AND I WILL BE GREATER--FAR GREATER

I am a big fan of making allusions. Mostly in situations where it makes no sense and has no direct correlation to the events happening, except for the tags my brain has given it. Ugh, I just used internet-speak to describe my brain. Certain situations remind me of certain songs, through subject, word, and god knows what else. If I ever meet someone who gets the above allusion I might have to be his/her friend forever. Rockin' it old school (lawl 90s is oldschool now).

I cleaned my desk today. I should've taken pictures of the before and after because Jesus. Christ. I have a few uninvited flying guests to deal with, but I have a can of Febreeze, and hell if it can kill a spider why not? I have finished all the requirements for today and now it is just music and internet without a sliver of guilt.

Lately I've noticed how I sorta miss literature analysis. It's mostly because of the short story class I'm taking this semester. Like, themes and foils and blah are nice, but I think when I say "literature analysis" I mean "let's examine every word and see why the author picked it." I can trace this desire back to yesterday night, when I was thinking out a little paragraph in my head. The sentence I was mulling: "There was a sense of something that had just ended, that they had just missed, and that would start again." Now if you make it this: "There was a sense of something that had just ended, that they had just missed, but that would start again."

Huh. That is the first time I have smashed a fly and seen blood.

Anyway! Awkward parallel structure aside, the choice to use "and" or "but" changes the meaning of the last clause in a subtle but significant way. The former implies that the ending and the starting are constant. Yes, it will end, yes, you have missed it, but (hilarious!) it will start again regardless. Also I think the "and" is bit more menacing. Meanwhile, the latter sentence is more forgiving? because the "but" signals, to me, a message like "it's okay you missed it, it'll happen again." There we go. I lost the thread of thought for a second. So. The first sentence doesn't care if you missed it, because it will happen again. The second sentence does care if you missed it, and so it will happen again.

In the end I went with the former sentence, and the paragraph it came from is this: "It was when the air still hummed with the resonance of the church bells that they found the body. There was a sense of something that had just ended, that they had just missed, and that would start again." Inspired by walking home from the train station and listening to the echoes of the bells. I have grandiose plans that this is the opening to a murder mystery. I had also played with the beginning phrase "it was when..." but I think that's enough overanalysis of words for today.

These past few weeks I have been pondering religion (derp derp). I'm an atheist, and of the general principle that organized religion is anti-intellectual (as are most of my parentheticals). But besides the logical, the emotional side of religion appeals to me, in some way? I have been trying to figure out why, for example, I can be moved by poems like those by Gerard Manley Hopkins, which are blatantly religious, but I don't believe in God. The conclusion I've reached is that for me religion serves a purpose as a literary construct. It is good fodder for stories/poems/etc because it is so rich in emotions and archetypes that shoot straight through logical thought. In that way I'll never not use religion, but I'll never be a user of religion. That's the easiest way I can describe it in mouthspeak.

Also surprise I still like anime. Just finished rewatching Majin Tantei Nougami Neuro and then I went and read all 202 chapters in a day or so. The series is nice and stands firmly apart from the manga, which knocked me flat with its ending. One, thank god for authors having the guts to kill off important characters in a serialized publication. Two, god damn. I would buy this series with real money (gasp shock) because it is magnificent. Character changes! Layers of plot! Motivation! But I still have an issue with things ending, those things being quantified as books/brain-involving media. But it's okay! If I buy it, and or reread it, the ending of the series becomes internalized, and then it is dealt with. I am getting better at this. Anyway omg omg fangirl lul.

And now to leave with a snippet/tangent piece of that story I started writing on my way back from Berlin. Warnings for spoilers! For something that doesn't exist yet!

Stepping into that other world, she closed her eyes and held his hand. The boundary passed through her body. For a white moment she experienced nothing, then it had moved onto her eyes, nose, mouth. Her throat closed like a serpentine vacuum, air clawing at the boundary to pass into her starving lungs. When it reached her heart and squeezed--oh god it squeezed--her memory went and she came back on a bed that was like her own but different. He slept lightly next to her and an arm twitch brought him awake and leaning concerned over her shoulder. "We've made it."

PANDORA HOLD MY TONGUE

I work too fast. It leads to free time, which is paid free time!

LOCAL BOY HIT BY TRAIN A FUCKING IDIOT

HAGERSTOWN - Shawn Lonsey, 14, was playing by the tracks last Saturday night when he was struck and killed by a passing CSX train, leading neighbors and friends to label him a "fucking idiot."

"We used to play together by the tracks, yeah," said friend Michael Billinger. "But we grew up a bit and realized the dangers. Shawn was always the stupidest of our bunch."

"It's tragic, losing a son at that age, but, man, can you imagine what he'd grow up to be?" Shawn's father, Andre, works as a logistical engineer at Lockheed Martin. "I mean, natural selection exists for a reason."

A funeral is in the works for the young boy. Signs have been seen around town with the following: "He was stupid but we maybe loved him -- Say goodbye to Shawn -- July 1, 2009 -- Markson Bauer Funeral Services"

--

I had this headline pop into my head while riding the shuttle over to campus (thank god for shuttles even if they are late and almost pass me) so I decided to write a little diddle on it. Sort of inspired by those short little articles on The Onion. Reminds me of journalism class in high school. Now I think I miss writing fake news articles. It is so much fun!

I wrote something else while at work but I do not know what it is exactly about? Also it uses silly little poetic devices. But um here it is anyway...?

There was something moist, wet and heavy inside her. Moist like a towel after the thunder, wet like the spurt of saliva at a sour candy. She considered these differences. Sometimes it grew wetter, and sloshed through her insides as a sieve. When it lost physical moisture it hung in her frame like a stormcloud that wasn't ready for you yet. She hated this second moisture. It bundled up like wet cotton through her body and she felt ready to rain from her pores. This kind of relief never came. For it was only moist just long enough to become wet again, it just bid its time until the water grew too much, and unflowed. Times like these she wished for steady fingers.

This also follows the Formula (*dundundun*) and it is not supposed to be about the babymaker. The front line popped into my head and then the image/phrase about the saliva and the candy, so I just went from there.

I had to go to the dentist like a bazillion times in the past few weeks because I'm an idiot. I have noticed that, after those goddamn needles are jabbed into my gums, the entire procedure consists of me just slightly... quivering. It was bizarre. My own little primitive reaction to stress and threats of bodily harm. But then I wrangle back control of my brain chemicals and am all calmed-the-fuck-down and just crusin'. I like the angle of looking up at faces that are inches from your own. Though I thought it would be weird if I looked in their eyes. So that was that. Now I will stop being an idiot and hopefully never have any more cavities. (Twenty years strong goddammit!!)

Whelpers there goes my time for leaving work. I get to return to dogs that need to pee! So exciting.

THOSE KINDS OF WORDS

There was a welling of pressure at the base of her stem and her spine and she woke from the dream. There were sprinklings of dust underneath her fingerpinks, misty white and translucent. Too much sugar in the bones.
--

I feel like a lot of my free writing begins the same way. Past tense + vague female character + words not used as the proper form of speech + ending sentences that are on a slightly different track (wow that was eloquent). Oh well.

Yesterday I turned in my application to the study abroad office. Now all I'm waiting for are my recommendation letters, and y'know, if I get accepted or not. I really want to go. This is something I'll congratulate myself about when I'm older. My only fear is that it won't mean much, once it's over.

Tomorrow is my last day of classes before spring break! And of course they're the most work intensive. However, in my German history class we're interviewing an 98 yr old about stuff (the class is based in oral histories). But I still need to muster through Parzival (Parzival......!! *fist*) and ugh. Taking classes you don't have prerequisites for: not always the best. But then I'm free!

And then it is time to cook! I'm planning on making apple steak and (I can't find my list) stuffed onions and chili and bratwurst and maybe black bottom cupcakes. I love kitchens! And cooking supplies! I do not like buying groceries! I would protest if I didn't need them so hard. C'mon, seriously? Spending ~$50 a trip (or more) on shit that'll be gone in a week or two? It makes me angry.

Whelp here have another tiny freewrite (which, lo and behold, follows the Formula):
--
Being sick was a way to know her body. When she heaved she felt the hot line of esophagus reaching into her belly, and every pore of her lungs as she gagged on the bile retching. Broken bones to feel where her muscles began and sprains to feel the boundary of a bone. She could tell you how each allergy tasted and paint you a picture of nausea. Her body was a masterpiece under duress. She was not a fan of doctors.