. . . L I G H T    Y E A R S ;

8:15pm: Aha! I have decided to return to livejournal, and will do so at a new location. And when I friend you, you will find out, and be joyous with the rapture.

Period of indecision OVER. The post-viewing stress of ROTK sent me over the edge of rationality.

I have two dollars from my invite codes, but I can't use them on a free account, apparently? So how do I give them to someone else? Can I just give someone else two dollars? Who wants two dollars? I feel like I'm playing with monopoly money.

2:43pm: This is the only crap I have written in about a YEAR. Commence weeping with me. (I don't remember how to do CUT TAGS!)



movement that mouths
at the plane of your breastbone
shuddering hair
shaking

earthquake of your jaw

tremor and slide



mouth pulsing salt
mouth salt pulsing

salt mouth pulsing
salt pulsing mouth

pulsing mouth salt
pulsing salt mouth




open mouth gate
for river and sea

delta teeth
bedded tongue

flooding, pulsing, mouth salt

seaweed,
gold,


octopus, mud,
ocean eaten




a slow
sister, pulsing

a salt sting sucking
at the mouth

hard sand
like
the worst temper



seagull and ocean
womb, blue-walled wonder,
sea glass and salted

hair coiling
in the wet
palm like a net of

threads washing, stringing
the sound scrape, sand
in a wound like a mouth,
pulsing

warm breath like heart
blood

3:22am: Indecision. INDECISION.

Livejournal is a Balrog I want to have babies with. What is this new devilry?

My heart is rent! And I don't have much un-blackened heart to spare.

2:24pm: I am thinking of returning to Livejournal. As the Pixies say, "Where is my mind?"

OH MY GOD.

6:45am: And for those who care, if you would like to keep me friended so I can still partake, that would be fantastic.

I adore some of you. This is my no-fuss goodbye from livejournal! Be good. I will be at pedx. If you love something, let it go, right?

1:49am: My people are leaving these shores.

7:10pm: I dreamt about having a crappy boyfriend who wouldn't save me from a certain death. Then some boys beat up another boy, and kicked him in the head until his skull caved in, and when the blood began to pour they were shocked, like, how did this happen? That's what happens when you kick someone in the head, dream-boys.

But then I was reading a storybook about Legolas to a little boy, and the little boy turned into Travis! Dream SAVED.

6:58pm: I Fell Into A Singularity And All I Got Was This Lousy T-Shirt

7:16pm: I need to write Margaret a letter. I am back-logged. I haven't written a poem in a year. A year.



You are not the pile of books you haven't read.



I have disappointed some people, I know, and half the time it was my fault, but the other half? No. It was not. It was them. It was you, not me.



My problem is this bra.

7:15pm: I think to myself, "I don't really know my heart,"
as you whisper, "Me too."

The Tragically Hip - Silver Jet

12:18am: Oh man. Am I ever glad I found Reason For Living (Orlando With Pirate Hair) last night, as I needed it to, you know, go on living this morning.

And am not ashamed of finding what I am going to lovingly and lustily refer to as The 3M Automotive Look exceptionally hot and fantastically hott and motherfucking hottt.

Oh my goodness.

I expect I'll need an additional 2-4 posts before I am over it.

5:02am: Oh holy fucking shit. Jesus of Nazareth! There's a reason to live, and I have named it orlandowithpiratehair.gif.

Convulse with me. Or else lay on top of me to hold me down. There aren't words.

Jesus hell. It's too much in the wee hours of the morning.

If you can look at that and not be consumed by your lust, I pity you! I pity you.

11:17pm: Updating is a chore and I hate doing it. Ha! So I won't, anymore, maybe.

I'll change my mind in a week.

Someone design my website for me for Christmas. I will send you a mixed tape. Actually, I'm only looking at Jory, here. I am nothing if not blatant.

Oh, blah.

7:45pm: From The Truth About God, by Anne Carson

God's Woman

Are you angry at nature? said God to His woman.
Yes I am angry at nature I do not want nature stuck
up between my legs on your pink baton

or ladled out like geography whenever
your buckle needs a lick.
What do you mean Creation?

God circled her.
Fire. Time. Fire.
Choose, said God.

2:49am: Television

1. I make sure, on purpose, to not quite remember when the oxygen channel plays La Femme Nikita reruns, because seeing as it was my favorite show ever, EVER!, (ever, you bastards) I can't walk away from it once I find it. That show was magic. Oh, I still mourn its passing, I mourn it like I mourn nothing else.

God bless the oxygen channel, though: La Femme Nikita AND Oprah. Yes, I love Oprah, and what of it? WHAT OF IT?

2. Today I also couldn't walk away from a Highly Exciting episode of Little House on the Prairie. There was Laura's future husband's brother in it, named Pearly Dave! Pearly Dave. And he was an asshole, as you can imagine. I had to see it. I had to see it through to the end.

3. I watched the same Jeff Corwin episode twice in the same evening, just for the sheer visceral pleasure. Do you know how there are some men you love with all your heart, but not really in that "I want to fuck him" kind of way? Yes, well, it's like that, you see.

(For those playing at home: Dakota is the sexiest man I know who I have no desire to sleep with.)

4. I learn way too much from The Learning Channel. No shit.

12:20am: Music

1. The process of falling in love has finally begun with PJ's Riot Act. More on this later, with hand-drawn pictures of how the album makes me feel.

2. Cursing Gordon Downie's name, I finally took The Tragically Hip out of the fucking stereo for my own good. I have to manage my addictions somehow. There's no one to slap me around, so I just strategically lose the albums in my room.

3. I want to buy The White Stripes like a whore wants to buy crack. Matthew Good Band, British Sea Power, The Philosopher Kings. New Bruce Springsteen, old U2. I want to slash open the belly of everyone who KEEPS SELLING BACK their fucking Depeche Mode Ultra album. This town has no goddamned taste.

4. I would sleep with the Vines, but they look like a bunch of date rapists.

10:11pm: 1. g-g-g-ghost: easier to type than it looks

2. I got hottt clothes today, my Christmas gift from my grandmother. When I mean hottt, I don't mean in the slut-tastic sense of falling-out boobs and skirts that stop just below the labia. I mean pinstriped things, and a black lace skirt that goes to the floor. (NO FREE VIEWINGS OF MY VAGINA.)

Business casual just totally gets me hot and bothered.

3. I must develop a middle ground and stop oscillating between "I will sacrifice my life for you" and "you're not fit to say my name." Mostly I just don't have any other categories for people.

4. You think you know me, and that's the kicker. There's just so much you don't know at all. I'm saving it, I think. Just like my hymen.

No sex before marriage is such bullshit. Remind me to pick this up again later.

10:33pm: I had a horrific pre-Thankgiving nightmare in the vein of Black House last night. No Jack Sawyer, but the eating of body parts, yes. Man, I just can't get into it. I know you want to hear all about my "evil man eating my dream-celebrity-LOTR-boyfriend alive and sending me back souvenir parts and sample meals" dream, but I'm surprised I managed to face today's green bean casserole at all.

I cry in my sleep, but I have never woken up screaming. I think last night should have qualified for that treatment.

8:28am: Wow. I tried to sleep after finishing the book (Oh, Jacky, Jacky --) and it was a terrible experiment. I tried to trick my pain into disappearing by watching Saved By The Bell. Usually I am so fond, appalled, and merry and sickened by SBTB that there's just no room for thought (and no room for heartache): I sit slack-jawed in disbelief, completely still, unable to believe that actors acted in this show, writers wrote for this show, people paid to have it made and others watched it, nay, swooned over it.

I have a headache. I am plagued. I think I am going to try to sleep now, the sleep of the dead; I might be too tired to dream. I am full up with misery and trying not to be silly about it. Maybe I should have breakfast alone.

5:54am: I find there is less I want to tell you all, and more I want to say.

4:48am: I finished Black House a little bit ago. The ending was slow-going, as I was crying so hard I couldn't see to read. The ending was hard. That's all I can say about it, without dipping back into the lunacy of my love for Jack Sawyer, without weeping again, without trying to explain and failing.

I folded laundry to calm myself, being miserable and fucked up, and cried into a hot towel straight from the dryer. Then I remembered that I didn't want to get raped while sobbing unawares in the empty laundry room in the middle of the night.

8:11pm: my mind is racing
as it always will
my hand's tired, my heart aches

I'm half a world away

R.E.M. - Half A World Away

4:26am: What do you want to know? I'll probably tell you.

1. I worry that I don't make people happy. I worry more when I feel like I don't care if I make anyone happy, ever again.

2. I am trying to figure out graduate school - life - future - career things right now. This encompasses more emotion than it seems. Tonight I wanted to weep from a kind of in-the-bones low-key excitement. Do you know what I want to do? I would tell you if you asked and cared. I can't just whip it out nonchalantly: it means too much to me.

(I find myself not bothering to look at schools that are too far away from the ocean. Kansas, Colorado, Indiana, Wyoming: there's just no way.)

3. I gave up today on everything. Haha! Falling asleep in astronomy, I gave up. It was nice.

4. Something is wrong with everyone I love. We are restless, sick, unhappy. We want and we long. We flounder. We go through the motions when we can. It's a disease of sadness and wrongness lately. I want to drive it out.

4:20am: these corrosives do their magic
slowly and sweet

R.E.M. - E-bow The Letter

9:43am: (I am way hot for the Great Love of Legolas and Gimli.)

I haven't gone to bed yet, and L+G 4 EVER is about the only thing on my mind right now.

My Christmas cactus bloomed pale pink this morning.

2:59am: Oh, right. You're supposed to stone me for being a slack-ass. I almost forgot! Ha! Ha.

It's not funny, actually. It's retarded, inexplicable behavior on my part. "Sick of school" is not exactly a responsible, valid excuse for fucking off.

Instead of writing my paper, I have been doing these things.

1. Dee pointed out recent photographs of Orlando Bloom at a diamond store opening, and while most other girls appreciate the irony but find the the look distasteful, I've spent my time away from academics lusting madly, wildly, uncontrollably over this and this. That is hot stuff. HOTTT STUFFF. I'm not lying! This is not sarcasm, this is inexplicable passion.

2. Still listening to The Tragically Hip like there's no tomorrow, and the R.E.M. mix that Scott left behind in Florida. Either he was really thorough in hiding it, or I am just oblivious and behind in the house-cleaning. Whatever: great joy. Take all the R.E.M. songs that make your chest do funny fantastic things and put them all on one mix and the world starts to shift and blur.

3. Wishing March were here already. IN CASE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS FORGOT, March is when Spring Break comes and Spring Break = Fran, for nine whole days. If there are four or five repetitive activities of any given day of mine, thinking of Fran's visit is undeniably on the list. (Also: masturbating, drinking water, touching my boobs and missing Travis.)

4. Talking to Margaret and being jealous that she gets to see herself every day and I don't.

5. Hanging about The Board like a creep. I cannot link to The Board because it is my happy special place and I don't want you getting in on my koolaid, but I have known these bastards for three years running and it is a special crazy dynamic all its own, and it is wrong to not at least mention briefly in passing the things you love so much.

4:14pm: 'Do you mean the attack is routine?'
a bird asked of a bird
'In this context, a concave nest, how do we learn to hurt?'

Tragically Hip - Leave

7:09am: 1. Tomorrow I am going to write this paper. I want to be stoned if this doesn't come to pass. Seriously, big fucking rocks. I will stand out on our lawn with my eyes closed and my arms out, and I want to be stoned. It might put some sense back into me, pathetic creature I have become. Smashed about the head a bit.

2. I have decided what Future Husband will wear at our my wedding: to match his artfully tousled hair, he will wear a white v-neck shirt under a pinstriped jacket, the best kind of semi-tight worn-out jeans, and no shoes. No shoes. I ain't wearing any shoes, either. I will, however, wear a nice bra, and my mother's old engagement ring. (Two black pearls!)

3. The willpower it takes to not type up the lyrics of every song that means something to me in here is vastly underestimated.

4. The moon was low and yellow tonight, in the cold. Nicole bought us hot chocolate and drove us out to the prairie to look at it, and the only way to make it better would be to involve the ocean somehow.
Involving the ocean improves everything.

How do you stand it, being land-locked? That's like despair, panic and suffocation all in one.

2:17am: & also: Another "Anna Nicole Fucking A Member of the Fellowship" dream last night. No, I lie. They are full-out nightmares. This time it was Viggo. I remember licking his nipple in a desperate attempt to lure him away from the ANSmonster, but he kept going back, like maybe she ate his brain.

& also: I want to make sweet passionate love to The Tragically Hip's In Violet Light. I don't mean listening to it during the act, oh no. I mean to the album itself, because it's that fucking good. I would give up three weeks' worth of Food Budget for this record, easy.

2:12am: Hi. I still miss Dakota something fierce. Drinking my Goldschlager to dull out the misery, but also, no, it's really good, and I don't want to write my paper, so I'm thinking, yeah, it was due Monday -- why bother turning it in five days late when I can make it an even seven? I mean, late is late, right? While I'm at it, why bother going to class tomorrow? Maybe I could clean the house instead. I declared tonight that I'm never cleaning another damn thing in this place ever, but it was so obvious I was lying.

Yes, maybe if I clean the house, when Nicole comes home from actually going to class like a responsible person, she won't harass me for actively trying to fail out of college with but a semester to go.

Ha ha. I am down.

My email is fucked up. Curses!