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16 July 2011 @ 07:52 pm
Oh, hey, here's that thing I was babbling about a while back.

I love wikis.
22 February 2011 @ 08:19 pm
poems are due tomorrow so that the rest of the class can read and comment on them before workshop day

self-indulgent sociopath poem has now reached 68 lines

and is on part two of three

threw together an eight-line poem in an hour in a futile attempt to balance the proportion of normal wordy pretentious poems to crazyfuck wordy pretentious sociopath poems

this did not have a significant effect

still have to finish part three before sleeping tonight

if you're reading this, send help

Just got off the phone with my mother.


MOTHER: One of my co-workers recommends watching the Sherlock Holmes movie. Your thoughts?

Allow me to pontificate for several minutes upon the significant differences in atmosphere and characterization between the many adaptations of said series (half of which you've never heard of), and also the fashion in which more modern versions have started to give our leads a chemistry which tends toward "bickering" or even "vitriolic", in line with the sudden rise of people being total assholes in modern media.

Allow me to augment your diatribe with commentary on Darcy's scathing dialogue within the modern work Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies.

Blame my upbringing, folks!
In an effort to start writing anything again, I may have just spent a month scrawling out/tweaking a prologue which turns out to be sort of redundant and unfitting to the rest of the unwritten story, which could easily start more in medias res and be better off for it, and which additionally falls smack in the middle of my semi-plotted (and likewise unwritten) series continuum.

On the bright side, when I say "a month" I mean I wrote like 3000 words in one slacktastic week, took a break for about two weeks, and then wrote the next 2500 over the last five or six days. So if I actually put my mind to it, as I have not been doing, there's a chance it could go a lot faster.

An unrelated note: I forget what they say about people on vacation. Is it that they aren't themselves, or that they are their true selves? I've also forgot who says this. Probably some philosopher douchebag.
I am sitting awake alone in the dark in my living room and listening to 90s rock in order to counteract the fact that I went to sleep at 7 AM last night--or this morning--whatever--and am now awake at 1 PM with my mother planning to drag me out somewhere after a late lunch/early breakfast.

She is not sure what we are doing yet (possibly genealogy work, dropping me off to swim later) so I told her to get back to me on it.

But "Blue Monday" kind of makes me want to dress in drag and go dancing at a gay club.

Except they'd probably just play Lady Gaga instead of 90s music that sounds like it wants to be 80s music.
Music: Blue Monday -- Orgy
The sum total effect of a year's worth of college essaying and zero creative writing: prose is harder to throw together than I remember it being, but four hundred words is a lot less than I thought.

Oh, and my cat masterfully captured a mouse the other night. This has nothing to do with college but I am very proud of him and would like to share his achievements with the world.
Music: Orphans -- Beck
I could go on about how I've got presentations on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday next week, and how I was planning on at least doing a bit on the Monday one, since it's ten minutes of I-haven't-even-put-anything-together-to-talk-about-yet and I've got plans tomorrow, and how I ought to be trying to get ahead of things anyway if I want to have the time to write my 7-10 and also 4-5 page essays for Cultural and History classes on Thursday and Friday, respectively.

But I won't.

Instead, I will mention that my Cultural teacher has sent me an E-mail saying I ought to submit my "Thoreau discusses natural rights with Zombie!Hobbes" essay to some sort of Honors contest. Unless I have something more interesting from another class which I would like to submit. No, sir, I'm fairly certain the dialogue between a zombie and a hermit encompasses the heights of "interesting" present in my Very Serious College Essays this year.

Je n'even sais pas.
Mood: lethargiclethargic
Music: The Crane Wife, Pt. 3 -- The Decemberists
You do not actually need to persist in shooting me mostly-sly, somewhat-guilty glances after every off-color "lol women amirite?" joke you make. While it is true that I am the only girl in your group for a certain value of "girl", I am also the one who made the "Oh, broads love romance" remark at the top of the hour. I will not be moved to righteous feminist fury by a couple of dudes crackin' wise.

In conclusion, get your whore asses back into the kitchen and make me a sammich.

10 January 2010 @ 04:44 am
Dude, Holst-who-wrote-the-Planets-Suite is the same guy who wrote/arranged the Second Suite in F for Military Band that I played and loved in freshman year Symphonic! (It took me like two years and a lot of Googling to find out that the Song Without Words, as an old folk song, does in fact have words, they just aren't used in the instrumental arrangement. BUT THEN, for my pains, I WAS ABLE TO SING IT without sounding like a brain-damaged, la-la-la-ing imbecile.)

This is significant to absolutely no one else but me.

And contrary to how this may look, I have not actually spent the last two weeks exclusively on Wikipedia...
27 December 2009 @ 04:13 am
Oh, hey, I'd always wondered what this was.
29 September 2009 @ 02:51 pm
I... have slightly less homework at the moment than I do normally!

Well, I mean, essays due tomorrow and Friday and stuff, but right now things are fine. And anyway I'm considering skiving off the Honors essay, 'cause, Jesus, we've got essays like every day in that class, I'm not sure if missing one will hurt.

By "Honors" I of course mean Honors Cultural, not to be confused with Honors Counter-Cultural because the two are very very different. HCC hardly ever has homework, except some readings from shall-we-say unusual texts (crossdressing book, swearing etymology book, Communist Manifesto, etc). HC, on the other hand, has both the constant essays and constant readings, mostly like old Greek literature and dense philosophical texts and stuff. We read a chapter from a book called Pedagogy of the Oppressed. I took notes on it, but that was less to remember what it was about and more because I kept yelling at the paper and wouldn't have been able to go on if I hadn't got my hostility out somehow. (They were not very nice notes. The phrase "bitch, please" may have been thrown around.)

The Counter-Cultural class has very relaxed conversations where we posit that, like, dude, the bourgeois has totally been screwing over the proletariat for the entirety of history, amirite? Whereas the Cultural class involves discussions of things like, oh, say, interesting rhythmic devices which seem to counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the humanity Vogonity humanity of the poet's compassionate soul, which contrives through the medium of the verse structure to sublimate this, transcend that, and come to terms with the fundamental dichotomies of the other, and one is left with a profound and vivid insight into... uh... the texts that I skim in five minutes just before writing in-class essays that I invariably get top marks on. So, y'know.

Though I am not actually fond of the book we are reading in Counter-Cultural now. It's an easy read, but it's entirely about this author avatar working for the post office, drinking a lot, fucking a lot, and generally perceiving the world in the most unromantic way possible. Because I am a huge chick, I have mild issues with this, and ended up reading Vonnegut before bed to cheer myself up. The change in gears from the previous book to stuff like Long Walk To Forever had me more or less flailing around and squealing quietly as I read the latter. BECAUSE I AM A HUGE CHICK and that story is amaaazing.

All right, off to class.
07 June 2009 @ 02:26 pm
GET THIS: I don't have to wait for YouTube to load videos. I just click on the video and it starts playing and keeps playing. No "oh, better put it on pause and wait a few minutes while I go do something else". It actually loads faster than it plays!


...I'd be running over with praises for Firefox, too, but so far the three things I've noticed about it are 1) it has a kickass icon; 2) you can customize the toolbars at the top to be all like colorful dude awesome; 3) it scrolls, for some reason, at one line per arrow-key-tap, so I have to buttonmash furiously to reach previous speeds of websurfing. So the "woo!" and "dammit" are kinda cancelling each other out.
05 June 2009 @ 03:58 pm

Packing keeps having these weird, suddenly interesting moments. There are certain layers, strata of papers in these drawers, that haven't been disturbed since probably eighth grade, or freshman year at the latest. I feel like an archaeologist!

I'm in a bit of a hurry since I'm apparently moving tonight; I can but hope I'm not throwing out interesting relics in my haste to reach the good stuff. So I guess the archaeologist I feel like is Heinrich Schliemann.


EDIT: I feel I should add that I got my last report card the other day, and apparently I managed to pull off a B in Chemistry. I have no idea how--certainly when I spent that week doing nothing but as described in the last entry (i.e. fanfic binging and pseudo-nocturnalism), I was completely resigned to making a C in that class. I feel a bit guilty now, actually. I doubt I deserved a B. Oh well; I totally deserved an A in French last semester, so I guess it evens out.

The C in Calculus was nearer the expected mark.
15 December 2008 @ 03:30 pm
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11 September 2008 @ 04:55 pm
This morning I had a dream apparently specifically designed to use no memories from after junior high school. I must have been sleeping really deeply, since the dream wasn't lucid at all (and it just had a different feel to it than the lighter dreams) and I could hardly even open my eyes when the alarm clock went off.

I was living back in my apartment, picking out clothes from a dark laundry room with two guys talking about something in the other room. I chose a Worlds of Fun shirt that I think I got rid of in like seventh grade and honestly could not have remembered if the dream hadn't yanked it out of somewhere deep in my subconscious. I can hardly even remember it now that I remember it, but... I remember what I remembered about it in the dream, and a little bit more. I think that may be a point for the "you really do remember everything that you experience, you just can't access it" idea.

Shortly after that I looked toward the bathroom and was confused because I couldn't think of the last time I'd used the shower, but surely I shower every day, right? Or every other day, maybe? I don't know, have I hit puberty yet? This was confusing, whatever, I went to school.

From the junior high locker room I went with the gym class out into a field where some adult landed a helicopter to talk to the teacher while the rest of us fished from a pond. Until I looked around, wondered what the fuck I was doing, and decided to steal the damn helicopter and get the hell out of there.

Some girl came with me. We left the school grounds and flew away for a while until we found a celebrity's magically-suspended sky-castle, which shot missles at us until we left it alone. Meanwhile I was still learning how to use the helicopter's controls. I got the hang of it eventually, though--joystick on the right tilts it forward and backward, pad on the left turns it side to side.

I woke up really confused about what my age was, where I lived, and who I knew.
So I'm sitting here creepy!grooving to Black Mirror when I hear this huge series of explosions. I'm not talking the comforting echoey *pmff!* *ffvvv-pah!* *pumpumumpaaah* noises I've been hearing from over the hills all evening. I'm talking, someone several houses down the street setting off fireworks over the trailer court.

I figured if I was going to have my residence burned down I could at least get some good pictures out of it. I'm on a sort of corner, so I had a good view of shadowy figures setting stuff up in the middle of the street, and also of the firework that "fell over!", so they cried.

It looked like this:

Only instead of blossoming in the sky it exploded all over the street, several yards, and the family setting up the fireworks.

They're still going, too.
Mood: amusedamused by lyrics
Music: James Bonde -- Bonde Do Role
ACT scores, predicted vs. actual.

English: 35 34 (Eh.)
Reading: 33 35 (Muahaha!)
Science: 30 28 (Hmph.)
Math: 20 28 (WTF? AHAHA)

Total: 31.

I'm taking it a few more times 'cause I'd really like a higher score than anyone else I know a 34. I don't really care if it's 34, 35, 36--it's all more or less the same thing past a certain point, and even if I scored perfectly on the ACT I still would not reach the level of genius displayed in Gray Ambition.

It freaking rhymes, dude.
Took the ACT yesterday. Yesterday? God, it was yesterday. This has been a wonderfully long weekend. Even in summer I still like it when days seem to stretch on when I look back at them.

And since it is summer, I have of course gone nocturnal, so the ACT, yeah, I took it on five hours of sleep. XD I couldn't fall asleep any earlier than two! IT WAS AN IMPOSSIBILITY.

A bit ill and not willing to let my mind and body make contact, I turned outward (for once) and didn't think. I just observed my surroundings. Namely, Corey and Sam, who were in the same room as me. It was sort of amusing, to try and figure out what they were thinking.

SAM: Ohh god, what did I do last night?
COREY: Dum-dee-dum. Oh look, a Punnett square on the chalkboard in the front of the room. I wonder what the "P/p" alleles were meant to be.
SAM: *rubbing his eyes* The Rascal Flatts concert, right... And there was this smell, like my wacky uncle's old plaid suits...
COREY: Wouldn't ya know it, I think the "5" button is sticky on this calculator. Oh well. It should still work pretty well.
SAM: And some kind of blonde blur... God, I need a Vicodin...
COREY: Hmm, I see now that there is a bulletin board next to me. "20 Little-Known Facts About the Human Body", huh? I wonder if any of them are dirty. *reads*
SAM: *fumbles with his box of supposed Tic-Tacs and then pops one in his mouth in textbook drug-addict fashion* Hoo, that stops the shakes...

As for me, I had tons of free time after the English and Reading sections and by then I was a bit more awake. And so I ended up having some of these "thoughts" things myself. Well, sort of.

ME: *taps pencil* *twirls hair* *yawns, stretches*
ME: ...
ME: Now Mary...
ME: *starts headbanging bopping lightly, barely mouthing words* Why'd ya have to go and bring me down?
ME: ...I'm so so-rry...
ME: *guitar* Chk-chk-unna DAH NAH NAH

Did I mention I was sitting in the back?
Music: being your mate means tryin' to find something that you aren't going to hate...
One of my friends is pining (on and off as far as intensity goes) after this senior girl who seems to like him back but who he knows he can't have. He has told me of his troubles in this area a few times before.

But for the life of me, I can't imagine why. I guess he just has no one else to turn to.

It's not that we're not close or anything, it's just that I frequently respond to his worries and angst with stuff like this:

Him [6:00 P.M.]: Man do you realize that the seniors are going to be gone forever at the end of next week?
Zweelum [6:01 P.M.]: Uh, yeah.
Zweelum [6:01 P.M.]: Same as I realized it last year and the year before.
Zweelum [6:01 P.M.]: I don't know that many seniors this year anyway, so no big deal. Especially considering you can still get in contact with them on Facebook and stuff anyway.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: You know I'm missing a 25 point worksheet in Science? No wonder my grade's so low.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: Other than, y'know, the one he lost and then found that he put in today.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: So I'm going to turn in another one tomorrow and maybe that will help.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: I wish he'd tell us this stuff.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: So, seniors, yeah.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: Oh yeah, there was that one chick you knew.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: I forgot about you being sad about that.
04 May 2008 @ 03:40 pm
I have been having a lot of "exploring a different house" dreams lately. A lot a lot a lot. Sometimes it's because I'm on vacation and I'm looking through the hotel room, which usually turns into a hotel house (best hotel ever?). Sometimes it's because I've moved or at least I'm temporarily living in this house, anyway, and I'm trying to figure out what's going on with it. Exploring the outer reaches of it, anyway. "Exploring" is the right word--sometimes I'd come across regular holy places, after walking through silent, dust-covered rooms, and sometimes I'd go through dangerous territory.

I think in the dangerous cases we're just renting a place or something, because while there is a feeling that the main rooms belong to me and I'm the only one living there, there is also a feeling that the place does not belong to me. Other people have lived there. Other peoples' baggage has been left behind.

In the cases where it's more quiet and undisturbed it belongs to me, and the baggage that has been left behind was left behind long ago, with no indication as to whether it was left by men or gods or just the forces of nature.

Listen to me, getting all poetic-like. El Oh El.

The places also belong to my mother, I suppose. There are often family and friends in the main rooms that do not come along whenever I start explorigating, and soon I'm far enough away from them that it just feels like I'm in an empty house.

Sound doesn't travel well in these places.

Some of the houses would seem to be haunted in some way. All of them are at least a little bit creepy.

The night before last I was exploring a pretty big place held together with small rooms. I think it started out as a hotel. Then it was my new house and I was staking out my area. The place got quieter and quieter as I went on, really surreal, and although I don't remember what rooms I went through eventually I wound up in a bathroom off the side of a nice big bedroom. The bathroom was huge. It was all white shading to off-white, nice plastic or possibly ceramics with a big bath in the middle, and steps leading up to an open shower on the side, and probably a fountain somewhere with a small stream of water curving around the bathroom and leading off to a grate, I wouldn't doubt. There was also a skylight on the top, which lit the room with the sort of glow you get on days when it's just cloudy enough that the whole sky is white and you can't tell where the sun is.

It was pretty nearly too grand for the name of "bathroom" and I think I was thinking of it as a shower room in the dream.

Then I left again. I think I was thinking that I would keep it sort of secret and hidden and use it at my own leisure and probably hang out in it more than one would a normal bathroom/shower room. Well, I mean, I do like water, and that place was like a white, sparkling temple to water.

The house last night was just a bunch of small boring rooms on the top floor--a few bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, a living room, all decorated in faded dusty tans and blues and pinks and greys, with only the basic furniture. Then I realized there was a cellar, which I thought had the potential to be awesome.

When I went down there, a bit nervous because it's a cellar and that's where things jump out from under the stairs at you, y'know, I looked around, and there were some boxes and stuff, and a really subtle door in the wall. Your eyes would cross over it at first, like. It was the same light color as the wall, doorframe and all. It looked like a door that wasn't often used and possibly wasn't often supposed to be used.

So I went through it. And the rooms sort of got creepier as I went along. There was a clown at one point, I know. I ended up in a room with crack down the center of the floor, and I realized that someone had built another floor over the floor that had originally been there, and there was a one or two-foot crawlspace underneath.

I stick my fingers in the crack and pull it up, and there's a lot of... just miscellaneous stuff underneath. I think maybe a clown mask? That could have been where the clown thing came from. Formless shapes that were too shadowed to make them out, further underneath. But the room was starting to really freak me out, so I decided to leave.

When I got back upstairs my mother told me I shouldn't muck around down there, because the bottom floors used to be a dungeon.

Which was creepy for about .5 seconds, and then dream!me decided to ask, "A fun dungeon or a pain dungeon?"

It was a fun dungeon.

I think the formless shapes may have retroactively been S&M stuff.