(11PM) Saw Donnie Darko at one of the school's lovely film nights. Fantastic movie, every time you see it. I want to cry and sing and giggle and just about seem as nuts as that fellow in the flick... but since... I left the auditorium, I must... get out... it's... INCREDIBLE outside. The wind is like a surge of soul every time it blows through my arms...

Weather like this... it's... *twitch* ...almost fucking indescribable. I... feel like I'm growing bigger with each breath, like I'm a boundless sea of energy surging to cover the earth... I... could run all night and fight until the dawn, I could breath in enough air to start a storm... I'm... god, all i can tellis that its like I'm feeding off the growing force in the air birthing the coming storm and jesus it's amazing... i want to howl and run and scream and laugh mad as a hare until I collapse, gasping and then do it some more... i want to swim and climb and fuck and fight and giggle insanely and dance my goddamn heart out untilIbreakdownadbloodywellshatterintotheinfinitepiecesofitall.... *GRIIIINS* ...I can abrely hold still to type... god I LOVE THIS. WELCOME, SPRING! *hops* I'm out, it's time for wandering. Hehe.

eDiT (6AM): I rarely feel so much simply One as tonight. Like I could feel everything, be everything... I don't know if it's merely a passing idea, or whether yet may prove truth, but I think maybe I am never more at peace than when the world around me is in chaos. As full and abounding as the sense of complete dissolution and yet... concentration... is, I am focused on nothing but everything, and hold no grudges for the time and no anger manifests... *half-smiles* Joy, complete to the point I've felt only in one other instance- being in love, and having it returned fullfold. I'm in love with the world, I guess. People suck, but people change. The world is there through our lifetime, constant in its inconstancy. And storms, the build, the release, the catharsis... it's like one may find all of life's wonder condensed to a few hours. I listen to the patter of rain and the spill off ledges, and I wish only one thing... someone to share it with.

I am... a klutz.

One thing that's certain in life- it'll fuck you over, it'll throw you curve balls you can't juggle long, it'll decieve, stone, and whip your existance like an ancient criminal.
And the love of another and your ability to return those feelings is just about the only thing that's a guarantee of at least a flicker of a smile, no matter what. It's about the only definitive "good" thing that you can peer at from any damn angle and always come up with the same thing- "Damn I'm lucky." And this doesn't alter even on the worst of seas life becomes. So if it's undousable, and unflappable when it's true... why isn't love enough? *scratches head* I don't know if being who I am, I could ever understand ...or at least, I could never come to terms with any answer someone might give to justify love not being enough. It has to be. With what can we hold faith if love, that purest of emotions, isn't the strongest thing? *sighs* And if anyone says "god", I'll smack you. In my opinion, should god exist, god is love. God is everything, including love. *shrugs* When someone says "I love you" and you know they mean it beyond the boundaries of those three short syllabic arrangements, beyond even what they themselves can comprehend, it's like being shot through with a direct line to the divine, in a way. Not theologically speaking, either... just... look inside next time the one you love says that. It even works with great friends on a level. *shrugs, half-smiles* Nothing like that can possibly be bad. Obsession is bad, infatuation is temporal, friendship is beyond priceless, but... the kind of love that causes you to dismiss the rising of the seas, to forget that the sun didn't rise, because there's someone there you can keep smiling and who'll keep you grinning stupidly back just by being around... that's... beyond judging. We shouldn't be allowed to have it, we fragile creatures with shifting hearts... and yet somehow we're privy to its smallest secrets. How could something so treasured and yet so all-encompassing fail? It baffles me beyond knowing, and probably always will... when I know full well the difference between a crush, a deep interest in and what I choose to call by that cliched phrase, "true love". The moon knows what I feel, and the night air carries my breaths across the streets and rivers of this world... and my heart strains to find itself, and to patch what remains. It's trying to find pieces that're held by the past and yet it yearns to step up and simply reclaim them if it but knew how. Sometimes it seems like if it isn't enough, and I'm wrong, it'd be better if the sun didn't rise tomorrow. At least for oneself.

Like I said, I'm a klutz. I don't think I could create the wizardry of circumstance that brought me such luck again if I sold my soul for it. -.-

Went to a bizarre birthday party with Charles, Bess and this gal Kendra who apparently knows half my friends from Corcoran, even though she goes to GW. Yeah... um... clubs are blah. But my friends make it bearable, and I left early anyway. For all I know, cha and bess are still there. I was gonna teach Kendra chess, but we couldna find the last black pawn and she was falling asleep, so homeward I walked her and am now on my life-pondering kick, as you can see. And I smell like cigs. Have I mentioned I hate clubs? Blechfuckassbabygnawmaim. The shit I do for friends.

I better write this now, even though I just want to break peoplethings and scream howling through the night, lest I lose some of it...

Went out with a backpack containing my reading for Art Theory, intending to discover for myself the nooks, crannies and niches of Dumbarton Oaks Park and sit among its birch and oaken floating shadows to read in the sunset's russet light. That place is the nearest enclave of pure woodland in walking distance (more or less). And while my Rock is beautiful on its own and does incredibly well for being manmade at making me feel better, I crave the confines of a divine nature, brought into being by nothing more than the wind and spring, and symphonied by the rill and tumble of a small creek over a jumble of granite and sandstone, peeked at by squirrels as you catch the flash of a raccoon's mask. The light spills through the trunks and the tangled boughs above like a golden autumn, although that season of a painter's dream is months past and months yet to come. The sunset paints the leaves a shade of green more warm than any to be seen until high summer, and the shadows stretched long and deep between the roots of fallen pines and oak, crashed through their neighbors in the past like a fainting figure caught by strangers, who now bow under their weight, bent to appear like penitent pilgrims at a woodland mass. The rustling of innumerable unknown creatures in the loam and the brush, only barely seeing the dash of a mouse or a squirrel or a rabbit's run through the field's edge in flight from human eyes... my eyes snag on fleet movements and imagined flashes that I think I see when in reality there exist nothing but the rippled sunlight on the edge of a rock or a stillwater pool along the ravined creek's course. I pull myself up by staff and hands, toes prodding for holds, through briar and fruitless raspberry vine by saplings of all sorts until I gain the height of the folded hills, to pause and breathe, listening before adjusting my backpack to onward move around the slope of a hill following faint deer paths or those long-ago trod by people like me, sometimes sighting a fallen strip of cloth or a glass bottle left by juveniles and bums seeking the hidden woods to drink away past nights. Dismissing the inevitable that this detritus of humanity represents, I poke around curiously under the torn roots of a young fallen oak, wondering if the small cave is home to anything that I can see, but nothing stirs except the dirt still clinging to the dry and withered roots.
I skip down the hillside, dodging between trunks and over limbs, scattering noise and leaves like a whirlwind (albeit a small, fuzzy one), to swing around a birch trunk and between some holly bushes incongruously stationed like a gate in the middle of the woods and hobble to a stop on the woodline, wondering which direction to take the footpath that's in front of me, across a field with a bench beneath an solitary oak like a place made for contemplating deep things or cuddling a loved one. I go right, and circle back around along the banks of the run that spills over manmade steps, and through holes in the rocks, gurgling prettily, if artificially in most places in this part of its flow. I feel like in the twilight's final deepening I've gone back centuries, and know only this woodland and the creek with stone falls and bridges over which I crouch, straining with my walking stick across my knees for the cold, waterclean fall itself as it spouts from between the rocks, and as my fingers grasp at the ungraspable, I baptise myself reacquainted with my roots in these woods so like the woods of home, drips collecting in the hair on my chin as I smile and scamper on along the banks back to the paved way that led me into these verdant confines... pausing only twice more, once to call over east and west arch of a fairytale bridge, tempting any resident fae with whatever riddle springs first to mind... and lastly at a natural falls to inch out over the brink and, one foot within the water itself, rinse my hands and face in the water that arcs from the moss-covered stones of the height to the dark pool in shadow at it's base. Dripping but cooler now, although my shirt is sweatsoaked under my jacket, but not a bother as my limbs stretch and twinge, even more sore than this past morning upon waking, I walk up the asphalt drive that heads uphill, and out the gates of this preserve of beauty in the midst of an electrical, concrete jungle that I will never feel a part of. And I almost forgot, I stirred up some dogs with my vocalized emotions. My usual way, that. *smiles slightly, shrugs*

I'm checking email. Not this, not my friends page, not a message board or a website or an instant message or a phone call unless urgent as hell. Clearly I'm not ready for social interaction at this point, and since I seem to simply be driving nigh on most people away from me for one reason or another, I figure communication is not the thing right now. It's funny how talking ruined one good thing after another. I'm tired of being the bad guy. How I do things seems to be antithesis to others, lately. Maybe the vow of silence is a better aim for one to seek. Or mayhaps it is merely a sign that my psyche is contrary to humanity at the moment and I'm an insensitive asshole. Could be a nice "I'm not grown up." Hell if I know. A balance of it all, tempered by a lively spattering of generalized frustration and anger at the fact. I'll be back when all is said and done and I'm not so damn chaotic. Trust me, no one wants me around right now.

If you want me, write me a letter. If it's urgent, you have my cell number. Toodles.