writings and ramblings

• Psychology Dream Log Entry 1
• Second Dream Log Entry for Psychology
• (poor perfect)
• rant 1 to old love
• rant 2 to new love
• rant 3 to lost... lost.
• minute ravings
• A. County
• pay the mortgage on the roses
• "Sleep is for narcoleptics." -Britt
• paste/sexual

Writing.

details like “her dress is dirty” and how she was sitting on the stool across from yours and how was the weather or was it early in the morning and March? or April? you’d never know if it was may. I felt like an insignificant detail compared to that. so you first met between the fountain and the sidewalk, first kiss at Kimpo airport (already on your honeymoon). Only the moon was not made of honey or sweet cheese, only cold rock without a symptom save the reflectionists’ glow. Only I forgot to capitalize the first letters on purpose, wrote it in pen, see?only my sentences run on. And there were no flowers that May.

i really badly want to talk to you, but i want it to be at a different time in our interactions, like maybe six months ago or so. and i want it to be cara a cara. i feel like i have exhausted W, he's my new confidante. i am really sad.

actually this is the saddest i can recall being, but recollections are shoddy and unreliable. i can't even fathom why i have the impulse to turn to you. actually a friend worded your personality very pithily, albeit harshly: that you are an aggressive coward. i felt like laughing insanely. i think i did

what goes on is that i am sad about mr. a very significant other's mother, even though i don't quite believe it yet. then i feel guilty, like an interloper, when i think that mr. must be a whole heck of a lot sadder than i am. she held a portion of my soul, though, and our last interaction was a brief exchange to put off tales of wonderful journeys to a later date, when we could sit down together and chat. and that's NEVER. but is it my place to grieve? then i feel bad that mr. seems incapable of talking to me or calling me back, though he can talk to O; et al. did i do something wrong? how can i ease his pain... as i share the opinion [that he actually gave me] that it is our mutual responsibility to do so? is he the type best left alone for a while, or does he need me to break down the door and hold his hands in my hands? shouldn't i know this? actually i need some intricate combination of the two, so maybe it is not quite that simple. maybe writing is excrement!!!!!! Ohhhh burn. it keeps raining so that the world won’t catch fire

i am trapped in this place called R, and all i can do is write everywhere, on everything, propagating insanity to quench my insatiable fury at... what? life?

every time someone calls me i find an excuse to hang up the phone, despite the fact that i need to talk so painfully much

i am actually usually not insane, just when sad things happen i try to act like my mother, fail miserably, write shit, cry for hours, scream, write more shit, break things, write shit, act like nothing is the matter! i am fine! LOOK AT ME I'M GIGGLING as if that weren't the scariest thing anyone could do even when they weren’t about to simultaneously explode and implode

i always dump the confounding contents of my heart into an ungraceful e-mail to you, to which you seldom respond. so see, you probably will not see it here, on my ungraceful blog of english class. therefore i am breaking the cycle, being responsible, not wetting the bed.

p.s. are we friends? do i care? am i cold, heartless? overly-emotional?
WHAT IS DEATH?
is there anything i can do?

Opinion.

in the bar:

THAT’S A LIE

when you’re drunk

i’m the adult

Every time I go back home, I remember she is gone and I start panicking. We always drive, and so I feel like I am trapped. I want to just jump out and run as fast as I can in the opposite direction. Home was always a bit annoying, but now it hurts. There are no happy relationships there. In the past twelve months, I have managed to ruin everything.

                This is why the west pulls me so strongly towards it. I long for the day I can just sever all ties with home and never hurt over any of the people there again. I understand that no relationship is free of pain, but those are all twisting agony or cold indifference. At the same time, I know I will miss home terribly. How could I have such dichotomous feelings towards an entire city?

                Sometimes they are cruel and selfish. Sometimes they love; so incredibly wonderful. Then I stay too long and I am disappointed. I have never been one to quest for a sense of belonging, but I have recently felt a strong lack of synchronicity between home and I. My hands tremble with anticipation, and my tear ducts spazz out.

                I also feel like the way I think about home… like every moody, depressing teenager… is not consistent with my personality. It is just hard to have a positive opinion about such a wrecked place. Right now I am missing it terribly.

I am in the mood to write right now, the only problem is what to write about. I am in an extraordinarily docile mood, considering the hour (nearing four, British time) and my wakefulness. What I keep thinking about keeps me up; it is the hour in tandem with the date and my age at this date, as well as the passings of this past year… what has past. I can’t even begin to imagine what I already know. I would probably die of shock if I had any sort of premonitory knowledge as to what this past year would bring. I am different in every way, significantly worse for the wear in every way… except that I am (perhaps inexplicably, perhaps obviously) smarter. What worries me is that I feel like my passion for life is slipping away as I am worn down. I am studying the wrong thing. I do not belong in science. Sure, I’m smart enough to be a doctor. I can get decent (even excellent) grades sans study time. I only wish I was brave enough to do what I really want to do.

But enough about me! Let’s talk about you. What are your hobbies? Do you like the feeling as your hand loses feeling and warmth when you give blood? Did you feel panicky for the first two minutes, and then did your body calm down as it lost a steadily increasing amount of erythrocytes? The body is funny in its dichotomy – so easy to trick, yet so marvelously brilliant in design. I would that we were all human. Even my bed sheets.

                The point I am ultimately trying to make, however, is that I am not tired. I have absolutely no desire whatsoever to go to bed, and my brain is not manufacturing a single sleepy wave. Shut up! You know it is true! Just like you are over there, lying in your bed like Ira Cohen undoubtedly hangs upside down in the sewer system as a tribute to his bat relatives who lived in the caves of Guanoland and concocts the most beauteous verses I have ever set eyes on or tasted on my vocal folds. I am terrifically happy, as well, that my spell-checker finds the previous sentence to be a fragment, perhaps only a fraction of what it should be. None of us know the potential of our sentences until we are Ira Cohen.

                My love for an undead creature of nigh superhuman abilities aside, the human anatomy is quite fascinating. I am particularly looking forward to studying the reproductive organs, not for the didactic aspect as much as for the pterodactyl aspect when the increasingly uncomfortable hormones of anatomy students cause their scapulas to grow posteriorally-protruding rami sprouting flaps of bare dermis which will allow them to take flight as their great bird-hipped lizard (probably) ancestors did in previous anatomy classes (despite overwhelming evidence that humans did not evolve from dinosaurs, which I am well aware of, I believe the particular species of hominids residing in my anatomy class to have, by means of convergent evolution, come to appear as humans when in reality they are by and large descendants of the great, albeit nominally confused, Apatosaurus, as well as his interesting winged friends). I also look forward to, with less drooling involved now that I have mastered the concept, my hopeful future-ability to describe in great length to even more uncomfortable dinosaur-progeny exactly what sort of tissue is involved in propelling spermatozoa into more feminine dinosaurs.

                You can easily see that anatomy is the majority of life, primarily because psycho class 101 may have indicated (had I been listening) that the majority of thinking thought processes occur in the prefrontal cortex, whereas the majority of your body is either comprised of all those muscles or all those bones or all that epithelium we have to memorize. At any rate, spermatozoa have never infiltrated any of the chickens that should not be in my uterus on a monthly basis, although they are annoyingly irregular visitors, sort of like your in-laws who are outlaws. I hate it when people are confusing. It is absolutely mandatory that I explain why I am so annoying right now – I annoy people because they annoy the CRAP out of me. Except that they are not the laxative sort, they just annoy the cerebral crap out of me, which is why I have nostrils on my face.

                Time for bed! I just know that tonight I am going to be sailing on the seas of intercostals cartilage that are constantly trying to articulate my neurons as I scream THORACIC CAVITY YOU NUMBRODS, which is about when they start pointing out that that biblical dude’s name was Nimrod, which is about when I start to growl and act like the crazy Sarah that everyone knows and loves. I apologize to anyone who is and everyone who isn’t reading this, because “depressing” might come as a pioneer adjective to a yet un-myelinated mind, but since I am a dinosaur I have a legume for a brain and therefore cannot be depressed so am not and goodnight sleep tight don’t let the rattlers bite yo bead foo

oh god only three hours until wakey-time. i am fearful.

giving birth to paper

with leftover silence.

write a poem

make a statement

simple=nothing.

bottom, apeshit

they're made of wood

whatever drove me to never wash that shirt?

dear you,

i couldn't help but feel a little mad

and try to wish back the lazy days we had.

i wish i had not said that. you are now in my business like unintentional paparazzi.

and no it is not a nest of forest.

take your spit leaf

flush it down the toilet

with my mouth key

forget dating… that prehistoric mess

[sad at the left end]

A person is hard to put into words: people are too multifaceted to convey accurately in this way. I suppose if I supply raw and mostly factual information, I reserve judgment for whoever reads this, rather than imposing my own perceptions on this being.

…you who could only think as far as the next traffic light

if i were to live in patterns

you’d sure be speckles