Hm.
So I bought my first package of Lactaid (actually it's the store brand, Dairy Relief. There's something amusing about that... or there was, until I realised that I actually did need relief from dairy). That was exciting. Several people have mentioned that at this point I might as well become a vegan. I said no way. I would die (as if I'm not dying already).
Talked about the Iliad in my mythology discussion today. Pretty sweet. My TA, you can tell, really loves mythology: Helen of Troy was "smokin' hot" and Ares "stabbed him in the guts". Man oh man. Also, apparently Homer "busted rhymes"... oh my. He cracks me up.
My essay is done for my next class! woo.
I refuse to do any homework (or get drunk) this weekend. Most likely this means I will be doing a lot of playing the Sims. ...so... texting is probably the optimal way to get ahold of me.
Mucho luvz.
If you like good music made by friendly, attractive boys, you should click on this: http://profile
People from my town keep dying, or being in serious car accidents and airlifted to the hospital.
I have an outline and a huge research paper due next week, neither of which I have started.
I was going to go to Wisconsin and see some old friends this weekend, but my trip got cancelled due to weather. I'm amassing student loans, but to what end?
And now, suddenly, my future looks blacker than ever before.
It occurred to me over lunch today that if I don't find someone to settle down with by the time I graduate, I won't find one at all. See, it's not necessary to date in college, but it is afterward. And I can't date. I won't.
But I don't want to settle, either. ...and yet I can't bear to be alone.
He doesn't love me. He thinks he does, but he doesn't. And so I'm stuck.
I'm three stories off the ground. There's a really, really obvious solution to all this, one that hasn't occurred to me since high school but looks better and better all the time.
A Few Notes from the Land of MySpace:
1. Our interface sucks!
2. I've gone to find myself, for I am convinced that the secrets of my soul lie out there, somewhere, and whether or not that somewhere is accessible by the open road remains to be seen. I am on a quest for my essence, a quest beyond the sunset...
My day so far:
A noiseless patient spider
I mark'd where on a little promontory it stood isolated
Mark'd how to explore the vacant, vast surrounding
It launched forth filament, filament, filament, out of itself.
Ever unreeling them, ever tirelessly speeding them.
And you O my soul where you stand
Surrounded, detached, in measureless oceans of space...
FUCK YOU WALT WHITMAN.
...I have to have this poem memorised by 5 o'clock, you see.
That's in two hours and forty minutes.
Three more lines.
They are (though I haven't memorised them)
Ceaselessly musing, venturing, throwing, seeking the spheres to connect them.
Till the bridge you will need be form'd, till the ductile anchor hold,
Till the gossamer thread you fling catch somewhere, O my soul.
...I have never heard of such pretentious crap.
Where's the barbaric yawp? O Captain My Captain?
...actually, O Captain My Captain is the only Whitman poem I've ever encountered that I can stand. The only good part of Song Of Myself is the bit about the barbaric yawp. Everything else... nobody needs.
Ugh.
Seriously.
Give me some Emily or Edgar any day.
Song of Myself?
Give me the Odyssey.
Give me Shakespeare -
Lend me your sonnets.
Whitman, the only good thing from you
Is the yawp, the yawp which sounds from my window on still nights,
Which sounds from the footbridge, up and down the river,
Past the factories and frat houses.
Why couldn't you have stuck
With O Captain! My Captain!
That pretty little verse, exciting.
Maybe if Booth had visited the theater more frequently
We wouldn't have to read this Leaves of Grass rubbish,
These pretentious, unfounded metaphors,
This tripe.
Today:
Up too early.
Midterm.
Too-long lecture.
Too-long break between classes with nowhere to lurk in the meantime.
Stupid honours discussion section.
Break.
Lecture.
Sooooooo tired.
Two papers due tomorrow.
Another midterm on Wednesday.
Reading to do for Thursday.
An essay due a week from tomorrow.
An essay due a week from Thursday.
Mutherducker.
So my computer is dead.
It's on its way to Texas to get fixed.
...it's not really dead, just in need of some hardware repair - the screen kept freaking out.
So here we are.
Computers are going to need to be borrowed, so...
...expect less frequent checks and updates and fun stuff like that.
Fresh asparagus, carrots, red peppers and yellow squash, all sauteed in butter. Penne pasta with cheesy pesto sauce. Tofu cubes sauteed in rosemary. Spinach and grape tomatoes with raspberry dressing.
Food is a heaven unto itself.
"Let's pretend we don't exist."
Life is crazy. There's beauty all over the place here. Today I saw the exhibit of VOOM Portraits by Robert Wilson. He is a genius/god/gur
"Let's pretend we're in Antarctica."
It's cold-ish, and the ground is slushy here in the city. I walked a lot today, over the pedestrian brige - which spans the mostly-frozen river - to the museum, to the noodle place downtown, that kind of thing. I felt dizzy, I felt nauseous (my roommate is sick)... but the walking was good. And once I saw VOOM... I just felt better. But 'tis still chilly, enough to warrant a blanket or snuggling or something of that nature.
"Let's have bizarre celebrations."
My mother and sister are spending the night. They watched Pride and Prejudice in my room while my roommate and I went upstairs to a boy's room (complete with actual TV) that we frequent. We watched Boondock Saints; for some reason, Jess (roomie) and I both felt like watching people get the shit kicked out of them, and Shawn (boy) probably just wanted to see some boobies [his term, not mine]. Shawn's roommate, Dan, probably just likes the company. He seems like a lonely person. But who knows.
"It seems too lovely to be true..."
Fighting, now. Always fighting. I love him; truly, I do. But constantly. He suggests I do things, or don't do things, it doesn't matter. If I want - or need - to do the opposite, I will. I gotta do what I gotta do. His cautions and urgings as to what I should do displease me; I am one headstrong bitch. So I tell him. And he apologises.
The second time he does it, I tell him. And he apologises.
The third time...
The fourth...
By now, I don't want his apologies. I want the nudging, the trying to control (no matter how well-meaning) to stop. I'm not doing anything destructive. Most people would agree that Facebook deactivation is a positive thing to do in order to achieve higher grades; I'm not drinking or smoking or having sex or even snogging. I'm being faithful to him, which is more than can be said of any of his predecessors.
And I do love him.
I have serious issues with trust. Serious, serious issues. And yet I trust him enough to be completely open with him. And the result of that trust is something uncannily beautiful.
He is too good for me. I fear the day he realises this; on that day, he will either leave me or lie to me. Either way, my heart will break.
Even now, I'm waiting for his phone call.
I'm creating an alter-ego, one with no connection to me. Yay the internet. I can be Supergirl if I want.
You don't know how it feels
How the flush on my cheeks
burns inside me, too,
Every time you pass me in the street.
Each time I see you, I think
of your dick, unwelcome within me
waiting until I slept to violate
No permission
You didn't respect me enough to ask
At first, I tried to convince myself
it was only a dream
but your seed on my skin
Told a sadder story
In class, you wouldn't meet my eye
Could you not stand the pain there?
The disbelief?
That says to me, you knew what you did
was Wrong.
So now
Every time I see you,
I want to pull those stupid buds out of your ears
And scream in your face what a bastard you are
I want to tell them all what you did to me
And how it still burns inside
How scared alone violated angry hateful I was,
and still am
But I don't.
A Parody: "The Ballad of Jimmy Pop" (Based on "The Ballad of Chasey Lain" by the Bloodhound Gang)
Dear Jimmy Pop
You write disgusting slop
And it turns me on
I just wanted to ask
Would you eat my ass?
I want you Jimmy, come on.
I’ve had a lotta dick
Had a lotta dick
Now I’m down on all fours
Down on all fours
I’ve had a lotta dick Jimmy
Now I want yours
Dear Jimmy Pop
This silence needs to stop
Ya never wrote me back
How could I let you eat
My ass when ya treat
Horny college girls like that?
I’ve had a lotta dick
Had a lotta dick
Now I’m down on all fours
Down on all fours
I’ve had a lotta dick Jimmy
Now I want yours
Dear Jimmy Pop
I’m writing in a strop
This verse is my last
I have no vibrator
College has made me too poor
You better eat my ass.
I’ve had a lotta dick
Had a lotta dick
Now I’m down on all fours
Down on all fours
I’ve had a lotta dick Jimmy
Now I want yours
P.S. Mom and Dad this is Jimmy
Jimmy this is my mom and dad
Now show 'em them testes
Now show 'em them testes
P.S. Mom and Dad this is Jimmy
Jimmy this is my mom and dad
Now show 'em them testes
Now show 'em them testes
Would ya fuck me for smack?
:D
Notes.
Edward Norton has really beautiful nails in Fight Club.
It's storming.
College is soon.
Posting this from Pennsylvania.
This week has been one of extensive travels. First to a suburb of Chicago, then overnight, then taking the train to Chicago, walking to the Art Institute.
Monday: Drove to Chicago with Mom and Ellen. Fairly quiet; Ellen sleeps in the car. Get to my aunt and uncle's house in the burbs; go to the movies with my cousin and two of his friends, then sleep.
Tuesday: Woke up early to catch the Metra train. Uneventful trip to Union Station; walked a few blocks to the Art Institute. Spent four hours there (could have spent days). Basked in masterpieces; cried as I stood in front of Jackson Pollock's Greyed Rainbow, my all-time favourite painting... and I saw it, in the "flesh" (I suppose one should say canvas, or something). Grabbed subs from Jimmy John's and hopped the train back to my uncle's suburb. Roared over to a suburb of Cleveland, where another uncle lives; met some friends of relatives, stayed the night.
Wednesday to be posted later; time to leave the coffee shop and go visit some long-lost relatives. Ciao for now!
"Boom, boom! You broke it down, you broke it down, now build it up, build it up, build it up!"
I wish I had dreams of David Bowie.
I'm hungry.
I hunger.
I am.
Hunger.
Hungary?
Nope.
Sugary.
That's better.
Yeah, changed the screen name.
It needed it.
I needed it.
I'm bored.
Cassi and Paul are out of town.
I should be packing, or cleaning, or generally getting organised.
I can't.
So I sit here.
And type.
And watch Flight of the Conchords on YouTube.
I check my e-mail constantly - all five.
Nothing, nada, zilch...
Except the occasional "Adam Limkemann has poked you on Facebook".
I type LOL when I'm definitely not laughing out loud.
I type smileys when I'm not smiling.
The only realities are the ellipses.
...
I'm set away on MSN.
I'm not away.
I'm only blocking one person on MSN.
I'm only blocking that person because I don't want them to be able to re-add me.
"I drank your poison 'cause you told me it was wine. Shame on you if you fool me once; shame on me if you fool me twice. What good am I to you if I can't be broken?" -- P!nk
...that's why that person is blocked.
There are sixty-one American dollars in my wallet. Dunno where they came from.
"She's so hot... I wanna tell her she's hot, but she'll think I'm sexist... she's so hot, she's making me sexist!" - FOTC
Well... I'm gonna... collapse. And maybe call 'im.
"You can always hear the people who are willing to sacrifice sonmebody else's life. They're plenty loud and they talk all the time. You can find them in churches and schools and newspapers and legislatures and congress. That's their business. They sound wonderful. Death before dishonor. This ground sanctified by blood. These men who died so gloriously. They shall not have died in vain. Our noble dead.
Hmmmm.
But what do the dead say?
Did anybody ever come back from the dead any single one of the millions who got killed did any one of them ever come back and say by god I'm glad I'm dead because death is always better than dishonor? Did they say I'm glad I died to make the world safe for democracy? Did they say I like death better than losing liberty? Did any of them ever say it's good to think I got my guts blown out for the honor of my country? Did any of them ever say look at me I'm dead but I died for decency and that's better than being alive? Did any of them ever say here I am I've been rotting for two years in a foreign grave but it's wonderful to die for your native land? Did any of them say hurray I died for womanhood and I'm happy see how I sing even though my mouth is choked with worms?
Nobody but the dead know whather all these things people talk about are worth dying for or not. And the dead can't talk. So the words about noble deaths and sacred blood and honor and such are all put into dead lips by grave robbers and fakes who have no right to speak for the dead. If a man says death before dishonor he is either a fool or a liar because he doesn't know what death is. He isn't able to judge. He only knows about living. He doesn't know anything about dying. If he is a fool and believes in death before dishonor let him go ahead and die. But all the little guys who are too busy to fight should be left alone. And al the guys who say death before dishonor is pure bull the important thing is life before death they should be left alone too.. Because the guys whos ay life isn't worth living without some principle so important you're willing to die for it they're all nuts. And the guys who say you'll see there'll come a time you can't escape you're going to have to fight and die because it'll mean your very life why they are also nuts. They are talking like fools. They are saying that two and two make nothing. They are saying that a man will have to die in order to protect his life. If you agree to fight you agree to die. Now if you die to protect your life you aren't alive anyhow so how is there any sense in a thing like that? A man doesn't say I will starve myself to death to keep from starving. He doesn't say I will spend all my money in order to save my money. He doesn't say I will burn my house down in order to keep it from burning. Why then should he be willing to die for the privilege of living? There ought to be at least as much common sense about living and dying as there is about going to the grocery store and buying a loaf of bread."
-- Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo, pp. 114-116
"He thought here you are Joe Bonham lying like a side of beef all the rest of your life and for what? Somebody tapped you on the shoulder and said come along son we're going to war. So you went. But why? In any other deal even like buying a car or running an errand you had the right to say what's there in it for me? Otherwise you'd be buying bad cars for too much money or running errands for fools and starving to death. It was a kind of duty you owed yourself that when anybody said come on son do this or do that you should stand up and say look mister why should I do this for who am I doing it and what am I going to get out of it in the end? But when a guy comes along and says here come with me and risk your life and maybe die or be crippled why then you've got no rights. You haven't even the right to say yes or no or I'll think it over. There are plenty of laws to protact guys' money even in war time but there's nothing on the books says a man's life's his own.
Of course a lot of guys were ashamed. Somebody said let's go out and fight for liberty and so they went and got killed without ever once thinking about liberty. And what kind of liberty were they fighting for anyway? How much liberty and whose idea of liberty? Were they fighting for the liberty of eating free ice cream cones all their lives or for the liberty of robbing anybody they pleased whenever they wanted to or what? You tell a man he can't rob an you take away some of his liberty. You've got to. What the hell does liberty mean anyhow? It' sjust a word like house or table or any other word. Only it's a special kind of word. A guy says house and he can point to a house and prove it. But a guy says come on let's fight for liberty and he can't show you liberty. He can't prove the thing he's talking about so how in the hell can he be telling you to fight for it?
No sir anybody who went out and got into the front line trenches to fight for liberty was a goddam fool and the guy who got him there was a liar. Next time anybody came gabbling to him about liberty - what did he mean next time? There wasn't going to be any next time for him. But the hell with that. If there could be a next time and somebody said let's fight for liberty he would say mister my life is important. I'm not a fool and when I swap my life for liberty I've got to know in advance what liberty is and whose idea of liberty we're talking about and just how much of that liberty we're going to have. And what's more mister are you as much interested in this liberty as you want me to be? And maybe too much liberty will be as bad as too little liberty and I think you're a goodam fourflusher talking through your hat and I've already decided that I like the liberty I've got right here the liberty to walk and see and hear and think and eat and sleep with my girl. I think I like that liberty better than fighting for a lot of things we won't get and ending up without any liberty at all. Ending up dead and rotting before my life is even begun good or ending up like a side of beef. Thank you mister. You fight for liberty. Me I don't care for some.
Hell's fire guys had always been fighting for liberty. America fought a war for liberty in 1776. Lots of guys died. And in the end does America have any more liberty than Canada or Ausralia who didn't fight at all? Maybe so I'm not arguing I'm just asking. Can you look at a guy and say he's an American who fought for his liberty and anybody can see he's a very different guy from a Canadian who didn't? No by got you can't and that's that. So maybe a lot of guys with wives and kids died in 1776 when they didn't need to die at all. They're dead now anyway. Sure but that doesn't do any good. A guy can tink of being dead a hundred years from now and he doesn't mind it. But to think of being dead tomorrow morning and to be dead forever to be nothing but dust and stink in the earth is that liberty?
They were always fighting for something the bastards and if anyone dared say the hell with fighting it's all the sam each war is like the other and nobody gets any good out of it why they hollered coward. If they weren't fighting for liberty they were fighting for independence or democracy or freedom or decency or honor or their native land or something else that didn't mean anything. That was was to make the world safe for democrecy for the little countries for everybody. If the was was over now then the world must be all safe for democracy. Was it? And what kind of democracy? And how much? And whose?
Then there was this freedom all the little guys were always getting killed for. Was it freedom from another country? Freedom from work or disease or death? Freedom from your mother-in-law? Please mister give sus a bill of sale on this freedom before we go out and get killed. Give us a bill of sale drawn up plainly so we know in advance what we're getting killed for and give us also a first mortgage on something as security so we can be sure after we've won your war that we've got the same kind of freedom we bargained for.
And take decency. Everybody said America was fighting a war for the triumph of decency. But whose idea of decency? And decency for who? Speak up and tell us what decency is. Tell us how much better a decent dead man feels than an indecent live one. Make a comparison there in facts like houses and tables. Make it in words we can understand. And don't talk about honor. The honor of a Chinese or an Englishman or an African negro or an American or a Mexican? Please all you guys who ant to fight to preserve our honor let us know what the hell honor is. Is it American honor for the whole world we're fighting for? Maybe the world doesn't like it. Maybe the South Sea Islanders like their honor better.
For Christ sake give us things to fight for we can see and feel and pin down and understand. No more highfalutin words that mean nothing like native land. Motherland fatherland homeland native land. It's all the same. What the hell good to you is your native land after you're dead? If you get killed fighting for your native land you've bought a pig in a poke. You've paid for something you'll never collect."
-- Johnny Got His Gun by Dalton Trumbo, pp. 109-113
"The trouble with you is that you think you're too good for all the conventions of society. You probably think you're too good for me too, just because I arrived at puberty late. Well, do you know what you are? You're a frustrated, unhappy, disillusioned, undisciplined, maladjusted young man!" Major Sanderson's disposition seemed to mellow as he reeled off the uncomplimentar
"Yes, sir," Yossarian agreed carefully. "I guess you're right."
"Of course I'm right. You're immature. You've been unable to adjust to the idea of war."
"Yes, sir."
"You have a morbit aversion to dying. You probably resent the fact that you're at war and might get your head blown off any second."
"I more than resent it, sir. I'm absolutely incensed."
"You have deep-seated survival anxieties. And you don't lkike bigots, bullies, snobs or hypocrites. Subconsciously there are many people you hate."
"Consciously, sir, consciously," Yossarian corrected in an effort to help. "I hate them consciously."
"You're antagonistic to the idea of being robbed, exploited, degraded, humiliated, or decieved. Misery depresses you. Ignorance deresses you. Persecution depresses you. Violence depresses you. Slums depress you. Greed depresses you. Crime depresses you. Corruption depresses you. You know, it wouldn't surprise me if you're a manic-depressi
"Yes, sir. Perhaps I am."
"Don't try to deny it."
"I'm not denying it, sir," said Yossarian, pleased with te miraculous rapport that finally existed between them. "I agree with all you've said."
"Then you admit you're crazy, do you?"
"Crazy?" Yossarian was shocked. "What are you talking about? Why am I crazy? You're the one who's crazy!"
Major Sanderson turned red with indignation again and crashed both fists down upon his thighs. "Calling me crazy," he shouted in a sputtering rage, "is a typically sadistic and vindictive paranoiac reaction! You really are crazy!"
-- p. 312-313, Catch-22 by Joseph Heller
"So many things were testing his faith. There was the Bible, of course, but the Bible was a book, and so were Bleak House, Treasure Island, Ethan Frome and The Last of the Mohicans. Did it indeed seem probable...tha
--p. 295, Catch-22 by Joseph Heller