This is fairly random but...Why does no one write paper letters anymore? I've sent out 5 over the past few months, and no responses. It makes me wonder if people don't have time, or just don't care. It's a little upsetting- I put a lot of time into those letters- dorky illustrations, poetry, cds. And a month, two months later.. nothing. It makes me hate the internet. I miss these people. I want to see their handwriting through a thin paper envelope, the way they write my name (where do they put the curves, do they end it with a flourish?) I want something to look forward to when I get home from school. I actually bought a bunch of new envelopes because I figured I'd at least have one of them writing me back.
In this time of MSN and e-mail, I guess paper letters just aren't as important. I think it's kind of sad.
Noises. My house is made up of noise, it is never quiet. Early morning, there is the sound of my parents getting up, the soft gurgle of the kettle heating on the burner. My dad makes everyone breakfast, banging pots together as quietly as possible, their whispered metalic clang hushed by the kettle boiling into a whistle. I used to be a writer who understood that words could feel like romance. And a few years ago, I would have told you that I believed in love and I especially believed in people. My house is noisy with life, and it makes me feel small sometimes. Knowing that you live in fear and facing that fear are two different things. My house is made up of noises, everybody's personal sounds bleeding into one another. There is loud music coming from upstairs and the quiet swish of my mother turning the pages of a book. The dog growls low in his throat at sounds from down the street, and someone plays guitar in the living room while tea is being poured in the kitchen, pooling into the Marilyn Monroe mug that Chelsea's family gave me for Christmas last year. I only take milk these days, can't remember exactly when I stopped taking sugar in my tea, still have it sometimes when I am stressed out. There is the sound of someone pulling into the drive way, more tea being made, maybe coffee this time, percolating on the stove. The cats are meowing to be fed, and the bird won't shut up, demanding attention from everyone who passes her until someone moves just a bit too slowly and she flies to their shoulder. My house sounds like supper being made for the people who live there and whomever else happens to be around, plates hitting each other as everyone scrambles for the food, cutlery tinkling musically as we grab at knives and forks. There are the soft- and not so soft- debates, the insults soaked with humor and maybe those we exchange with a little less goodwill. I have had the house to myself maybe five times since I moved home. And I don't mind.
If you are singing songs from Jesus Christ Superstar at the top of your lungs while working, it is best not to assume that just because it's one am, there aren't any people about. Furthurmore, when some man who is walking through comes over to tell you that he thinks you have a nice voice, it is far more humiliating that he caught you in the middle of a very dramatic
"They'll hurt you if you go to far, if you gooooo, too faaaaaaaaaahhh
Than it is flattering that he has complimented you.
You know, I could care less about the humans in Land of the Dead, but those poor zombies...they are so mistreated.
writing in lowercase is something i started doing intentionally when i was sixteen because- bear with me- capital letters seemed too ugly. you have to realize that at sixteen i was depressed and capital letters started to bother me beyond all reason. they seemed to huge and inedible, and i am a firm beliver in eating words (though, er, not in the usual sense of "Eating my words.") now that i am three years wiser and not depressed (at sixteen, i was sure this day would never arrive) i am trying very hard to get over the habit, but it takes some getting used to- lowercase still seems so dainty and quiet, while uppercase seems loud and sort of vulgar. i know it can be bothersome to read the ramblings of someone who types in small letters but
47 |3457 ! |)0n7 7yp3 |!|<3 7|-|!5
eh?
the cat slept on my laptop (which i left open because i went to bed in a daze last night) and now it's typing strangely. L and backspace and the righthand arrow key and sometimes R aren't working very well.
the sad thing is, i was almost starting to like the little beast, and then she had to go into heat and kept me up all night trying to meow, which she can't seem to accomplish. instead she emits tiny squeaks and squeals, sounding far more like a guinea pig than a cat. and posibly more like a furby than a guinea pig. either way, she's a damned annoying little beast, and now i'm going to have to try to get this cleaned somehow because i can't write using a keyboard whose letters won't work. (if i pound on it any louder, the guy downstairs will come round and have my neck)
i hate politics.
i fear for the next four years of all our lives.
it makes me damn glad that i'm not american, though i suspect in the end, it won't matter.
i don't understand why kerry conceded. it makes me so angry, it's such a little kid tactic- leave before you lose. he could have at least seen it through. he said in the end, it should be voters who decide the president, not a legal process- but what he maybe doesn't see is that by conceding he's throwing away all of the votes in his favor. just spitting on them. and it disgusts me. he just gave america over to george bush, to another four years of death and paranoia and suspiscion. (not that i liked kerry too terribly much either, mind you, but i'd rather him than george bush.) it seems like everything has once again been in vain.
at least bush didn't win by number of votes. he won by default. he's a default president.
(there are going to be some pissed of celebrities, let me tell you. some of them pledged millions to kerry's campaign. i wonder if they'll ask for their money back? i would.)
this is more of a dream journal than anything, isn't it?
anyway. i had a dream that a huge tidal wave was forecast to hit the island (i'm not sure which, since i came from vancouver island, and i'm now on nova scotia, which isn't even really an island but anyway...) and so everyone was preparing- tying their things down and packing things up (i packed my laptop in a waterproof case, which i guess shows me where my stupid priorities lie...) and then we all made our way to the docks to tie ourselves down. yeah, at the docks. by the water. because we were super-intellig
so i lose my parents somewhere and end up being around strangers, and the tidal wave comes but it isn't big. it looks big, but once it crashes down, it's like someone has thrown a pail of water on me. and then there were *shudder* people from my grad class everywhere, and i couldn't escape because we had to keep ropes tied around our waists incase the wave came again. it was so strange and sort of frightening.
quince's dreams, pt. 5ish
i had a dream that i was slow dancing with al pacino...or possibly anthony lapaglia... at least, i think it was him. it probably wasn't, and i'm just messed up. anyway, he kept looking at my chest and it made me quite uncomfortable. and then he said he was looking at my "bard on the beach" shirt, and that he'd been there and he knew he recognized me, and it was probably from there (it's where they preform shakespeare on the beach or in the park). and i was trying to get away, because at first i was like "cool, no one else wants to dance with me, i'll dance with a movie star."
but it wasn't cool because he was a pervert.
the rest of the dream was terribly screwed up. i don't even want to take the time to describe it. it involved sex-ed talks, a party, a church, a fight scene and an epilogue. such is the way my head thinks when i have no control over it.
as emo phillips said "I used to think the brain was the most important organ in the body, until I realized who was telling me that."
i hope for a storm
i wrote a song
but it's no use
i can't get you out of my head.
i listened to music
i tried to read
but nope, it's no use
i can't get you out of my head
and so on. i'm bored and should go to bed (that rhymes with head) or finish my letter. or make wings out of bedsheets and jump off the bridge. then i can fly over the train and wave at the people, and i''ll never have to take a plane again (which is good- i hate planes. especially the food. they have bad food there, and the vegetarien meals are awful.)
oh dear, the city is huge, it will swallow me here, and it will swallow [angelice], and we'll have to find a way out again.
because i wanted to do this:
Pick a band and answer only using that bands song titles
chosen band: ani difranco
1. Are you a male or a female: "joyful girl"
2. Describe yourself: "i'm no heroine"
3. How do some people feel about you: "freakshow"
4. how do you feel about yourself: "not a pretty girl"
5. describe your family: "light of some kind"
6. where would you rather be: "buildings and bridges"
7. describe what you want to be: "born a lion"
8. Describe how you live: "glass house"
9. describe how you love: "as is"
10. describe what you hate: "good, bad, ugly"
"not a pretty girl" sounds self-degrading
i am not a pretty girl
i don't want to be a pretty girl
no i want to be more than a pretty girl
and so on.
gaaaah! my sister erased three pages of my story when she turned the computer off! and for once, microscoft word didn't recover it!!! *grumbles under her breath about people shuttingd own things they shouldn't or checking what was up first*
we have something in our house, in the vents. it made noises all last night in my sister's room, scratching at the wall vent, shuffling papers, knocking things over. i didn't go check it out- some things i like not to know, mysteries stay with me all night, influence my dreams. i still like to think that there are trolls and wild things; where the wild things are. (even if it turns out to be only a mouse)
205 How to make quince bread
Take two pratzamer[22] of quinces and boil them in water so that they lie closely together. And when they are cooked, take them out, peel them cleanly and thoroughly and pass them through a hair sieve, until you have a little less than a half pound. And take two ounces of sugar. The sugar must be refined beforehand. For each pound of sugar take a quart of water and after that an egg white. And put the quinces into a large bowl and stir it around with a big wooden spoon for as long as a soft-boiled egg cooks. And after you have stirred it well, then put an egg white into it and stir it around as long as before. And when you have stirred it, then put two spoonfuls of refined sugar into it and prepare it each time as at the first. Continue until you have put into it five eggs and the stated amount of sugar, then take wafers cut into long strips and spread it on them, however you would have it. And lay them on a board and lay it on the oven. Be careful that the oven is not too hot. And when it begins to dry out on top, then put them on a board in back of the oven, until they have dried out. The sugar must stay in weak heat the entire time, so that it does not become cold. Then they are ready.
for [quince] and [angelice] (if she so desires it)
more to be added later, chels, i'm just starting, but "this is wonderland" starts soon, and i'd like to see it ^^
links for research
*life*
http://www.fid
http://www.yor
http://www.byu
*heraldry*
http://renaiss
http://renaiss
*Medieval terms*
http://www.civ
http://netserf
http://cal.bem
http://www.hem
***** http://www.bri
*Language*
http://www.geo
http://www.the
http://www.wor
http://www.ruh
*Dress*
http://histclo
http://www.geo
*Misc*
http://www.her
since i started writing this "book" that i'm sending [angelice] i want to write and write and write books until i can't see for the paper surrounding me. isn't it funny? before, i had no ideas. now, i have too many.
i had such a funny strange dream last night. it took place in my house, sort of, and there were simply hordes of people everywhere- upstairs, downstairs, in the basement. the house had sort of stretched (because those of you who know my house- namely [angelice]- know that its just big enough for four or five people) and could accomodate all of these people. and the basement was like a gym, and much nicer than it is now. anyway, i was on the ground floor when this portly old fellow approached me (i say portly old fellow because that's how i thought of him in my dream) and said
"They are coming! They will infect everyone!" I asked why and what they would do, and he told me they would turn me into an animal, and that the only way to escape this was to pretend I already was by wearing this large grey mouse puppet (which I own in this world anyway- her name's Muffy) on my head...so I wore a large mouse puppet for most of my dream.
Anyway, eventually they infected everyone but me and P.O.F. (portly old fellow) in fact, P.O.F had dissappeared, leaving me to fend for myself. When they infected you, you didn't so much turn into an animals, but you thought like one, and maybe your skin changed. There was this creepy silver/white/b
Anyway, he was important because he kept killing people for not being 'animal' enough. And he decided to evaluate me- by this time, i wasn't even sure if maybe i hadn't been infected anyway, and i'd lost the mouse hat.) his assistent was also a mouse, and everything about her was faded and gray- her shirt and skirt were rainy-sky coloured, her hair was mouldy-wheat blond, and her skin was pale and gray. i didn't look like that- i was still wearing normal clothes and such. This bear- and he really was a bear, I didn't know who he was, but he wasn't a human turned 'animal'...he was probably the bear that is always in my dreams, the spirit animal- he took me to see the tiger-man so that i could be evaluated, and stodd behind me the entire time. The tiger-man's domain was the bathroom, and he always had the bathtub full. he made bear and i sit in there to wait, as it was sort of polite to invite your guests to sit in water. and then he started talking to his assistant and killed someone right in front of me, and then began his evaluation, which made no sense to me.
i became stupid and said "well, i think i was a mouse, but now i'm a cat" and then he told me i was definitly a mouse, jus tlike his asistant, and i was angry. then the dream ended.
actually, there was a whole other chunk of the dream i can't really remember, where both [angelice] and [pete.] were animals as well, though i don't remember which sort, and they were trying to convince me of something having to do with poetry and food and pretending to be on a boat...
its so
topsy turvy.
i really hate that word, actually. it remindes me of turnips, and i only like those mashed...with a little brown sugar...mmmm.
so, how wonderful is it to dance in the car? say to songs you listened to at age thirteen when you still thought that leonardo dicaprio was sort of cute and zack hanson was wonderful? throw in embarassing my sister to the bargin and i'll dance the drive away. its fabulous- dad and i go palces in the truck (to get his fiddle fixed yesterday) and i turn on my music (the stuff i listen to now, or the stuff from when i was thirteen) and dance in my seat. or when we're driving anya to school. dancing is so libertaing and it gives me the feeling of this huge bubble of happiness expanding in my chest.
chelsea, its blizarding where you are, isn't it? you'd better be very careful- i don't quite fancy the idea of an icily preserved best friend.
i watched this french movie last night (and, am proud to say, rarely read subtitles)called "happenstance" in english (an awful title compared to the french one, which was something about the beating of a butterflie's wings- i can't remember it exactly.) anyway, it was completly unlike any movie i have ever seen because it gave one no time to love any of the characters. it was about little things that each person did which changed the lives of everyone in their small town. (it sounds bad, but oh, it wasn't)
which made me think a lot- if, say, someone is thinking exactly the same thing as me at the exact moment that i am thinking it, or if someone is thinking of me when i am thinking of them...it goes on. i don't even know about fate- is so and so destined to be so and so's lover etc... but the movie made me think (hah hah)
and i'm mostly blathering now.