If you tell people mistruths for years it starts to be the truth in their minds. I didn't mean to lie to them, or mislead them, or misrepresent myself. I came up with excuses to hide some fundamental confidence issue and now I'm afraid there's no undoing this. The one thing I'll never know is what other people think of me, and I tend to forget everything except who I know I am at the moment. Other people's opinions of me don't grow as mine does, because I am the one who lives with myself. Sometimes other people are too complicated to deal with. I'm enough complication, thanks. How do I reconcile this with a larger, airbrush love of humanity? I ignored that woman asking for help across the street, damn it, and how can I tell myself I love all people? Why can I never look at people as I walk past them? Why do I fib to get out of social situations quicker? I don't want to be this disconnected, but I've brought it upon myself with the damn fantasies I escape to. I am so naive, guys, and it hurts so much because I can see how naive I am. But if I lose this naivety, I might lose my optimism. My optimism is all I have.
It totally and completely bothers me when, say, I'm walking down a hallway behind someone, or their back is to me (say they're sitting at a table) and they turn to look at me, see who's there. I, uh, have other senses? If the person behind me knows me, they also know my name? And you know, footsteps. SO I've taken to just staring at him/her like a creeper until they turn around. It's only a second or two, but god damn does it bother me.
I haven't written in a while. I just can't get a drive going, or find good time, or a good reason. I pass through important parts of my life and just pass them by. I still have all these ideas, but I don't use them as writing fodder. If I do, they're never finished, because there's always been a distinction between ideas for me and ideas for the page. One of them I like better? It's all a bit muddly, because I'm so removed from a world where people write all the time. This is a science college.
But! I have been working on my drawing style, and guys now I draw necks! My legs are getting more realistic, and I am kinda half-assing proportions and etc. I think I'm pretty good at working from a stock image, at least when it comes to proper arm bends and hand-stops. I can totally fluke a pretty collarbone. I still need to deal with overlarge heads, but I've been using guide lines to keep them roughly in scale.
And I have recently been obsessed with The Office and am now in the middle of season 3. It is kinda ridiculous. I sorta can't stand Michael sometimes, god damn.
I feel like my real friends have graduated already, and I uh, don't have much more than my roomie and some conveniences? This becomes clearer and clearer as the semester continues. It really makes me sad/terrified/pissed. Surprise, even I am a social creature!
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
Friday, April 3, 2009
WE WERE HAVING SOME FUN
I am at work! I recently skimmed through some old livejournal entries and I was struck by my monetary struggles. I used to stress out over a $10 monthly payment? This is what it must mean to be an adult. I have "financial documents" now (really just one) and my tolerance for money has increased. What do I mean by that. Um, that now I pay nearly $60/month on my phone bill and it doesn't flip me out? Also, I am rolling in the money this semester. Twenty hours a week at $7.75 equals, minus some taxes, $300 paychecks. Like the one I got today. It's weird to consider that, if I saved two paychecks, so many things would be in my grasp. A car. A new computer. A plane ticket. Also, due to my "financial documents," I am not wasting money on as much junk. Except groceries. oh god groceries. My one weakness.
This weekend, I think, will be glorious. It stopped raining here at some point (I am locked in a windowless basement) and the clouds are still puffed and rimmed with hints of the morning grey. I, sorta did not want to come back. Damn you social and monetary restraints!
Hmm. I really have no complaints about my life. I will show the world that not-conflict is not-boring.
Monday, March 30, 2009
I AM A SHADOW CAPTAIN
Guys, vague allusions to songs are awesome. Hello it is very early in the morning and a small fly just flew in front of my face. Typing in the dark is hard, a bit.
Well hello to everyone who reads this. God damn it took me a while to find that period. I sorta feel bad because my roommate is sleeping and my keyboard is not that quiet. If need be, I can justify it by remembering she dries her hair at 8 in the morning. Thank god her internship is over. I think such terrible thoughts when I'm awoken at 7 am.
Things here are swell. Just a few more weeks of class left (how the hell did that happen?) and then a lovely summer semester. A bitchin' professor is teaching a class about "War in the Modern World." I am ridiculously excited--this is the same guy who taught the American Intelligence class last semester. I was all !!!!! when I saw his name in the summer catalog. I wish his class was at a different time, because another awesome professor (my first college prof, actually) is teaching a class about the Crusades that isn't ungodly early. But there is a scheduling conflict, boo. Also, expensive (!!) like woah.
By the time this semester is over, I will know whether I'm going to Germany or not. It um, is weird to think about. I sort have been assuming I'll be going, like when talking about class registration and dorms and all, but in that way of "it's not really happening" and if I get in--well, then it's really happening. I will be all panicked out by the time I get there. I am confident in my ability to adapt, because I can look behind me and note situations in which this quality came to light. Also I tend to glaze over things once they've happened. I guess schooling myself to live in the moment worked? I am sorry if I forget something important you tell me.
I am still working out the kinks and details of my DNIR universe. It is difficult to make it more realistic, people-wise, because I think the general idea is that young, hip people are the awesome computer hackers, but these guys are older? And not so stereotypically cyberpunk? I keep adding layers to the story, and they are all fringe layers. I still don't have a resolution or arc for the main plot. It's so delicious to build outlying intrigue though, and I am not a girl to resist its temptations.
I cannot wait until it is thunderstorm season. Today the clouds were large and billowing and glorious and I just wanted to watch them for ever. It is like watching people walk. Absolutely hypnotic. I get such a rush of emotion from towering clouds--I can't even form the idea into words, but sometimes I just look up and bam. I'm in love. Do not inquire as to how many photos of clouds I have on my phone, because the answer is many. Thunderstorms are a different beast; the humidity fills the air and everything is moving and static at the same time. I like hearing the differences in rain, and the thick rumble of thunder in my chest. My future house will need to have a covered porch to accomodate my infatuation. Guys I like weather.
Well besides that there is not much going on in my life. I still like earrings and I still have all my fingers.
Well hello to everyone who reads this. God damn it took me a while to find that period. I sorta feel bad because my roommate is sleeping and my keyboard is not that quiet. If need be, I can justify it by remembering she dries her hair at 8 in the morning. Thank god her internship is over. I think such terrible thoughts when I'm awoken at 7 am.
Things here are swell. Just a few more weeks of class left (how the hell did that happen?) and then a lovely summer semester. A bitchin' professor is teaching a class about "War in the Modern World." I am ridiculously excited--this is the same guy who taught the American Intelligence class last semester. I was all !!!!! when I saw his name in the summer catalog. I wish his class was at a different time, because another awesome professor (my first college prof, actually) is teaching a class about the Crusades that isn't ungodly early. But there is a scheduling conflict, boo. Also, expensive (!!) like woah.
By the time this semester is over, I will know whether I'm going to Germany or not. It um, is weird to think about. I sort have been assuming I'll be going, like when talking about class registration and dorms and all, but in that way of "it's not really happening" and if I get in--well, then it's really happening. I will be all panicked out by the time I get there. I am confident in my ability to adapt, because I can look behind me and note situations in which this quality came to light. Also I tend to glaze over things once they've happened. I guess schooling myself to live in the moment worked? I am sorry if I forget something important you tell me.
I am still working out the kinks and details of my DNIR universe. It is difficult to make it more realistic, people-wise, because I think the general idea is that young, hip people are the awesome computer hackers, but these guys are older? And not so stereotypically cyberpunk? I keep adding layers to the story, and they are all fringe layers. I still don't have a resolution or arc for the main plot. It's so delicious to build outlying intrigue though, and I am not a girl to resist its temptations.
I cannot wait until it is thunderstorm season. Today the clouds were large and billowing and glorious and I just wanted to watch them for ever. It is like watching people walk. Absolutely hypnotic. I get such a rush of emotion from towering clouds--I can't even form the idea into words, but sometimes I just look up and bam. I'm in love. Do not inquire as to how many photos of clouds I have on my phone, because the answer is many. Thunderstorms are a different beast; the humidity fills the air and everything is moving and static at the same time. I like hearing the differences in rain, and the thick rumble of thunder in my chest. My future house will need to have a covered porch to accomodate my infatuation. Guys I like weather.
Well besides that there is not much going on in my life. I still like earrings and I still have all my fingers.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
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.
--
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.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
The Ink Mistress and the Man with Eyes of a Vulture
The ink fell thick and liberal from her tongue and she smeared it across his chest. His eyes like vultures watched her paint, the valleys of color that stained her fingermoons and dripped down the flat plain of his stomach. She retched and coughed and gagged low in her throat as the flow continued. This was sacrifice. This was love in the making. He grabbed her hands and guided them lower. They formed black pools on his hips and he began a shuffling waltz, the rainbow dribbling from her mouth and staining their feet.
----------
Her spine curved against the cold marble as she stretched. Her feet touched at the toes and she crossed her arms up to her elbows in front of her. The long legs of her scarf breezed the floor and she then realigned. Her eyes met those of the man behind the counter and a metallic taste tickled the back of her tongue. Her eyes moved to the imposing steel vents protruding from the ceiling. She recalled a dream the same color as they, a deep greenish grey in which she had carried small innocence to safety and sacrificed her flesh to the wolf. It might’ve been a mistake, but she was awake now. She paid for her postage and left. The cool breeze of the snowcloud day emptied her thoughts. She gulped a mouthful of air to banish the copper resting in her throat.
A vulture sat on a signpost across the street. It watched her, or rather, watched a spot behind her until a speeding bus lifted it away. She followed its shadow on the sidewalk as it circled the post office. The sky began to snow. The fresh petals danced under cars, serpentining and doubling back until the safety of a gutter or patch of grass was reached. If she was a musician, she would’ve thought of a melody to match their effervescence. She rewrapped her scarf and walked away.
----------
Her spine curved against the cold marble as she stretched. Her feet touched at the toes and she crossed her arms up to her elbows in front of her. The long legs of her scarf breezed the floor and she then realigned. Her eyes met those of the man behind the counter and a metallic taste tickled the back of her tongue. Her eyes moved to the imposing steel vents protruding from the ceiling. She recalled a dream the same color as they, a deep greenish grey in which she had carried small innocence to safety and sacrificed her flesh to the wolf. It might’ve been a mistake, but she was awake now. She paid for her postage and left. The cool breeze of the snowcloud day emptied her thoughts. She gulped a mouthful of air to banish the copper resting in her throat.
A vulture sat on a signpost across the street. It watched her, or rather, watched a spot behind her until a speeding bus lifted it away. She followed its shadow on the sidewalk as it circled the post office. The sky began to snow. The fresh petals danced under cars, serpentining and doubling back until the safety of a gutter or patch of grass was reached. If she was a musician, she would’ve thought of a melody to match their effervescence. She rewrapped her scarf and walked away.
Lynford and Natalie, part 2
There is so much blood coursing through his veins. The first barrage brings her to tears and through the mist she sees the slow motion of his first blow. Her throat pounds as a heart and she falls against the trees. There is a question she knows down to her fingertips and her breath is the answer and dissolves among the branches and a low mumbling shakes her feet. The trees are gasping and unfurling in the dusky air and she can only think to murmur "Yes."
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
The Burmingham Method©: How to Wake Up with No Family
Move away. Pack your life in flimsy cardboard and haul it across state lines. Call your friends, pay off your debts, sell your dog to Ms. Edna down the street. Do not hesitate. Do not be swayed by your father’s questioning brow, your sister’s clinging eyes, your mother’s photo albums.
Arrive in a new city. Find a roommate and a job; unpack half your things on the first day’s adrenaline rush; leave the rest rotting in their boxes for another month. Use public transportation, but keep your eyes lowered and stare only at the grey-grimed streets. Learn to hate tourists. Buy fresh fish every weekend. These are just mental preparations.
Live this way for three months. Console your roommate when his girlfriend leaves him, but refuse to meet his friends. Remove yourself from social situations. Drink only water. Do not laugh at office parties. These are proven methods that will make the final step a breeze.
Wake up on a beautiful morning, a tower of solitude. Leave your share of the next month’s rent taped to the microwave; bring no regrets. We try to make ourselves available throughout the country. Though our methods are experimental, we have a high success rate. Finish living your current life and find us. It will only take five minutes. Tomorrow is a new beginning.
--
A short-short I wrote for my fiction class last semester. It's a tiny bit vague, but I didn't feel like changing that. Just figured I'd update with something over here.
Arrive in a new city. Find a roommate and a job; unpack half your things on the first day’s adrenaline rush; leave the rest rotting in their boxes for another month. Use public transportation, but keep your eyes lowered and stare only at the grey-grimed streets. Learn to hate tourists. Buy fresh fish every weekend. These are just mental preparations.
Live this way for three months. Console your roommate when his girlfriend leaves him, but refuse to meet his friends. Remove yourself from social situations. Drink only water. Do not laugh at office parties. These are proven methods that will make the final step a breeze.
Wake up on a beautiful morning, a tower of solitude. Leave your share of the next month’s rent taped to the microwave; bring no regrets. We try to make ourselves available throughout the country. Though our methods are experimental, we have a high success rate. Finish living your current life and find us. It will only take five minutes. Tomorrow is a new beginning.
--
A short-short I wrote for my fiction class last semester. It's a tiny bit vague, but I didn't feel like changing that. Just figured I'd update with something over here.
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