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I need solitude like car insurance.

"I've no idea why I am here. Just gut instinct."

Still trying to sleep, trading pillows and positions.
My bed is pressed up against the far wall,
feet staring at bookshelves,
window nestled at the end.
I slide the curtain to the right,
half-lift the blinds
and coax the window open.
The weather is beautiful,
but the barrage of sound
is overwhelming.
I look out onto green lawn,
my eyes following the expense
from my new building
to last year's home,
but trip on the way
and fall into a great muddy ditch
lined in orange plastic fencing.
The things I knew have been
torn out
Which is fine,
because it won't last long,
I think.
Except maybe the whole year.
And also after that.
All the improving which seems
it will benefit too late.
I am frustrated.
I don't want the sound,
the hazard,
the inconvenience,
the dust, the
sight of plundered earth.

This is the part
where I make some simile
between the construction and me, how I am under construction,
How the pain and the cacophony and the ugliness
are all building something.

Only it,
might be too late.

I've got the Weepies

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
I thought of you and where you'd gone
and let the world spin madly on

Everything that I said I'd do
Like make the world brand new
And take the time for you
I just got lost and slept right through the dawn
And the world spins madly on

I let the day go by
I always say goodbye
I watch the stars from my window sill
The whole world is moving and I'm standing still

Woke up and wished that I was dead
With an aching in my head
I lay motionless in bed
The night is here and the day is gone
And the world spins madly on

I thought of you and where you'd gone
And the world spins madly on.

This strikes me today.

with her mouth making movements
to introduce thoughts, i sat
deafened by trust on that sofa across
quietly calculating
the logistics of lust, of when
unspoken things couldn't
happen between us, and once
all those were done and we got
through love, we would
shoot through the hip, reacting
off of the cuff, splitting
up at the fork when the going got rough,
with a plan
for a point to rejoin on the road further up
our windows thin where the ice
carved its flowers, i would
hold her, let the wind beat
back those hours, and then
standing on subway trains, clutching her dress,
on her balance, since the walls were useless, and while it's
alright to hold tight, please don't try to hold on,
cos it's a
homerun we hit, love, cos it's going and gone
and then the world turned so fast,
it was astoundingly still
and it must have been that moment
made of midnight on the hill, right when the
cataraxed alleycat
spat back at the moon, throwing out
into the night, time nine
life times too soon [???] we had
come such a ways, and knew just what he meant
there's a picture of the three of us at the gate
to the garden of eden

you can get home, but you can't
get in
locks are like longing;
an everchanging thing
and keys are just clouds
made of
metal and spark
we knew exactly who we were, and yet
couldn't quite say who we still are
i saw it all hapenning in one grand epic sweep, from that
first sight that we wouldn't
get to sleep for a week
and generations would follow
the course that we'd charted
from that sofa across,
i couldn't
wait to get started.
Just got home from camp. What a week.

It's funny, all the doors are shut but mine, which has weird connotations for me, because growing up we only shut our doors when necessary (Still true, i guess) so a closed door meant privacy or mom sleeping after a night shift. now they're closed to keep jack off the beds with his shedding body. except no one shuts mine because they figure if i let him sleep with me, i've abdicated my rights to a hair-free living environment. it's okay if I can't wear black clothes or must sneeze my way through the night.

i'm saying this jokingly, don't take it whinily.

18 voicemails and 79 messages in my inbox, but no text messages, which is what i was actually excited about. email and things you have to listen through when your phone is made out of wood veneer? ugh.

27 notifications.

and spaghetti. mmmm.

i'm headed to the bath.

Jun. 17th, 2008

Im considering dropping the photography major in favor of viscom, moving towards graphic design.

But I want to start to really study photography on my own, so I think I am going to start getting into the pioneer photographers work, guys like Henri Cartier Besson, get some books of their stuff. :)

I broke my toe last night. I worked close tonight. I hate and love my job.

Blogging again.

Yesterday was so good. But today is so hard. I hardly want to move.

I went out to Lake Monroe in the beautiful few hours of sunshine between awful storms and lay in a floatie and just basked in the warmth and light (although the water was cold.) Everything is flooded because of all the rain we've had, so we were actually floating over parking lots instead of beach but I didn't mind not having to step down into ucky lake bottom. The playground by the shelterhouse was partially submerged, too. It's like when we'd play pirates as kids and imagine that all the yard around the treehouse was shark-infested waters. I'd love to have been a kid and play on that playground with real waters to surround your pirate ship. It was marvelous fun being with just a couple of girls and feeling good about my new bathing suit (which looks more like a dress.)

Came home to shower, then went out to dinner and a movie. Dinner outside at Bistro & Crepe when the tornado sirens go off and we look behind us at a wall of roiling clouds and black sky and think "my, but we're unobservant." It quickly moved across the sky and covered Bloomington like a wet blanket. We found shelter at the fire station, huddling with the fire men just inside the bay with the doors open, watching the storm and waiting for the call for a lightening fire. After and hour or so with no tornadoes, we decide to go the movie after all.

Sex & the City. Then driveway conversations in a lightening storm that never ended until almost-dawn.

And today I'm beat.

Also, my keyboard is a bit dirty.

A quote for today.

Sean: So if I asked you about art, you'd probably give me the skinny on every art book ever written. Michelangelo, you know a lot about him. Life's work, political aspirations, him and the pope, sexual orientations, the whole works, right? But I'll bet you can't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never actually stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling; seen that. If I ask you about women, you'd probably give me a syllabus about your personal favorites. You may have even been laid a few times. But you can't tell me what it feels like to wake up next to a woman and feel truly happy. You're a tough kid. And I'd ask you about war, you'd probably throw Shakespeare at me, right, "once more unto the breach dear friends." But you've never been near one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap, watch him gasp his last breath looking to you for help. I'd ask you about love, you'd probably quote me a sonnet. But you've never looked at a woman and been totally vulnerable. Known someone that could level you with her eyes, feeling like God put an angel on earth just for you. Who could rescue you from the depths of hell. And you wouldn't know what it's like to be her angel, to have that love for her, be there forever, through anything, through cancer. And you wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in the hospital room for two months, holding her hand, because the doctors could see in your eyes, that the terms "visiting hours" don't apply to you. You don't know about real loss, 'cause it only occurs when you've loved something more than you love yourself. And I doubt you've ever dared to love anybody that much. And look at you... I don't see an intelligent, confident man... I see a cocky, scared shitless kid. But you're a genius Will. No one denies that. No one could possibly understand the depths of you. But you presume to know everything about me because you saw a painting of mine, and you ripped my fucking life apart. You're an orphan right?
[Will nods]
Sean: You think I know the first thing about how hard your life has been, how you feel, who you are, because I read Oliver Twist? Does that encapsulate you? Personally... I don't give a shit about all that, because you know what, I can't learn anything from you, I can't read in some fuckin' book. Unless you want to talk about you, who you are. Then I'm fascinated. I'm in. But you don't want to do that do you sport? You're terrified of what you might say. Your move, chief.
---Robin Williams, Good Will Hunting

S J still struggles with forward motion.

What would be really cool. . . is if someone would pay me to volunteer. I think if I were an old rich eccentric, that's what I would do. I would pay kids to do the stuff that really helps the community, etc. so that no one was getting free money, but good things were being done instead of just for-profit everywhere.

Also, jobs are really hard to find, but volunteer stuff. . . not as much.

I might do a few hours at boxcar books everyweek. Even if I get a job, a couple hours there would be pretty rockin, I reckon.

I won settlers today.
I think upward over the mountain is one of the saddest songs I know.

Today I read aloud poetry by Robert Burns, because you really just need to read poems aloud sometimes.

The brightest goldfinch I've ever seen is at the feeder now. I once did a research project on goldfinches. When the mommy finches are hatching the eggs, the daddy finches bring them everything they need, and sometimes stand on the edge of the nest, just to serenade them.

I made rice pudding with the leftover rice from dinner. I ate it all by myself.

Later, Darjeeling Limited.

Today was wasted on me. 9 hours of sleep and I'm always still tired.