and then...arctic

I'm tired of social statements. Calm down, ladies. Whether it's your body-concealed or your body-revealed, you're using your body as a statement. Ain't helping me much. 

MOVING ON TO THE BETTER, I hope my little country house isn't being robbed, as I'm away again. My "O" key on my keyboard isn't working well. I have to really punch it. O.o punch and punch

I sit across the windows in my cafe, far away from them so that I may see each person as a silhouette. It's beautiful and I'm still trying to do this save-gaze-for-the-husband thing. I sacrifice the sunny light for this. Maybe I'll move sometime. Whatwhat? Rightthearctic.

Arctic. White fluffed immense, how they live in dark cold majestic. Arctic bear, arctic fox, you put arctic in front of a word and it changes the thing. You say arctic at me and I think of whites and greys misty with pastel highlights. Eyes half closed and boysmouths open-a-little. I would take arctic photography artificial. Don't want to get cold but I would take polaroids, so. 

I have a transcript due for Mugglenet today, so I ought to get a go on that. Also I discovered that I love print ads. What lovely gloss-colored things. I'm sorry, posting so short. 

oh look at the Subeetube, gee. heart-fluttered eyes at green walls, light shafting here. mourning became morning, my morning. Adding to the list of thank-God-for

and then...gramophone

sounds in tactility! old record stores and foaming foamy lattes and walking in a cold sun saying, Idunnowuttiwannawritetoday. 

I cleaned my office today. I play songs as little sound bytes. I throw bleach on the floor and many colored foam spraying clarical-clear chemicals. swipewipewipewipewipe lemon scented polish. 

I don't know, what not wanted to say anything too personal. It's a thing, what people wanting to maybe take advantage of me. I love writing arguments. Don't you? First time improv actors often launch into arguments. it's pretty easy conflict/impulsion (by kinetics, heh). It's often unconving, then, but when you work up to it, gee. What a great deal of fun. and ain't right now the only thing there ever is

Back to yellow-colored drafting paper. I don't want to go back to school full-time. What a load of nonsense. I like living. Cooking and cleaning and the like. Having food and being not-sick. It's a cheer. 

I watched A Clockwork Orange last night. All in it is phallic and some things never change *enter heartwarming major chord* And good job with the primary colors, Kubrick. And your lightbulbs everywhere. 

enter social statement. enter opinion presented with a sense of humor. exit. 

theimportantthingtoremember, aboutthesetimeswefindourresearchfocusedon. theysayeverygenerationisuniquebutourgeneration, ourgeneration degenerating

I am not generation. Sihluoette, negative space, I spend money on black and white photographs. 

and then...moth

I do love cookies. I thought about speaking of ineptitude a bit, like why should I have to suffer for yours? But why would I waste energy writing about the waste of energy that is ineptitude?

So it's chocolate chip cookies what I love. So delicious. Perfection.

I finally rewatched Whale Rider. I love everything about that film. The writing is perfection. It's beautiful what's inspired by others what are inspired, like I have faith in your faith. So I tried to make cinematic notes but made other notes instead, like from tears and a doodle and philiosophy, lit. 

Speaking of that lit, it's looking like I'm commissioned to make a cover for that Elementia. Hopefully that will pan out. I suspect they've gotten another grant. And the writing's going well like nothing else. Wasn't going to meet any academic requirements, and so was told by an academic that I'd done more than enough writing and would be getting my credit for it...well, the academic credit, at least. I've yet to see about that respect I deserve, overall. But we'll know how that goes when it goes. And as long as we're saying we, we hope you know that we mean we. There is an I, but there's an us, too. I couldn't write elsewise...at least I don't think so. I don't have a choice, anyway, about being a we. 

Moths, pretty moths. Oh, nobody likes us, we're just ugly butterflies. Ah, our plight. It's okay moths I love you! You're fluffy. 

I haven't journaled enough of late. Busy writing about my lovelylovely assitant, Beta muse Alan Cope. Love you, love! I don't know what it is with the real boys, with me loving them and them being personal to me, and me not being at all personal to them. It's like, what, they 

cut me off for the girl he's having sex with

cut me off for the girl he's having sex with

well it's nothing personal it's just that I'm not the girl who they're having sex with. gee, thanks. I wish it was personal, really. there's some diginity in that, for them. Just gotta get away form guys my age. Gotta get away to love them.