Picture of the Week: What?!
Saturday, February 25, 2006
Monday, February 20, 2006
Thursday, February 16, 2006
These Games of Secrecy
That prickly feeling of heat and downgoing from the top of your shoulder blades to the pit of your stomach, nervous hairs standing at attention on the back of your neck, the sensation that means an unalterable slip up has been made. Someone (you) left the cats out over the weekend and now the neighbor is back from his vacation and you have to explain where Socks and Fluffmuffin are. You stand motionless in the middle of the floor, daring not even to breathe. What you want to do is escape and start over with new neighbors, new cats. And the realization for me is sad because I know that what I want to run from is just the truth, which has this pesky way of following one around.
Truth is what it wants to be and never what you try and make it. I think of all of the problems boiled down into an easily definable point, winnowed into some simple and easily digestible tablet, and what I come up with is what Anne said once so many years ago. “Most of the time when I ask you a question it’s only so that you’ll ask it in return.” You assume that when someone tells you that they’ve always been an observer that they’ll really actually listen to you. And then you have no idea really how to react when their eyes drift away during conversation, or ten minutes after you’ve spoken with them they ask you something that you had elucidated during said conversation. Does anyone really think they’re not that transparent? I am a flounder, dear god but how I writhe with the unsaid.
And then the third realization. The hard exterior has been excoriated away in secret, and for how long? How long has he known about the soft and weak and weary underneath, how long and done nothing? Can anyone really be that unable to give an inch? Can anyone really be that selfish?
Truth is what it wants to be and never what you try and make it. I think of all of the problems boiled down into an easily definable point, winnowed into some simple and easily digestible tablet, and what I come up with is what Anne said once so many years ago. “Most of the time when I ask you a question it’s only so that you’ll ask it in return.” You assume that when someone tells you that they’ve always been an observer that they’ll really actually listen to you. And then you have no idea really how to react when their eyes drift away during conversation, or ten minutes after you’ve spoken with them they ask you something that you had elucidated during said conversation. Does anyone really think they’re not that transparent? I am a flounder, dear god but how I writhe with the unsaid.
And then the third realization. The hard exterior has been excoriated away in secret, and for how long? How long has he known about the soft and weak and weary underneath, how long and done nothing? Can anyone really be that unable to give an inch? Can anyone really be that selfish?
Saturday, February 11, 2006
Personality Tests Are
Bollox.
Haha. But I find myself disdainful of anything that offers only two options for such broad questions. Are you more: down to earth, or head in the clouds? Well, sometimes both. So stick that in your pigeon hole and analyze it! Also I think that most people, when taking these tests, answer with their ideal self in mind, so I am biased against them in that regard as well. And there you go. I liked Meyers-Briggs and the Lord of the Rings test that told me I was Aragorn. And that's it. :)
Although my hypothesis that I would get the same result as Anne was spot-on. Man, but seriously. Sometimes at parties I talk to just a few friends. Sometimes I talk to any damn body I bump up against and have twenty new friends by night's end. Sometimes I take a notebook and a pen and scowl at anyone who comes near. I am hot and cold and warm and awful, but it was all in fun and so now I shall stop bitching.
There is a woman who works at the Feve who I can't help but stare at. She has this unique beauty that makes me feel hungry all the way down to my toes. I admire her. I want to befriend her but I seem to only go to the feve when I have that notebook and pen and that damned scowl.
I think I will institute a new thing on my blog: a picture of the week. Maybe on Sundays. We'll see. Let's all go on a vacation together.
OH, here's something fun. I was perusing myspace this morning, and decided to do a search for 18 year olds in Oberlin (under the premise that if high schoolers had myspace profiles, they would probably be listing themselves as 18, which is the lowest possible age.) OH MY GOD. Do these kids not realize that this shit is public? One of the girls has as her main profile picture a portrait of herself in only a tanga. THAT'S IT. She is bare-breasted, covering her mammory glands with her arm. Man, wtf. I have to think that it is a product of insecurity, which reminds me that I have yet to respond to AJ's challenge. At any rate, I have a whole slew of leverage against which to force these little shits to respect my authoritah. (Just kidding. What happens on myspace, stays on myspace. I learned that shit from peer mediation and any movie that involved a group of sexy twenty-something marooned on a tropical island, or, anywhere really. Except I'll still laugh at them in my head.) Onward, upward.
Haha. But I find myself disdainful of anything that offers only two options for such broad questions. Are you more: down to earth, or head in the clouds? Well, sometimes both. So stick that in your pigeon hole and analyze it! Also I think that most people, when taking these tests, answer with their ideal self in mind, so I am biased against them in that regard as well. And there you go. I liked Meyers-Briggs and the Lord of the Rings test that told me I was Aragorn. And that's it. :)
Although my hypothesis that I would get the same result as Anne was spot-on. Man, but seriously. Sometimes at parties I talk to just a few friends. Sometimes I talk to any damn body I bump up against and have twenty new friends by night's end. Sometimes I take a notebook and a pen and scowl at anyone who comes near. I am hot and cold and warm and awful, but it was all in fun and so now I shall stop bitching.
There is a woman who works at the Feve who I can't help but stare at. She has this unique beauty that makes me feel hungry all the way down to my toes. I admire her. I want to befriend her but I seem to only go to the feve when I have that notebook and pen and that damned scowl.
I think I will institute a new thing on my blog: a picture of the week. Maybe on Sundays. We'll see. Let's all go on a vacation together.
OH, here's something fun. I was perusing myspace this morning, and decided to do a search for 18 year olds in Oberlin (under the premise that if high schoolers had myspace profiles, they would probably be listing themselves as 18, which is the lowest possible age.) OH MY GOD. Do these kids not realize that this shit is public? One of the girls has as her main profile picture a portrait of herself in only a tanga. THAT'S IT. She is bare-breasted, covering her mammory glands with her arm. Man, wtf. I have to think that it is a product of insecurity, which reminds me that I have yet to respond to AJ's challenge. At any rate, I have a whole slew of leverage against which to force these little shits to respect my authoritah. (Just kidding. What happens on myspace, stays on myspace. I learned that shit from peer mediation and any movie that involved a group of sexy twenty-something marooned on a tropical island, or, anywhere really. Except I'll still laugh at them in my head.) Onward, upward.
Saturday, February 04, 2006
but I'm feel I'm truly however crazy think
Today has been ups and downs. I find myself reexamining simply everything, feeling silly for holding fast to the ideas I thought were already cemented into the future. It's funny how we do that even if we claim to be forever only in the moment, here-and-now Zen Gods, nonplussed by the untenable thing that is that which has yet to be. It doesn't even exist. And yet we buy up all of the real estate that in our minds is the future; so much so that when we've made a simple miscalculation, we have to tear down marble edifices and flatten and bulldoze just to begin again.
And it's hard at first, that beginning again.
So tonight has been somewhat low, and then for whatever reason I checked my long abandoned photography blog. There was a comment! It was on the picture of the corn spider, which I had learned from Danielle was actually an orb weaver. With eager anticipation, I clicked.
" Hey,were you find the corn spider?I like spider must.Great I'll do we relationship make a friend?" Now you know I had to check out this guy's profile. The comment instantly made me smile. When I speak Russian, this is how I envision that I sound to native speakers. And I'm always nodding and smiling as I imagine this guy is as he types the broken english, as though gesticulations and eye contact somehow elucidate everything.
His profile was even better.
Sometimes I can only smile for how unexpectedly wonderful humans are. For how we'll try even if it doesn't make sense. How the trying is probably the purest and realest thing we can offer up to the world. There is real innocence in vulnerability in trying, which are the first two things that the harshness of the world and fear snatch out of you. And so I go to bed with a little smile, wondering what the hell the thing about bologna could possibly be about.
And it's hard at first, that beginning again.
So tonight has been somewhat low, and then for whatever reason I checked my long abandoned photography blog. There was a comment! It was on the picture of the corn spider, which I had learned from Danielle was actually an orb weaver. With eager anticipation, I clicked.
" Hey,were you find the corn spider?I like spider must.Great I'll do we relationship make a friend?" Now you know I had to check out this guy's profile. The comment instantly made me smile. When I speak Russian, this is how I envision that I sound to native speakers. And I'm always nodding and smiling as I imagine this guy is as he types the broken english, as though gesticulations and eye contact somehow elucidate everything.
His profile was even better.
About Me
Swimming in all person "eye".
How do you pronounce the 'g' in bologna?
The bologna shape is "g".
Sometimes I can only smile for how unexpectedly wonderful humans are. For how we'll try even if it doesn't make sense. How the trying is probably the purest and realest thing we can offer up to the world. There is real innocence in vulnerability in trying, which are the first two things that the harshness of the world and fear snatch out of you. And so I go to bed with a little smile, wondering what the hell the thing about bologna could possibly be about.
