it’s aight
but I’m still working on it. I’m hoping the worst thing about it is that it’s not very extensive, so I haven’t been able to develop a lot of categories. I have somewhat of an idea though.
but I’m still working on it. I’m hoping the worst thing about it is that it’s not very extensive, so I haven’t been able to develop a lot of categories. I have somewhat of an idea though.
#…I don’t remember. 5? 6?
5-26-07
Somehow mediums don’t exist anymore, and just a strange, ridiculous contrast presents itself in the midst of all of the clove cigarettes, talk of the military past, and, oh, you’re on the right track…create your own little fairyland, make your own tale [personal fable], right in the hammock.
Somehow these just don’t make sense anymore. Even the memories we meant to capture through a random collection of words didn’t seem to make sense at all! All hope drains along with the sewage (ha!), and the knowledge of all that we learned throughout the weekend, or even in the bed with soup. Somehow it’s not good anymore. Funny how that works. Blame it on the Bossa Nova.
#5
5-25-07
[My uncle is a bad, bad man. His son needs to tell him in order to change him….provoking this stifling environment…..creating his own suffering; his struggle?….his worth at stake<?>]
Somehow after some summer plans, poison ivy, and television, family broke through the ceiling and we begged for them to leave, just like in reality when they show up at our doorstep on holidays, improperly packaged, a pleasantly unpleasant surprise. The family doesn’t hover over our doorways or walls, floating like the byzantine justinian (ha), they mold into our walls and stone, screaming for a release, making themselves familiar to our homes…but not to us. An impending stranger rudely smoking a cigar, taking off his coat, and putting his filthy feet up on the furniture. Whisky swirling in his glass. The golf channel quietly mumbles in the corner. A unit breaking the circle, telling me all about life, giving us advice. It’s not what we need, or how we can handle things at all. When it’s time to leave I can’t say I’ll shed a tear at all.
At this point in the Dream series, the series no longer became about dreams but about experiences, and how they could potentially affect what I do see when I sleep. Mostly they are wholly factual, though I’m sure certain parts are exaggerated.
#4
5-24-07
[We multiple personalities, Juniper, friends with us; Cos, God become Cos, works with us in the universe in our awakening, in our experiences]
We just thought she was weird when we first came upon her, we never realized she needed help. I fiddled with her credit card, and we asked her if she needed a receipt. She didn’t know what one was. I directed her to the manager for help, and we kept on with our business, unaware of life’s pull in a black spotted dress, oblivious to the wind in her hair, or her child in the backseat. Sensations of strawberry glide across my tongue and down my throat, my head lifts, and we read her tag set for a date in July, her misunderstanding enveloped by the Korean imprinted above it. Somehow it still didn’t make sense, even though Cos was throwing it directly into my pupils, meant to be registered by my unfunctioning, overanalytical brain. We look so closely sometimes, we completely miss it in the big, bold print ripping its protection and sticking to everything in its path.
[I, being what I physically do, we, being what we decide to do]
#3
5-23-07
Grease slid across the table of the upscale fast-food restaurant, patterned by small hands of greater intelligence. We felt the air move inside and we knew we couldn’t leave this place, even if it meant giving up a strong, meaningless tradition. Yells and screams followed by tantrums and cries escaped their mouths, but barbecue sauce stuck to their hands the way super-glue does.
If only it could stay this way.
The purell handwipes cleanse the children of their filthy innocence, bathing them in a river of reality, throwing them onto the playground of life. Cliches are too big, too wide. Can you turn them sideways to fit the doorframe? Good, now tell me again how this works? Oh, right, the children lose their innocence and granduer, they become hateful and in the way all the time. Monkeys swing happily from trees. Slowly we decay, unaware of purgatory.
(Shout-out to DYWC 2007 S1)
All throughout winter this year, I was miserable. I hate the cold. I hate feeling cold. It’s an awful, painful, feeling. All winter I was begging for a rapid change in temperature. Well, I got my wish. It’s a blazing 90 degrees out. In April. And pollen is out and about as well flying into my vulnerable eyes and nose. I still prefer this to the sub-freezing temperatures I experienced this winter, but sometimes it’s so hot out that it’s not even enjoyable to be outside. Oh well. I guess be careful what you wish for.
Only good news so far…I got into the Winter Term study abroad trip in the Cayman Islands. I’m excited. I don’t know of anyone else who is going except Kristen Wrenn, but she’s great so it should be a good trip. I’m still waiting to hear back about things that are stressing me out…but at this point it’s beyond my control.
What is in my control? School. I declared as a double major in finance and marketing, which is a perfect fit for me…hopefully! I’m done with my worthless liberal arts courses, and now I am prepared to completely throw myself into business. I’m getting okay grades right now, and I am prepared to show off my work ethic to potential employers. Hopefully.
Happy Spring!
So, we are at the ticket counter and this airline worker asks for our IDs. So my parents fork over their IDs and when I move in to hand her mine she looks surprised and says “Oh! Okay!”.
Yeah, believe it or not I AM old enough to drive. In fact, I’m a legal adult. 20 years old. That’s TWO decades. I went to the 1996 Olympics! Now, let’s not jump to conclusions. I know I don’t exactly look 20 years old, but for this woman to assume that I am not even old enough to drive…that’s just downright embarrassing.
Well, we can’t just blame this all on how I look and how I dress. For starters, this woman was an /idiot/. And that’s an understatement. As my dad put it, “Do you work for AirTran or did they pick you up off the street corner this morning with the other mexicans?” To be honest, it’s hard to tell. She wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.
But ignoring that fact, in order to be taken seriously, it’s important to not look like a child. Which is something that is difficult to accomplish with a round face. So, my gay dad is giving me pointers on how to look older. Maybe it won’t allow me to be taken seriously but at least I can count on strangers assuming I’m in possession of a driver’s license.
I guess that’s up to society.
