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Archive for August, 2000

|| August 24, 2000 || 4:14 pm || Comments (0) ||

When the dark wood fell before me

And all the paths were overgrown

When the priests of pride say there is no other way

I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see

Though you came to me in the night

When the dawn seemed forever lost

You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me

By the deep well of desire

From the fountain of forgiveness

Beyond the ice and fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone

How fragile is the heart

Oh give these clay feet wings to fly

To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart

Lift this mortal veil of fear

Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears

We’ll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean

Cast your soul to the sea

When the dark night seems endless

Please remember me

Please remember me

//Loreena McKennit, “Dante’s Prayer

|| August 23, 2000 || 9:19 pm || Comments (0) ||

Zzzzzz….where’s everbodee???

|| August 23, 2000 || 9:19 pm || Comments (0) ||

“Bend over, robot.”

The quote of the day, courtesy of the movie Nowhere, which I finally got to see in its’ entirety.

I highly recommend it if you dig flicks that contain lots of drugs, sex, loosely-thrown-off glib one-liners, alien abductions and plastic poseurs who are WAY.

And oooh, that ‘Dark’….tasty, tasty, TASTY.

|| August 22, 2000 || 1:12 am || Comments (0) ||

“Well, once again I am angry and without…”

A friend of mine posted that comment on her web journal. It makes me wanna cry.

Wanna know why / Why it makes me wanna cry? / Well I’ll heave a heavy sigh / And once again try to fucking explain…

Lemme give you some background:
It has been my experience as of late that others my age or thereabouts pretty much fall into two distinct categories:
a) those not worthy of speaking to (and don’t you start your railing-against-me-and-my-elitist-tendencies bullshit, okay? Take it up with my father…he is the one that stoked the shit as I was learning to string syllables) and
b) those of us, like the pal I mentioned previously, who are “angry and without”.

See, this is the thing…we don’t always know that we are angry and without. The without is definitely the variable in this particular equation, i.e. “I am without gas, so I can’t go anywhere (literally? theoretically? read in to it all ye wanteth, oh thou gentlest of readers)”, “I am without a decent job that fulfills me and makes use of my God-givens”, “I am without motivation, so what the fuck?” and so on and so forth. Just fill in the little blank after the word ‘without’ and there you have it. Angst made to order.

The anger part is the catch. We piddle along, snatching moments of joy (and don’t get me WRONG, that is as it SHOULD BE) and the anger sits dismissed in a colorless corner like a petulant child. We forget because we can and because we have to, because it would make us eating-mashed-bananas-drawing-on-the-walls-with-fecal-matter loony. Batshit. Crazed out of our motherfucking gourds with the intensity of it.

And then SHAZAM!!!!, somebody or something reminds us of it. It’s as simple as this: me in my jammies, cramming down Wheaties with granola and American Lit notes while carrying on a conversation. All of the sudden I am told, “You are just so fucking angry.” Whoa. Hold on. Wait a minute. You’re right….I am angry. “Thanks for reminding me. Now hand me that pen; I have a letter to write. What exactly was that editor’s address??”

Tell me one more time–what is our purpose?

|| August 21, 2000 || 1:15 am || Comments (0) ||

Conversation @ 11:32 p.m.:

Him: Did you smoke the last cigarette?
Me: As Melissa Ethridge put it: “….quite a while ago…”. In the immortal words of Fun Lovin’ Criminals, “Smoke ‘em, smoke ‘em, smoke ‘em if ya got ‘em…”. *devious grin replete with wrinkly nose and squinty eyes*
Him: You dirty bitch! Just for that I am holding the ice cream hostage.
Me: Pffftt, who cares? I have graham crackers….


|| August 19, 2000 || 11:44 am || Comments (0) ||

…the bad thing about a good morning lay is that the rest of the day has a lot to live up to.


|| August 19, 2000 || 10:41 am || Comments (0) ||

As I was swigging expectorant directly from the bottle this morning, I heard a snicker behind me.

Me: “What??”
Him: “Your crackerjack approach to personal health just KILLS me.”

Like I don’t know what 2 teaspoons feels like in my mouth. Why the fuck should I dirty a spoon unnecessarily? HMPH.