you'd have if you did.

i hate snow. that's all i'm saying. more than anything else.

snow = yuck.

gina in an environement not her own...

so utterly

and music music and music music music....

i'm not a big mcdonalds fan. i'm not. really.

it's hang over food

BUT i wasn't hung over this morning, the alternative use of mcdonald's is when the line up to tim hortons is literally around the side and rubbing the side of sedan doors against the home depot...then there is no where else to go no matter how much you want that bagel toasted with chedder cheese and that very very necessary coffee...

and i just want to make the point that i really really think egg products should be offered at 10:15 in the morning. it's not hamburger time, it's egg time. really. i think this is like one of the truths of the world, up there with no cannibalism nor incest.

eggs are morning food. 10:15 is morning. i dont want a quarter pounder at 10:15. my mind isn't ready for that and neither are my taste buds...

i asked them. they said NOOOOOOO! in little taste bud speak.

my horror-scope...

Throw out anything that doesn't fit and hasn't in a while, whether it's clothes, relationships or ideas. How can you introduce anything new and energizing if your head and personal space are clogged with the past?

i mean, i just really think eventually i'm gonna totally re-read the tommyknockers, and the tzara dada stuff, and milosz. i believe that. i also really think there is a time in a party somewhere in the near future where all those NIN, and Rob Zombie, and Psychotica, and Red House Painter CD's are gonna come in SOOOOOO handy.

i'm a hopeless emotional, musical, bookacle pack rat. i am. i know. i feel suddenly bad about that. that's not right. not right at all...need a new horoscope site i think...

Odetta...

"I don't want your cold iron shackles"

dylanisms...

i think i found my favourite dylan quote...it's better when he sings it though...the obsession continues... from Talkin' World War III Blues...

Well, now time passed and now it seems
Everybody's having them dreams.
Everybody sees themselves walkin' around with no one else.
Half of the people can be part right all of the time,
Some of the people can be all right part of the time.
But all the people can't be all right all the time
I think Abraham Lincoln said that.
"I'll let you be in my dreams if I can be in yours,"
I said that.

funny as fuck. i love the little dylan turn. it's that little wheeeeeeerp at the end. he's so good at that. you're like ok protest song protest song sad song sad song the world sucks song and then wheeeeeerp funny as fuck or sweet as hell song. whoah. didn't see that comin...

ee cummings...

the boys i mean are not refined

the boys i mean are not refined
they go with girls who buck and bite
they do not give a fuck for luck
they hump them thirteen times a night

one hangs a hat upon her tit
one carves a cross on her behind
they do not give a shit for wit
the boys i mean are not refined

they come with girls who bite and buck
who cannot read and cannot write
who laugh like they would fall apart
and masturbate with dynamite

the boys i mean are not refined
they cannot chat of that and this
they do not give a fart for art
they kill like you would take a piss

they speak whatever's on their mind
they do whatever's in their pants
the boys i mean are not refined
they shake the mountains when they dance

"there are literature and toilet pucks in the same world, and that the love of one has led to the working with the other and how bizarre is that (?). "

i didn't know, until you wrote it. now i know. now I GET IT.

and how bizarre is THAT? like, i didn't even know i didn't know and now i know...

i'm grateful for that. they are....the same...

but then i think i'm so completely freakin compulsive and insane about things that maybe it's just my compulsiveness for 'things' that make it seem the same. maybe it's just my complete inability to represent or discuss or describe ANYTHING within the oral that is the same...

or maybe you're right. maybe it's all the same. the love and creativity and passion and sensuality and and and

fuckin a puck...

the pucks haven't made me cry (not yet) with the utter strength of rimbaud tho. but i'm stretching....streeeeeeeeeeetching.

so i'm mumbling and fumbling and kinda sorta maybe complaining a little bit about...well...matterless carbon based man childs...

and barb in all her wonderful motherly, teacherly way looks all concerned and worried like and asks how long we've been together etc. etc. and then...

in the sweetest little caring clutching voice of all maternal reasoning...

asks,

"are you intimate?"

and i'm like...ohmygodyeaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

and she neither laughed nor gasped but politely advised me to perhaps talk to my best girlfriend or my mom.

i think i scared her.

boo! or, i suppose BOOB!

i'm obsessing.

completely fuckin obsessing. i don't know why...and i don't know what it is yet. but i think i have some weird strange, the old woman in requiem for a dream obsession thing with dylan...

he's just sooooooooo attractive, and not attractive like attractive attractive, not at all like the attractive my mother uses in the same sentence as "courting" kinda funny like, but kinda like rare earth magnets...attractive.

i mean me to him, i suppose not him to me, not even HIM but the creations that pour (poured?) the freak outta him...

and if i understand simon correctly, my current source for nerdy nerdy magnetism...magnetism is a phenomenon by which materials assert an attractive or repulsive force on other materials. magnetic dipoles or magnetic moments can often result on the atomic scale due to the movements of electrons. each electron has magnetic moments that originate from two sources. the first is the orbital motion of the electron around the nucleus. this motion can be considered as a current loop, resulting in a magnetic moment along its axis of rotation. the second source of electronic magnetic moment is due to a quantum mechanical property called spin.

and dylan man, is makin me SPIN.

quantumly, mechnically, all fuzzily i mean...

So I'm sitting here after a very very green meal of beans and gnochi in pesto

and a couple hours of annie hall

and HOURS of the dylan, passionately recommended by the wretchedwatching one (wwo) incessantly.

both were enjoyable. the dylan...remarkable. the look of...disassociation, uncontrived disassociation...on his face throughout the entire movie...while he sings, before he sings, in between his songs....the rawness of his voice...the look and smell of his voice....you just don't see it on the cd covers. i was utterly born in the wrong time. causing the bartender to pull out random vinyls that i would DIE to have been able to walk into a store when they initially came out and BOUGHT....buuuuuuut no, i get jay-z and nate dogg. which whatever...but i would prefer the romantic quality of being able to walk into a store and buy a dylan record RECORD the day it WAS released. but i can't. i guess i'll just keep dating people that did then. makes me at peace in my time distortion and complete bitterness toward the generation i was rudely and illegitimately plunked into.

and wwo's been bugging me to post a current entry and i spent part of the day wandering around the mall, half listening to barry manilow sing sing singin ho ho ho and snow snow snow falling on fuckin roasting chestnuts and navigating my way around baby strollers, and 40% off signs, and random way too enthusiastic teenagers and less enthusiastic but much cuter geriatric shopping sprees and i wrote an entire, driven, 'i gotta get back and write NOW' entry all in my head but without the mental ink polaroids i rely on from wwo, i was lost and have forgotten BUT will attempt to re-create in the morning...

i will consider a laptop that fits in my bag in the future. :)

skipped the bar tonight and watching "chok-dee kick boxer" after ALL THAT encompasses a friday night at the bar i need a counter sansano male homophobic beat the shit out of each other night. it's set in thailand, and reminding me how much i totally loved it there. he's ordering food from the street meat cart in the "no this...this one (point point, glass hit glass hit) this one, this one (weird facial gestures, more glass tapping) THIS ONE!!!" that is only experienced in asia...

there's mussels in the fridge. i feel i need to injest late night bottom feeders for the same, above reason...

sensual...

animal(a): marked by the appetites and passions of the body; "animal instincts"; "carnal knowledge"; "fleshly desire"; "a sensual delight in eating"; "music is the only sensual pleasure without vice"
s
exually exciting or gratifying; "sensual excesses"; "a sultry look"; "a sultry dance"

Yeap, I looked it up. Both the wretchedwatching one and the bartender agreed with such thoughtlessness, such a lack of consideration that I thought it necessary to look...

so

i have

and i don't know that i agree...so quickly.