WHAT.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=n_y5XRkGU6A
(Being that Sonic Youth and Pet Sounds have been the soundtrack to my day, the synthesis of the two is wondrous.)
About Me
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
LYFE SUX
I am on my fourth course of antibiotics in the last two months. Thanks, sinuses! Of course, the day I get back in Middleton for my hopefully enjoyable spring break, I contract a sinus infection (on top of my slowly dissipating bronchitis). Hence, most of my days have been spent hacking and chilling on Xanax. I also have two massive midterm papers due next week, which I'm conveniently ignoring. Bleh, I'm such a mess.
Anyway, I'm slightly embarrassed that my last two entries were so dramatic. Or, maybe more insipid. I can't help the fact that I cry whenever I read James Joyce, regardless of how horrifically nerdy/embarrassing it is. Whatever. I'm a woman with too many pretenses and stress and James (yeah, James) alleviates this (as does marijuana). Literature's primary purpose, in my opinion, is to be stirring (emotionally, that is). I am just as infatuated with descriptions of Elizabeth Bennet's gown as I am with Benji's psychotic ramblings.
On a more positive note, I went to Cost Co (or "the almighty", as Eleanor calls it) and it was just as magnificent as it always is. Being surrounded by ten pound bags of rice and forty packs of PBR is really thrilling to me. I actually think Taylor and I spent a good two hours wandering around there one afternoon. Middleton is really moving up in the world. The only disappointment of the afternoon was their lack of tofu. I asked some meat section attendant if they had any tofu. Her response?:
"What is toe-food? Is that in a burrito or something?"
Um, come on. I don't consider myself a vegetarian-superior, but at that point I felt slightly more cultured than her. But, I really wasn't aware that tofu was exotic. She had to ask about five managers if there was any, and all of them looked really confused at the prospect of a soybean meat replacement. And I was so fucking excited to see an enormous container of tofu, too. Very disappointing, Cost Co meat sample attendant. I eventually settled for 24 muffins and a jug of vanilla extract.
I had another dream where I was raped by a stranger. (I have rape dreams a lot.) I think my latent dream manifestations are really fucked up. I think there was an element of Facebook somewhere in the mix, as well. I hate having Facebook dreams. It makes me feel pathetic. Stop seeping into my subconscious internet fatuousness.
Anyway, I'm slightly embarrassed that my last two entries were so dramatic. Or, maybe more insipid. I can't help the fact that I cry whenever I read James Joyce, regardless of how horrifically nerdy/embarrassing it is. Whatever. I'm a woman with too many pretenses and stress and James (yeah, James) alleviates this (as does marijuana). Literature's primary purpose, in my opinion, is to be stirring (emotionally, that is). I am just as infatuated with descriptions of Elizabeth Bennet's gown as I am with Benji's psychotic ramblings.
On a more positive note, I went to Cost Co (or "the almighty", as Eleanor calls it) and it was just as magnificent as it always is. Being surrounded by ten pound bags of rice and forty packs of PBR is really thrilling to me. I actually think Taylor and I spent a good two hours wandering around there one afternoon. Middleton is really moving up in the world. The only disappointment of the afternoon was their lack of tofu. I asked some meat section attendant if they had any tofu. Her response?:
"What is toe-food? Is that in a burrito or something?"
Um, come on. I don't consider myself a vegetarian-superior, but at that point I felt slightly more cultured than her. But, I really wasn't aware that tofu was exotic. She had to ask about five managers if there was any, and all of them looked really confused at the prospect of a soybean meat replacement. And I was so fucking excited to see an enormous container of tofu, too. Very disappointing, Cost Co meat sample attendant. I eventually settled for 24 muffins and a jug of vanilla extract.
I had another dream where I was raped by a stranger. (I have rape dreams a lot.) I think my latent dream manifestations are really fucked up. I think there was an element of Facebook somewhere in the mix, as well. I hate having Facebook dreams. It makes me feel pathetic. Stop seeping into my subconscious internet fatuousness.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Old father, old artificer
The most beautiful words ever written in the English language:
"A girl stood before him in midstream: alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and softhued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.
She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to himin quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither: and a faint flame trembled on her cheek."
I love you, James(/Stephen Dedalus).
"A girl stood before him in midstream: alone and still, gazing out to sea. She seemed like one whom magic had changed into the likeness of a strange and beautiful seabird. Her long slender bare legs were delicate as a crane's and pure save where an emerald trail of seaweed had fashioned itself as a sign upon the flesh. Her thighs, fuller and softhued as ivory, were bared almost to the hips where the white fringes of her drawers were like feathering of soft white down. Her slate-blue skirts were kilted boldly about her waist and dovetailed behind her. Her bosom was as a bird's, soft and slight and soft as the breast of some dark-plumaged dove. But her long fair hair was girlish: and girlish, and touched with the wonder of mortal beauty, her face.
She was alone and still, gazing out to sea; and when she felt his presence and the worship of his eyes her eyes turned to himin quiet sufferance of his gaze, without shame or wantonness. Long, long she suffered his gaze and then quietly withdrew her eyes from his and bent them towards the stream, gently stirring the water with her foot hither and thither. The first faint noise of gently moving water broke the silence, low and faint and whispering, faint as the bells of sleep; hither and thither, hither and thither: and a faint flame trembled on her cheek."
I love you, James(/Stephen Dedalus).
Thursday, March 5, 2009
In Heaven, everything is fine.
Okay, I really hate the look of this blog. It looks like an Urban Outfitter's pillow. If I was at all technologically inclined slash wasn't ridiculously lazy, I would do something else with it. Someday I will, but today is not the day. Plus, I fucking hate Georgia font.
Laziness has sort of been my scene these days. I have been steeped in slothdom. Wisconsin is really great for blaming the weather on your own lack of productivity. I like to consider myself a motivated person with a good work ethic, but really, you know what? If there was some way that I could survive being perpetually horizontal, only eating peanut butter and cheese, while watching millions of hours of movies and television, I would probably do it. I would like to think that I am not that boring, but I think I am. *Sigh* I hope I'm not having another existential crisis. Last year, I spent three hours a day agonizing over the purpose of my existence. It was incredibly poetic of me, but also utterly pointless. (My existence crisis is mostly resolved: to forever own a cat. Unfortunately, it's not going very well.)
I also need to stop spending countless hours YouTubing Queen. Or David Duchovny in drag. (By the way, YouTubing is marked incorrect by spell check. I think that's an atrocity.)
There was an Anime film festival at the Union today. There was a plethora of weaselly looking kids wearing fox ears and floor-length capes. One of them complimented my hat. I'm not sure how to feel about that. I actually wish I had an interest that I was so committed to that I would subject myself to public mockery. Maybe at the David Lynch film festival I will be the Eraserhead baby.
Laziness has sort of been my scene these days. I have been steeped in slothdom. Wisconsin is really great for blaming the weather on your own lack of productivity. I like to consider myself a motivated person with a good work ethic, but really, you know what? If there was some way that I could survive being perpetually horizontal, only eating peanut butter and cheese, while watching millions of hours of movies and television, I would probably do it. I would like to think that I am not that boring, but I think I am. *Sigh* I hope I'm not having another existential crisis. Last year, I spent three hours a day agonizing over the purpose of my existence. It was incredibly poetic of me, but also utterly pointless. (My existence crisis is mostly resolved: to forever own a cat. Unfortunately, it's not going very well.)
I also need to stop spending countless hours YouTubing Queen. Or David Duchovny in drag. (By the way, YouTubing is marked incorrect by spell check. I think that's an atrocity.)
There was an Anime film festival at the Union today. There was a plethora of weaselly looking kids wearing fox ears and floor-length capes. One of them complimented my hat. I'm not sure how to feel about that. I actually wish I had an interest that I was so committed to that I would subject myself to public mockery. Maybe at the David Lynch film festival I will be the Eraserhead baby.
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
a terrible beauty is born.
Probably what's in my head:
It's tiresome. I think about twenty things at once, thus come to twenty epiphanies at once, thus forget all at once. I love conversation, but I am usually too distracted to be halfway polite about it. I think there's something called fantasy prone personality, which I undoubtedly have. I'm working on my eye contact aversion, however. Taylor calls it "my windows" - as in, the desktop of my mind has far too many things open at once, thus crashes.
It would be spectacular if my skull cap was opened and there was a gramophone (preferably playing "Oh Comely", because that would be perfect crackly and hollow).
It's tiresome. I think about twenty things at once, thus come to twenty epiphanies at once, thus forget all at once. I love conversation, but I am usually too distracted to be halfway polite about it. I think there's something called fantasy prone personality, which I undoubtedly have. I'm working on my eye contact aversion, however. Taylor calls it "my windows" - as in, the desktop of my mind has far too many things open at once, thus crashes.
It would be spectacular if my skull cap was opened and there was a gramophone (preferably playing "Oh Comely", because that would be perfect crackly and hollow).
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