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Today is deemed a Library Day, because it didn't have any other distinguishing characteristics...
It's cold outside, especially for shorts. I didn't get home until after dark and by then the world had begun to feel like one big meat locker, especially to someone who was biking at a fair clip. Like me.
There was a sliver of moon glowing through the fringes of clouds still faintly purple from sunset, and while I can't in any way capture the beauty of it, I thought it worth writing about. I dedicate this blog entry to the best moonrise I've seen in a long time.
posted on Wednesday, November 26, 2003
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"Who's the man with nothing to lose? Who's the grimiest cap-bustin' metaphor-spewin' avengin' badass in the ghetto? Tha's right - Dick Justice.
'The rain was coming down like all the angels in heaven had decided to take a piss at the same time. In a situation like mine, you can only think in metaphors...'"
- parody TV show from Max Payne 2
posted on Tuesday, November 25, 2003
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It is now fourteen minutes before midnight and I have a nagging idea that most of my brain has spent the day feeling sorry for itself.
posted on Saturday, November 22, 2003
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The all-important question has been decided. I'm going to spend my life teaching physics to small children in penniless African countries, and Chelsea Briner will be the pilot who flies me around and makes touching documentaries of me.
The first distant babblings of this conclusion began when I mentioned to Chelsea in 6th period Calculus that this was really a weird way to spend time - sitting and staring intently while a teacher scrawled masses of foreign symbology on the whiteboard. More practical uses of life and time were thus brought to the forefront of discussion. Thus, physics and small children and Africa and no money.
Yesterday it rained on and off for most of the morning and afternoon, and I stood outside between classes, feeling drops burst on my head and shoulders, thinking nothing while my thoughts clashed in a land of their own. Later the rain diminished to a sprinkle and the sky began to lighten, and I looked out the back window and saw green, yellow, orange and red, brought to brilliance against browns and grays by the rain and the day's first sign of sunlight, and I knew that this beauty was wasted on a person who never dares to touch dreams to reality.
My mom told me today not to ride on the Greenway, said it was too wet from all the rain. I try not to do things out of spite, but I didn't feel that I had any option except riding on the Greenway. So I rode and listened to the air roaring into my ears in its annoyance, and watched how things stood still at the center of my vision and accelerated at the edges. I had to slow down now and then for a puddle, sure, but what could that matter.
I fear I'm sliding into an antisocial phase. There's only one person I really want to talk to, and I don't know what to say even to that person. Maybe it's not even conversation I want, maybe just being near. Near, and far away from all those arbitrary foundations I structure my life around. I can't see how people take any interest in that crap, and I can't imagine why they'd expect me to. Life isn't meant to be stretched taut over artificial complexity.
posted on Thursday, November 20, 2003
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Poor neglected blog. No, I don't think it's just you; I think I've been neglecting everyone lately, and I don't know why I'm doing that, and I don't know how to stop...
posted on Tuesday, November 18, 2003
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You know you've played too much Deus Ex if...
206. You utter the immortal words "The conspiracy is real" to politically disgruntled French waitresses.
222. You use an infrared camera to spy on people through walls and pretend it's an augmentation.
224. You make enemies of rats and vacuum cleaners.
382. You want to have a pet karkian.
539. You check behind the soda machine at Battery Park.
555. You wonder why URLs start with "http", not "Daedalus."
562. Your favorite chat-up line is "That's some heavy augmentation."
581: You can grow arms and legs by munching on a candy bar.
593: You check the backs of people's necks for eye-shaped tattoos.
603. Oh sure, you don't mind needles!
674. You constantly pester Nicolette Duclare about the Illuminati, Silhouette, La Sorbonne, and her virginity.
700. You try to hack every ATM you see.
742: If you don't like someone, you call them "flatlander woman" in an attempt to make them explode.
769. You absentmindedly punch or stab people named Gunther, assuming that they're indestructable.
813. You have ended up in the emergency room after attempting to empty a water fountain.
posted on Saturday, November 15, 2003
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If you're happy just to be warm, the more the merrier...
posted on Thursday, November 13, 2003
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I can't believe in that road trip anymore, couldn't do that, no way, not me or any of them either. Not impossible, but stomped-flat stupid and that's beyond conscious control. Do I even want it to work? Don't answer that, self.
posted on Tuesday, November 11, 2003
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Two o'clock, breakfast and then a couple minutes watching contrails drift across a blue sky, wondering what matters to me.
posted on Tuesday, November 11, 2003
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"She is the brightest star that's in the sky
She is the reason every astronaut would fly
I see the lighting clouds of white on cobalt fields of blue
And I close my eyes and sigh
I can't believe it's true
The moon is burning bright
I saw her face tonight
I touched the seamless beauty with my hands
I'm never going back again
They said I'm foolish
Fleeting hopes in borrowed dreams
They said forget her
The moon is far beyond your reach
I would run out of fuel long before I'd ever land
But none of them can see this world
From the place where I stand
The moon is burning bright
I saw her face tonight
I touched the seamless beauty with my hands
I'm never going back again
Never going back again..."
- Moon Burns Bright, Brave Saint Saturn
posted on Sunday, November 09, 2003
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I can still spring out of bed just fine, legs up, then down again, flipping ninety degrees forward and landing balanced, a maneuver hammered to routine by four years of being pissed off by my alarm clock. It only requires an I'd like to get out of bed and functioning skeletal muscles. But this morning, as I landed smoothly on my feet and my vision swung suddenly to a dark and hazy mode and my blood rushed southward from my brain, I realized in that lazy, blacking-out way that on this particular morning my brain was essentially connected to the rest of me not by the customary pipes and chemical interfaces, but by a kind of elastic tether, which is terribly overextended by any major displacement and causes the brain to soon snap back at a painful speed. This hypothesis proven a moment later, my knees wobbled slightly and I fumbled for something to hold onto.
All this is the fairly worthwhile result of staying on IM until a very inappropriate time of night (morning, whatever). My head is throbbing unmercifully, but my lips keep twitching upward at the corners.
posted on Saturday, November 08, 2003
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I usually don't do those online quizzes - I have better things to post on here, or so I tell myself - but this quiz tells me my inner child is 16, which is interesting, because I am 16.
Somehow I'm vaguely offended. Maybe I should've answered the sex question differently; that wasn't one of those quizzes that threatens you with death in a pungi pit if you don't answer entirely honestly, so it might have been okay.
posted on Thursday, November 06, 2003
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My sister's watching All Dogs Go to Heaven. That is one wack movie; it's got dogs offing other dogs, and sultry angel dogs, and dogs in all sorts of hats, and... well, even as animal movies go, it's weird.
My head isn't otherwise empty, but what's in there should probably stay there.
posted on Thursday, November 06, 2003
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"... There's God, sure ... but He's big, too big and too far away to worry Himself if your ass is poor, or you can't get laid."
- Count Zero, William Gibson
posted on Thursday, November 06, 2003
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The introvert is god of his own solitude; the extrovert sacrifices divinity for creatureliness.
This is by no means the first time I've expressed this, but any given night lately, I've wished I could lose thoughts of tomorrow and while away the wee hours with friends, inflating the importance of matters that perish in daylight, and laughing over nothing, and finally growing sleepy, watching the sun come up.
Doubtless some will take that the wrong way, sine non causa, but if I've ever had a pure desire this is probably it. The less noble of hormones do not permeate quite every sphere of thought.
Kudos to Mr. Dellinger for teaching us the word "creatureliness." "To pray is to experience your creatureliness," he said, in one of those afternoon 8th grade Bible classes.
posted on Tuesday, November 04, 2003
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"And how much longer
Will this keep getting stronger?
I wonder what she’s doing
When I’m singing myself to sleep..."
- Definitely Maybe, FM Static
posted on Monday, November 03, 2003
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Just thought I'd mention that I really love my friends. No knack for words now or ever, so let that suffice.
posted on Monday, November 03, 2003
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Elena's got a blog now; I recommend it. She likes Penny Arcade so it can't be that bad...
Oh yeah, every now and then I find a Latin word which is just too cool to pass up. Today's is sauroctonos, which means "lizard killer." Sorry, Hannah.
posted on Monday, November 03, 2003
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She said I was distant and still very much there; I was daydreaming about places I've never been and who I'd take with me. I hate my indecision, my faith in uncertainty alone, my equivocating heart, but if I'm lucky I just haven't become used to getting it right.
I keep wanting to write things, realizing they're too explicit, watering them down, and forgetting what I meant to say in the first place. That's not to say that they make sense when they're banging around my skull, but the hope is that I can maybe extract some coherence from them or at least get some peace and quiet upstairs.
I'd try for a poem or song but the words and lines in my head are all look but don't touch, like the Elves' dinner in Mirkwood. I'm steadily losing my willingness to make sense, realize that my syntax is convuluted and irrational and don't change it. I should not be writing on here before I write an English essay; I have the order all wrong and considering that there are only two activities in question I must have screwed up pretty badly.
Language has degraded to stark somethings and I will have stopped writing by now.
posted on Sunday, November 02, 2003
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I got to miss church today (my sister woke up with a fever), and this has brightened my day considerably. Pleasant smells are seeping through my open windows and I can see dust motes dancing to All About Her in front of my speakers. My brain is ticking over about once in five minutes, at which time I hastily scribble down the next section of my Physics lab report, entitled "Exponential Decay in Peak Potential Energy of a Rebounding Mass on an Incline," and then resume watching dust motes or ensuring all my batteries are charged or whatever the hell I end up doing until, five minutes later, I'm seized by the recollection of a particularly deft best-fit line.
posted on Sunday, November 02, 2003
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Missed something yesterday that I was very much looking forward to, for no good reason. Was told I could, then told the opposite. Smoldering and unproductive, even today, and full of conflicting emotions, though the emotions can only be deduced through the conflict for the most part.
posted on Saturday, November 01, 2003
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