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| Halloween was great!! The party was at my house, shay deejayed (how do you spell that?), no minors came (except for Hempy and Ellen, of course), and nobody fell down the stairs! Yay! I thought for sure the staircase was either going to fall down or someone was going to fall down it but everyone maintained! To cut back on trash, spills, and runs for ice, Michael and Leah helped me inject 80 capri suns with vodka. It was a bit of work but well worth it. They tasted great and we could walk around outside without worrying about TABC. Finding hypodermic needles was the hardest part. No pharmacy would give them to me... and understandably so... but finally, I got a tip from a random eavesdropper (it was freaky) and procured some from a tractor supply store. We changed out the lightbulbs in the loft with blacklights and pulled a "Dane -Cooper-when-he-was-still-crazy" and snapped open glow sticks and splatter painted the walls and eachother. I have a few pictures to show but I'm a dumbass and took pictures in a dark house or outside with black and white film so not much came out.
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| I miss you, loveseveryone should read this poem... its beautiful. However, its mostly intended for Ms. Mary Katherine Woodward, my Durham scholar, and to Mr. Stephen Lawrence (Frances, as far as I'm concerned) Fisk, my adventurer, as it always reminds me of our friendship. Now that they are both away from me, I read it sometimes and cannot help but tear up just a little.
The Night House
Everyday the body works in the fields of the world
mending a stone wall
or swinging a sickle through the tall grass--
the grass of civics, the grass of money--
and every night the body curls around itself
and listens for the soft bells of sleep.
But the heart is restless and rises
from the body in the middle of the night,
leaves the trapezoidal bedroom
with its thick, pictureless walls
to sit by herself at the kitchen table
and heat some milk in a pan.
And the mind gets up to, puts on a robe
and goes downstairs, lights a cigarette,
and opens a book on engineering.
Even the conscience awakens
and roams from room to room in the dark,
darting away from every mirror like a strange fish.
And the soul is up on the roof
in her nightdress, straddling the ridge,
singing a song about the wildness of the sea
until the first rip of pink appears in the sky.
Then, they all will return to the sleeping body
the way a flock of birds settles back into a tree,
resuming their daily colloquy,
talking to each other or themselves
even through the heat of the long afternoons.
Which is why the body--the house of voices--
sometimes puts down its metal tongs, its needle, or its pen
to stare into the distance,
to listen to all its names being called
before bending again to its labor.
-Billy Collins, 1998
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| turn the music up a little bit... ... thank you. | | |
| "I like long walks and sci-fi movies" "you're six feet tall and east-coast bred" its not that i am trying to be cryptic with the quotes or short sentences... its just that these things have been revealing themselves to me just so and i can't think of another way to explain it than this. They are usually things I have read or heard. Not just in music but in conversation aswell and not always my conversations. | | |
| "It is the sort of portentous intensity invoked by people when for the first time they experience, in unconscious and distorted form, the need to remove another human being from the world, body and soul, and make him uniquely theirs. For that is the hidden force within both friendship and love. The relationship is deep and wordless, as are all the emotions that will last a lifetime. And like all great emotions, this one contains within itself both shame and a sense of guilt, for no one may isolate one of his fellows from the rest of humanity with impunity." "order... disorder" | | |
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