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12 March 2008 @ 04:18 pm

I had the song from this stuck in my head when I woke up this morning. What the hell? Still, it's a lovely piece of early sound-synch animation, and one of my favourites.
03 October 2007 @ 09:08 pm
 I got a new job at the local (read: tiny) department store in town. They have me surfing the register all the time, which equates to a seven or eight-hour day just taking people's money and putting it in a drawer. Since they do this with all new hires this is proof that the job is better left to those with a) no real life goals, and b) no imagination, abstract thoughts, or high intelligence. There is further proof in the elderly woman who has been selected to train me; she has been at this store for twenty-two years, at the register, day in and day out. I would have gone crazy long ago...

...But then maybe she is crazy. This afternoon she threw a fit over the way some candy bars had been laid out on the shelves. I walked to the shelves, calmly picked them up, and arranged them in the way they should have been. I thought to myself that if my entire world was rocked into stress about the way some fucking stuff is resting on a fucking shelf I'd go quietly into the woods and shoot myself.

My mantra is "it's only a month, it's only a month..." and I repeat it quietly to myself as I check into my own reality as I'm putting things into their bags. Soon I'll be in Laramie.

Luckily I am putting money into my bank accounts again, even if it means that I have to pay off my loans and credit card for a while. At least when I'm finally done with school I'll have some of the interest paid off entirely. So even the seeming tarnish is a silver lining.

One thing good to come out of working for The Man in a chain store: My urge to write has cropped up in rebellion to the unimaginitive tasks I have to do during the day. Kudos!
Current Mood: mischievousmischievous
29 September 2007 @ 10:09 pm
Monetary, material, physical. I am in a wierd schisim right now. On one hand I have to be careful with my money because of a lack of a job and the upcoming semester. On the other hand I have several hundred dollars saved up in personal funds from several Christmases and birthdays worth of monetary gifts. Yeah. My amazing Virgoian talent with numbers and money (but apparently not in logarhythms and long division,) means that I can juggle multiple bank accounts with ease.

I ended up indulging a little, finally getting the Frida movie, as well as updating my VHS copy of The Haunting to this newfangled DVD format. I also got Esther Freud's novel Hideous Kinky as Kate Winslet's movie is now out-of-print. (Damn! That film got me obsessed with Morocco...) If all goes well I'll be getting Priscilla: Queen of the Desert next, as I accidently tossed my old copy when I threw out my smashed DVD player.

Though to be fair, I got everything movie-and-book-wise used... I think I was in the Depression in a past life. I am frugal to a fault.
Current Mood: hopefulindulgent
25 September 2007 @ 08:05 pm
So, you never spoke to me again. Fine. I can live with that, because I have to. It's not that I was greatly emotionally invested --hell, half of the time I spent with you it was just as if I were observing someone so completely lost and also unaware of it-- and I felt compassion, amusement and pity. I wondered if you'd ever be able to see yourself from the outside as I did, but I think your spirit is rather like that of a labyrinth. Your path twists and goes nowhere and is blind, without real purpose.

Part of me wanted to say yes to you, mainly because anyone's touch would have made me shiver with heat and pleasure after being alone for three and a half years. But that is not good to you, and for all of your many, many faults I wouldn't have revealed that. 

I think that with me you really did want to try to change. But I also knew that you'd take it to obsession because it was the first lifeline you would have thrown out and you wouldn't want to fail. I knew that there was an equal chance of you just saying "to hell with it" and dropping me the second you were done with the body you wanted. I would have felt a detached sorrow for you, either way it would have gone.

Normally I don't think too much about you, who were barely a moment in my life. Today though, I smiled to think that I still had attraction and humanity in me, after so much survival.

I don't want you to feel pain, regardless of the short time we would have been in each other's lives, had I remained. 

I wonder if you'll ever find peace, if you'll ever enjoy a night under the stars in a crowd without alcohol in your veins. I wonder if you could ever feel so wonderful just moving your body to music with a hundred strangers on trampled grass with a few beer cans knocking against your feet and a thousand delerious stars overhead. I hope you do, even if I never see you again.
23 September 2007 @ 12:35 pm
 Since Nekarai did it... eh, why not?

22 September 2007 @ 12:06 am

I am getting a Sailor Moon cel! Yieee!! I've wanted one for years and I finally found someone who wasn't more-fangirl-than-thou about them and had modest, fair prices. 

Yes, I'll be a frugal Virgo 'til the end, even when it comes to the fun things.

But isn't it beautiful? Setsuna's Warning

It's from the last Stars season, which had the best art and even a little bit of the early computer animation. (It originally aired in 1995.) I've been walking about on cloud nine since this morning.

21 September 2007 @ 10:28 pm
As the silence may have given away, I have been preoccupied. Again, I resort to the list form. Yay! Unoriginality!!!

1) I am no longer in Missoula. The damn school kept "nickel and diming" me and every time I logged in to the system I had a new charge crop up, most of the time for something I'll never even use. (Honestly. Nature is my gym. I don't need a gym towel laundering fee...) I also was spending an inordinate ammount of money on art supplies, for most things that were duplicates of what the art department already had. More than vaguely alarmed I wondered why we couldn't just use what was there if the items were for student use anyway, but it seems that they department is saving those for a rainy day. I wondered just how bad the art department was, if they were saving items for "just in case" when current students could use them. When I came back to my dorm room to yet another charge I said: "That's fucking IT," and unenrolled the next morning. I came back to Powell on Tuesday, September eleventh. This turned out to be a good thing.

2) My mother needed a second surgery to correct her spine after a total knee replacement, and now that I'm here I can take care of her during the day and get her to physical therapy. It has helped me focus and I feel like I'm doing something valuable instead of just waiting for spring semester to roll around.

3) I plan to go to Laramie in the "spring" but will be moving down there in November. One semester there is half of what I'd pay at Missoula, and the departments I want to attend are tops, according to the people I know who already attend there. Kiss my arse, UMT. Hah!
07 September 2007 @ 09:14 pm
So, I have reached That Age, the Iconic Age, the year twenty-seven. A lot of famous musicians --our modern-day bards-- have died at twenty-seven and it's seen as the age where you either exault your art or succumb to it entirely.  

So far I've just felt tired.

I went to an open mic last night, (not very open-- you have to sign up three days in advance,) and listened to some amazing non-professional musicians. My favourites were a fellow named Richard, who had a pleasantly broad face and my own summer-wheat colouring, a woman who's name I cannot remember but who sounded so strongly fractured and beautiful that I sat absolutely still to listen, and a girl aptly named Rosie, who has a voice that is a cross between Joan Baez and Joni Mitchell. Her very aura was rose-coloured and faintly ringing with copper. 

I met a man named Dylan, who is dark-haired and grey-eyed, with an over-intense face. He reminds me of shavings of metal in spirit, but I liked the edge of him. He is not someone who I could feel entirely safe alone with, given that I can read deeply into him and I can sense that he would have a vidictive temper and be prone to violence. Yet, he is thirty, and is aware that he can no longer be so careless as he once was. He proffessed a wanting to change, but even in his trying I can see that he will ultimately turn back and keep being the man he once was.

He is someone I'd want as a friend, rather than any other kind of lover. 

We went out to a bar that had a very western decor --tin ceilings, hardwood saloon with brass bar-- and that was playing very bass hip-hop. The juxtaposition was amusing, and I liked the blue darness of the place, so I settled down to watch the rest of the room. Dylan sat tightly pressed against my side and bought me a white rose from a sweet and pushy white-haired vendor. (I've never seen such a sweet-looking little old woman walk so fearlessly into a college bar before.) He did not read my body language well, which was saying: back off, we'll only ever be friends if you are like this.

I do genuinely like the man, but I am not willing to be in any sort of relationship beyond friends with anyone, whether it be a lover for a night or a month of nights at this point in my life. This will change, and will do so without warning, as life does, but I cannot anticipate for it, either.

At the end of the evening I explained my feelings and we parted with a little bit of upset at his end, the slightest bit of stepping-back-into-social-life hurt on mine. When I called him today he appologized for coming on too strong, but we both are having the grace to go on from here, I think.

Tonight I have a headache, but tomorrow I'm walking to the hemp festival at Caras Park by the river. Hemp! Wooooo!!! 4:20, man! 

"Glass piece," not "bong."
Current Location: mentally in New Amsterdam
Current Mood: soreheadachey
Current Music: Plain White Ts- Hey There Delilah
03 September 2007 @ 12:49 pm
 Most hilarious Scrubs quote evah: "My paddle's stuck in me!"

For the win, Ted.
Current Mood: gigglygiggly
02 September 2007 @ 09:14 pm
Well, the rest of the week went a little better. I still feel lonely, but it's not the depressive kind. I recognize that this will be only for a small while and that I can just enjoy the unfolding process. So much to say again, so everything gets their own little paragraph. Aww.

Classes: Things did open up a little the rest of the week, though unlike NWC I feel like I have no real direction in the way the classes will actually go. The syllabus in each gives little in detail, save for homework assignments, but I see no real objectives. Strange. In my "3D Fundies" course (as I call it) we went kindergarten and made sculptures out of wire. I mean, real bendy-twisty wire, no soldering or cool copper. Just bending boring industrial wire into shapes. I wanted to ask for Play-Doh instead. 

Food: Surprisingly good. They had masa ball dumplings in black bean sauce in the veggie counter. I am impressed. I also have had the insane craving for coffee lately, which I usually hardly ever drink, as I'm more of a tea nut. But no, I crave nonstop black coffee with one and a half sugars, as I like it. I've had three decaff cups today.

Farmer's Market: Held on Saturdays in downtown Mo-Town, they close off a brick-cobbled street and let people sell carrots, huckleberries (this being Montana...), potatoes, apples, green beans, and sunflowers. One street over is the crafters' fair, where there are your usual hippies selling knit caps and scarves, people selling jewelry, hand-made wallets, magnets, and all sorts of whatsisms. It's like Apple Hill back home only without the hills and the yuppies from Ohio. I got a pair of tooled leather sandals (as you do) to appear more hippieish, as everyone around here is a registered but down-to-earth greenie.

Kids These Days: Okay, girls of the world-- I have some advice. Don't wear sweats with words like "pink" (unless you are THE Pink,) and "juicy" and "tail" written in jock-block lettering across your ass. It's obscene. Also, don't wear plebian t-shirts with messages like: "I make boys cry," and "You're Never Gonna Get It," because your arse-words are telling a different story. Also also, for the love of God, Mithra, and Sweet Baby Jesus, please pull up your trousers, stop slapping your flip flops and snapping your gum, because nothing says Term Paper Prostitute like a plumber's bum wiggling its way across the oval. R-E-S-P-E-C-T, ladies. Let 'em know it ain't easy and that lovin' doesn't come for free. (Thank you, Madame Alicia Moore.)

Poet's Corner: I found an awesome little room in the library that is filled with donated private libraries of poetry, many of the volumes first editions and/or inscribed by the author. Some are even hand-set, hand-printed copies. I have a literary orgasm and blacked out, waking up surrounded by Neruda. It was a good day.
Current Mood: peacefulseveny