Blog-wanderings...

Werewolves? This totally cracks me up. I don't know why. But like Sedaris cracks me up...have a peek:

http://maureenjohnson.blogspot.com/2006/10/my-boyfriend-can-totally-dance.html

Herrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeeee's MOLLY BLOOM (and if you don't know who she's named after BUT you DO know me...look it up! It's important, I think...)

And this will probably get insanely annoying, with lots and lots and lots of pictures ALL THE TIME but what can I say?? I'm in loooooooooooove...


The cure for both loneliness and lack of exercise...

today i've learned

that after everything

mercy is all we've got.

yeah yeah yeah
he said
i said
that's a band y'know?
he said
what?
the yeah yeah yeahs
i said

he said
be serious
i'm trying
to talk to you
i'm trying
to tell you something

i said
i don't really wanna talk
but go

why don't you?
why can't you?
god i'm so tired
of this
take us back
be us back
let's go then
you and i
back.

don't.
i said

c'mon c'mon c'mon
don't you wanna?
do i wanna?
i think i wanna
let's...

you go down first
you go to the bottom
of me
first

let's...
let me, don't
you wanna?
talk to me
like you do.

tell me something
in my ear
so no one
but me
can hear
that rhymes
i said

you're doing
it again
he said
ignoring me
steering the
information elsewhere
in your lexicon
lack of comfort
he said

vibrations
and sound waves
say it
do it
tell me
i said

tell me
i said

what?
he said

everything.
i said
tell me everything

everything?
he said

yes
i said
yes

i love you to death
he said

i know
i said
i always
have.

FOUND!

A strange shout-out to GOB methinks...

i'm awake now...

Scaffold
A noun
a platform from which criminals are executed (hanged or beheaded)
a temporary arrangement erected around a building for convenience of workers
provide with a scaffold for support; "scaffold the building before painting it"

i used to rip down.

i used to rip, tear, finger bleeding and sobbing down. Starting at the attic and working my way, dangerously down, terribly down to the bottom through the upper bedrooms, knocking out staircases, ripping up carpeting, and finally down down to the foundation. i used to, quite consciously, decide to rip, decide to tear, decide to spend days on my hands and knees demolishing everything i built around me, everything that was built around, everything that grew around me, the weeds and wild flowers, the baby maple trees and disregarded take out containers. i'd clear out butted out cigarettes, empty beer bottles...i'd rip and tear, and burn the pictures or trap them in a box stuck under my bed, Danielewski's House of Leaves kept getting larger and larger and longer and longer as more elements and moments trapped in time of the past were thrown in. i'd watch as it toppled, a jenga tower of my life and memories and moments and flickers of polaroids of experience and people and places and thing....

i'd stand outside the place i once had, while the destructive wrecking ball of my intentions toppled it all.

once i'd knock it all down, i'd leave. anywhere. to a new city, a new town, a new province, a different continent, different same white walled cover and crapping linoleum florred apartment, for as long as i could hold out, and begin rebuilding the same way i tore the past around me, from the attic down.

this didn't work out for me. clearly. and the older and wiser, or the more i ignore, the better i get at scaffolding. placing piece upon piece, harnessing myself to safety wires, putting up the safety net, lowering myself to begin rebuilding, standing on scaffold and adding a piece here, to take the piece that was once there away. building a scaffolded support system around the jenga tower of the people and places and things in my life. re-painting, laying the floor, architrave and backfill, butt hidge, cladding, cornice and fascia, rafters and sarking...i scaffold and rebuild...

i don't know if this is better, or wiser, or healthier.

it does seem to hurt more though.

From Beloved, by Toni Morrison:

Paul D sits down in the rocking chair and examines the quilt patched in carnival colors. His hands are limp between his knees. There are too many things to feel about this woman. His head hurts. Suddenly he remembers Sixo trying to describe what he felt about the Thirty-Mile Woman. "She is a friend of my mind. She gather me, man. The pieces I am, she gather them and give them back to me in all the right order. It's good, you know, when you got a woman who is a friend of your mind."



Is e=mc2 a sexed equation?...Perhaps it is. Let us make the hypothesis that it is insofar as it privileges the speed of light over other speeds that are vitally necessary to us. What seems to me to indicate the possible sexed nature of the equation is not directly its uses by nuclear weapons, rather it is having privileged what goes the fastest...
Luce Irigaray
--Le sujet de la science est-il sexue?