i don't remember what i dreamt. but i remember something that came from my dream. a needle. a clean needle and the urgency behind getting the needle into my vein. what does that mean? i don't know but i think i might've been in the hallway of a large hospital, being chased. i definitely don't know what that means. i've never used needles. i've never tried to find my veins.
in other, not-so-surprising news, i've been at it again. rummaging through the damage of memory and pain. ah well. im not angry, there's that much. i'm worried about something else, maybe..and while i sat reading or glancing i couldn't really see myself getting very upset over any of it. its a lot of the same things i've said to other people over different people but hurting the same hurt. and also, of course, more synchronicity today. Prof. Jed was reading bits of Twain and Innocents Abroad which remarked on his trips and what he'd encountered. she briefly went over the history of Petrarch and how he loved another man's Laura. its here, under 183 and 184 if anyone cares to look at it. i know the synchronicity will probably only mean something to me and really no one else. so for those that have no reaction to it then... you have nothing to do with it. that's all.
and Twain is indeed a great humorist.
and now with everything i say i wonder.. well ok not everything i say.. but i do wonder if these are in fact my own thoughts. he mentioned something somewhere on paper or in thought or both about an inability of mine to think for myself.
perhaps he was right. maybe i have been lead around by the nose. or worse, even, in allowing myself to be lead (led?) around by the nose!
ah well. no point in getting bent out of shape about it now. thats over n done with.. that whole phase.
in the meantime i need to get things at school in order before i let myself leap off that gorgeous crumbling coast (let me decode this for you, i am still planning to go hang-gliding). that cliffside far. before i can have tea with the ladies and watch trashiness at its most british. before i can teach myself to skateboard with the healthiest of them i have to set things straight with school and work and all of it.
tonight, i have harold lloyd on the tele as accompaniement (sp?) on tcm. i wonder if dom ever thought (or thinks) i can't think for myself either. y'know? because i'm such a pushover and let myself be carried away and off? what is that. what does it mean. r also called me names. a called me names. this kid in seventh grade who was half japanese and half white called me a bitch. sofia never liked being called a bitch. she was a feminist. what am i? a female dog? yes probably it would be better to be a dog. why is it that when speaking of "man's best friend" it is exactly that, a compliment. and yet when irritated or furious its hurled and meant to be taken as an insult. why?
in still other (micro)news: weirdest thing just happened. my phone rang its miles davis tone to let me know i had a message or something. the message icon came up and i thought oh! i have a message, i wonder from whom. and when i call the voice mail says i don't have any new messages and starts playing my old messages. the first of which, on the new phone, was dom saying, "i don't know why you're phone is acting weird..."
aren't ghosts terrifying when you don't expect them?
tomorrow i'm supposed to be in music and dance class. but whats the point. i'm niether a musician or a dancer. for chrissakes i've sprained my ankle!
last night, good times were had at Zuri's place and stomachs were filled in spite of little annoyances and mix-ups such as waffles were thrown out and a new batch was to be made; such as charles and i tussled over the over-whisked and slightly burnt waffles and consequently i ended up with a mouthful of my own hair (still attached that is). i was so exhausted when i returned home that it was difficult to stay fully coherent and awake for the usual email rounds and the conversation with t.
yesterday i was in the mood to write a love letter. tonight i think i'll read one of Mark Twains'
tonight there is such a worry which stays close beside me. and i wonder what will become of us all. what will become of us before the worms have their fiest day ways with us, the dead. ah but we, none of us, are dead yet.
that reminds me of one of the lines from that movie i love, because of the writing not because of any attachment to the players in it, On Golden Pond. her husband is dying, she thinks, from a heartattack. oh god and she says this one other line, "are you learning to die? are you learning to die while i talk to these nitwits over the phone? are you lying there and learning to die?" or it isn't even an exact quote really so ignore the quotation marks i guess. thats such a wonderful line, are you learning to die. it wrecks me, it does. but that wasn't what i was going to bring up. the thing i was going to point out was the part where she says that in all the time they'd known each other he'd always talked about death but she never really understood what it meant (even having been exposed to the thought of it, constantly) until right that second. she hadn't really felt it. but then she says, "i could see you dead, for the first time" something about being able to see him in his blue starched suit and some other lovely, funny, tragic, lines. oh sigh. and i brought all of that up because of the last line of the pragraph that came before this one.
i'm really quite scattered at this time because my mind is on a million other things. i was sitting here remembering something that a friend said recently. something having to do with identity. and what is it about boys anyway. why are they all such brutes? and why are young girls. why do i feel like a freak? more now than before. more now than this time last year? where was i then? and who?
lets see... april four two thousand four found me, a sunday night, worrying over? theres no question i was with r at the time.. perhaps? i don't have any journal entries from this day last year. i dont think. hmmmmmm. now would be a good time to check and link.
well i found it. and you can too. i'm not going to link to it because whats the point. i did alter the entry of course.. i deleted a portion of it because i found it offensive. and potentially harmful.
i think i'm all through here now. i'm all washed up. and i need to wash up. my feet are unclean and my back hurts. luckily my hands, this year on this day, are not dry like they were last year. they are, however, sticky from apple juices from a very small apple.
that reminds me of something i wrote a very long time ago that i've lost now.. to time and the great crash.
tonight somewhere are hands.. tonight i will send my thoughts up and across the water to the man whose arms have held me up when i wanted to fall. to his uncomfortable eyes when i look at him too long. to him.... and still somehow to light'ning also. striking and spreading electric veins onto the thick, dark sky.
22:30 - Monday, Apr. 04, 2005
Recent entries:
oday.html">the 3 month countdown begins - 05 May 2018
anothrburst.html">another burst - this used to be my playground
newlife.html">begin at the beginning. - 10 April 2008
moody.html">a blanket for a bad mood under the sun. - 25 March 2007
emilludwig.html">...kissing a fool... - 05 December 2006
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