Yes.

I was at the mall today, and I saw a child's action figure that was part of a "peacekeeper" series. He had a carbine, a pistol, a knife, 2 grenades...

...and no pen.

Sounding the depths... pfft. I'm off to go see Punch Drunk Love. Again. By myself. Best thing I'll do all weekend.
Note: I did not actually go off to see Punch Drunk Love. Mission failure.

You think of yourself as being deepsoundless, enveloping, terribly frightening , and home.

Others think of you as being stealthy, sage, instinctive, and knowing without knowing.

Your relationships can be described as indifferently caring, cold, loud, and sensual.

When stressed, you feel oh.god..

Take this test here.

Stolen from Poppy:

my father thinks i am: intelligent, competent, creative, independent
my mother thinks i am: full of (mostly unused) potential, defiant, too much too young, just like her
my sibling thinks i am: (I have two siblings:) smart, weirdo, rachie, too far away
my grandma thinks i am: thoughtless
my grandpa thinks i am: a firecracker
my boyfriend/girlfriend thinks i am: disregarding the label… fierce, sexy, emotionally distant(?)
my best friend thinks I am: not around enough

+three things you are often complimented for = my storytelling, my eyes
+a compliment you got that made you blush = one for my eyes, from a complete stranger at a bookstore.
+you get embarrassed when = something true about me is pointed out in public.
+makes you happy = cold nights with warm clothes, time silently together, sleeping with charliekitten.
+upsets you = those small-column stories in the B section of the paper, small cutting remarks, the way I behave sometimes.

yes or no..
+you keep a diary = quite a few running at once
+you like to cook = toast and tea?
+you have a secret you have not shared with anyone = oh yes.
+you fold your underwear = yes.
+you talk in your sleep = sometimes; more often grind my teeth and dream hard.
+you set your watch a few minutes ahead = always, or I’m in trouble!
+you bite your fingernails = to the nub.
+you believe in love = love is hard on me. I have to believe in love like I have to believe in gravity; otherwise the premise is lost.

last..
x. movie you rented = So I Married an Axe Murderer; Amelie.
x. movie you bought = I have never bought a movie. Laura just bought The Royal Tennenbaums and LOTR.
x. song you listened to = Harry Belafonte - Jump In the Line
x. song that was stuck in your head = Bjork - Hyperballad
x. song you've downloaded = The Cure - Close to Me
x. CD you bought = It was a long time ago… maybe Tori Amos, Strange Little Girls?
x. CD you listened to = Jeremy’s mix CD
x. person you've called = Brandon.
x. person that's called you = for me specifically? See above.
x. TV show you've watched = um. TV? We get some fuzzy audio if we tilt right… but our television is just a monitor for the VCR.
x. person you were thinking of = Roses

do......
x. you wish you could live somewhere else = sometimes.
x. you believe in online dating = If I don’t believe, will it still happen? Or should I clap my hands and say, “I believe!” or it will die?
x. others find you attractive = some unlucky souls do.
x. you want more piercings = one.
x. you want more tattoos = not presently.
x. you drink = occasionally.
x. you do drugs = ibuprofin, baby. I stopped almost everything else in high school.
x. you smoke = sometimes.
x. you like cleaning = I clean spasmodically. It’s been happening with greater and greater frequency. I am becoming my mom Annette.
x. you like roller coasters = yay!
x. you write in cursive or print = cursive, thank you nuns of St. Joseph school, Enfield CT.
x. you carry a donor card = yes indeed.


have you..
x. ever cried over a boy/girl = both.
x. ever lied to someone = all the time, unfortunately or not.
x. ever been in a fist fight = twice.
x. ever been arrested = not yet.

what..
x. shampoo do you use = stuff that smells nice.
x. perfume do you use = Laura’s orange smelling spray thing.
x. shoes do you wear = black beat up boy’s shoes or boots.
x. are you scared of = many many things.

number..
x. of times I have been in love? = I’m still trying to figure out if I’ve ever been In Love, in whatever sense I’m to take it… I’d say yes. Twice. The first one was hard, the second one is harder… but the second one is good. Yes.
x. of times I have had my heart broken? = twice.
x. of people I've slept with? = “I couldn’t even begin to think about how to answer that question,” said Margot.
x. of people I consider my enemies? = none.
x. of people from high school that I stayed in contact with? = four or five.
x. of CDs that I own? = “own” is a tricky concept when it comes to music in this house..
x. of times my name has appeared in the newspaper? = I can think of at least 4.
x. of things in my past that I regret? = there is no number to this one.

Hey - been trying to meet you

The desk at FAS tonight was my-life-is-art, look at what I've chosen to have lying about half-opened and turned to the casual page. I love being able to present what I want my Candid Shot to look like, right down to the last detail of chocolate wrapper and strategic book open to strategic page; I have been reading Hunter Thompson and I have underlined this passage here. I am that sort of person. This sort. Defined by my books and music and mess, by the papers I choose to keep and the ones I burn in disgust (note ashes in wastecan, corner left unburnt to show former contents). I can appreciate only too well the unmade-bed art as an expression of self. It makes me sad sometimes, to see that this is where we find ourselves; in our papertextile trail.

I am not this sort of Juxtapoz and photo collage lens. As some part of my self I've always wanted to be, to cut paste and overglue, to paint in swaths - tear up sentences - rip and reassemble into a fuller whole. Not me. I line up with a ruler, measure twice cut once. I'm drawn to squares in different colors, my walls are covered in rectangles and text, I doodle in evenly spaced circles. I refuse to crop photos or alter letters. I drive exactly fifteen miles over the speed limit. All of my risks are safer than my map-routes.

My head and heart, having sensed the possibility of honest examination of life culture religion and personal tribulation, have sent up the panic alarm and made me go find tea. If I put this off too long it'll be gone for another few weeks. Should there be no more for the next twelve hours, somebody call me. Seriously.

69.15 plus 23.46 plus 198.67 equals impurity. red + black = grey.
I am not cut out for accountancy.

I miss Cape Cod.

And a head in the freakish Atlantic
Where it pours bean green over blue
In the waters off the beautiful Nauset.
I used to pray to recover you.
Ach, du.

I have also decided that I like keshet. Lots.

. wayside on these roads .

Searches stopped by bluegirl:

+how +much +absinthe +should +you +drink?
shitty daughter
eliot smith methamphetamines
plastic canvas wh
trazodone dream
you broke your own cause you can't finish what you start
burger king onion ring pictures
tiny flat breasts
Todd Colby
fucking photos images gay kids
man wearing a sandwichboard
suicide subway
sartre stickiness
told me not to worry I'm worried now
alix olsen
lover taken drugs
giving professors blowjobs for grades
romania textile
skinny girls rib
where to sell industrial sand

I have letters in my hand, letters telling me happy chanukah and your car insurance is cheaper by $95 and your bill for $20.90 was covered by trigon and you are loved and so is Hemingway. I have letters on my desk, letters telling you happy wednesday and cold cold evening breezes are enclosed and silence is good for now and you have an apple and a hug waiting for you and I wanted to come Sunday but you had company and my place is away but I hope not for long and I love you and I miss you. These are not all to you, but most of them are. I have so many books to send so many places! Soon I will have money to do so and that will make me tired and happy. Right now I am just tired and much younger than I was before my mother called me at work this morning to discuss her growing-up epiphany as I re-wrote the yearly budget proposal. These days before January make me eight and weary of the remembered routine. No-one pushes me around - I do that just fine on my own now, and it doesn't take much of a reminder for me to get into step, head down, hands in my pockets, fingers playing the keyboard like the half-step faery in my ears (but only late at night cold feet alone; most of the time now must be spent rationalizing my previously well-thought-out adult but now impulsively childish plans). For them. And me? Yes. Here I stay 'til Sunday, end of December.

Holy fuck! They work! They're crap, but they work. *archive-dives*

i thought she'd be there picking daisies -- she always waits for me
she thinks she's missed the train to mars
she's out back counting stars

I wrap this house around me, lie on straw mat on carpet watching the sky blaze through the rungs of the small table, and know that it is mine and if it weren’t for that I don’t know what I would do on a night like tonight. That sky has long since ceased to flame and has been flapping heavy wings, long and slow, making the palms shake and bend outside my closed windows now inside reflecting – the moon inside my head is only the light.

Every five days the earth shifts on its axis. So it would seem.