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Dec. 23rd, 2005 11:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phthalombrageI like getting fingerprints on things. Now that I realize even the cops don't dust randomly for prints.
I didn't notice it was cold outside for about three minutes, my mind was so busy elsewhere. Then it was really cold.
Surprises are retarded if they're planned. Dr. Dean is a good surprise.
I don't want to be a man. sinking ever deeper into a brown striped armchair, bewildered by my constant, heightened awareness of my hands and their relation to the book and my body, and the strange film of water flickering over the surface of my eyes, I realized that I don't want to be a man.
fame doesn't appeal to me.
Man and his Work. The Germans are so Manly. Slavic Wizards are so Manly.
I drink her words and take them as the truth. she said herself she would be lying, but it doesn't matter to me. the words feel right, they wash over me and sparkle (the water rises in my eyes and I let hair fall in front of my face to hide them.) yet I'm not concerned about my hair. it just is. I just am. I fail at vanity.
blind to everything, let the words speak for themselves. let the work speak for itself. the last vestiges of a woman with pockets full of stones. man or woman, no matter what the circumstances of his or her life were, should just be pure. not spiritually, not morally, just pure of soul. the soul is an elusive enough beast to not be able to pin down...
lend your body to Shakespeare's dead sister.
(seven twenty-three to be precise)I love that dead woman so much. sometimes I like women, you see.
she takes you along, tucks you into her pocket as she makes her way across a forbidden lawn.
people and their machines. owning them... is not necessary. men own things.
feminists are so angry. lesbians are so angry.
Jesus Christ, nobody cares that you're a woman.
why do men drink wine and women drink water?
all the effort that goes into wine, the wisdom of the grapes, the scraping off of mold, the chemical reactions, makes it seem fuller-bodied, more important. the tradition in the Bible.
yet Darwin says Christianity glorifies weakness.
dying seems like a waste. and it's expensive.
water is better anyways.
importance is relative and isn't important to me.
I don't like to belittle things to make myself more important. I'm okay with taking the low ground or other undesirable things. I like old and undesirable things, like fountain pens.
why are women more interesting to men than men are to women? women don't write about men. they still think.
there's so much shit we keep private.
you know, you can't even lie down in public unless you're in the company of friends or far from home. you can't let people see your paintings until they're done or you're sick of them. in the meantime, you add more and more layers.
nothing needs to be a secret. we're just all retards
"If you are retarded you must learn everything slowly and in small portions."
open-source, advance the human race or whatever.
I'd love to hear the thoughts of salesmen as they roam between bookcases scouting out customers in distress, making trite jokes, being loud in a freaking bookstore for chrissakes, hawking, mongering. enthusiastic, endearing, creepy, annoying, friendly, personable, venerable, all at the same time, and not just random people. I hate their job.
the little fish retreats, but maybe it's worse to be locked IN.
love doesn't need to be made, it just is. why does that matter so much? some kind of unity? how unproductive. everyone does it.
no offense, but I'd use a room of one's own for something else.
two heads on one body does not make for long life. hahaha.
Plato. owls. John Paul II's little hat.
male and female must combine to create anything. asexuality is amazing. objectivity. not connecting things to a life.
I'm on the 78th page, that's more than halfway...
online you don't know how long something is.
you don't have to be self-conscious about your use of time, the delaying images from your life that are so revealing, but only recently hindered you. in the past, I could read so quickly, but my mind was void of everything but the author's words. faster but less memorable, it's the best time to absorb.
you get too general. break it down to practicality. see, you need money. It's so much nicer to see the coloured dyes and to know the paper is made partly of linen and paper and not plastic. to think of masons putting the bricks in order one on top of the other. astrachan. but break to reality (what is reality? capitalism?) and money is freedom. and power. and disgusting.
I don't know myself. I don't like to commit to opinions because I might change my mind and most people wouldn't tolerate that. once I've explored the matter more in depth... I still won't know. I remembered that it was Abraham, I just prefer not to care.
it's nice to have friends because they let you follow them around. books are almost better than friends, though.
he's been gone a week, I had thought. gone but a week and I can't remember the sound of his voice. a terrible thought.
so you think about it and write it down because you don't trust yourself to remember.
but you can't write down his voice.
eyelashes, maybe, but what use are eyelashes away from the desert?
we're all tailless cats. there has to be a reasonable reason for the laughter.
And you remember verses of poetry by Christina Rosetti. rainbow shell. tennyson GOD tennyson.
You wish you'd found it yourself. but instead the wolf is rootling for you.
and pretending. I don't want to pretend to be cool. I pretend a lot. we're all actors, except for the sixteenth century women.
Tay would appreciate that. I miss her.
I'm not happy the way I am but I don't want to be happy because I don't want to be a man.
Mmm, book. I wish I could organize my thoughts better but alack, I'm lazy like that. Or shy, whichever works. No loss, really.
I didn't notice it was cold outside for about three minutes, my mind was so busy elsewhere. Then it was really cold.
Surprises are retarded if they're planned. Dr. Dean is a good surprise.
I don't want to be a man. sinking ever deeper into a brown striped armchair, bewildered by my constant, heightened awareness of my hands and their relation to the book and my body, and the strange film of water flickering over the surface of my eyes, I realized that I don't want to be a man.
fame doesn't appeal to me.
Man and his Work. The Germans are so Manly. Slavic Wizards are so Manly.
I drink her words and take them as the truth. she said herself she would be lying, but it doesn't matter to me. the words feel right, they wash over me and sparkle (the water rises in my eyes and I let hair fall in front of my face to hide them.) yet I'm not concerned about my hair. it just is. I just am. I fail at vanity.
blind to everything, let the words speak for themselves. let the work speak for itself. the last vestiges of a woman with pockets full of stones. man or woman, no matter what the circumstances of his or her life were, should just be pure. not spiritually, not morally, just pure of soul. the soul is an elusive enough beast to not be able to pin down...
lend your body to Shakespeare's dead sister.
(seven twenty-three to be precise)I love that dead woman so much. sometimes I like women, you see.
she takes you along, tucks you into her pocket as she makes her way across a forbidden lawn.
people and their machines. owning them... is not necessary. men own things.
feminists are so angry. lesbians are so angry.
Jesus Christ, nobody cares that you're a woman.
why do men drink wine and women drink water?
all the effort that goes into wine, the wisdom of the grapes, the scraping off of mold, the chemical reactions, makes it seem fuller-bodied, more important. the tradition in the Bible.
yet Darwin says Christianity glorifies weakness.
dying seems like a waste. and it's expensive.
water is better anyways.
importance is relative and isn't important to me.
I don't like to belittle things to make myself more important. I'm okay with taking the low ground or other undesirable things. I like old and undesirable things, like fountain pens.
why are women more interesting to men than men are to women? women don't write about men. they still think.
there's so much shit we keep private.
you know, you can't even lie down in public unless you're in the company of friends or far from home. you can't let people see your paintings until they're done or you're sick of them. in the meantime, you add more and more layers.
nothing needs to be a secret. we're just all retards
"If you are retarded you must learn everything slowly and in small portions."
open-source, advance the human race or whatever.
I'd love to hear the thoughts of salesmen as they roam between bookcases scouting out customers in distress, making trite jokes, being loud in a freaking bookstore for chrissakes, hawking, mongering. enthusiastic, endearing, creepy, annoying, friendly, personable, venerable, all at the same time, and not just random people. I hate their job.
the little fish retreats, but maybe it's worse to be locked IN.
love doesn't need to be made, it just is. why does that matter so much? some kind of unity? how unproductive. everyone does it.
no offense, but I'd use a room of one's own for something else.
two heads on one body does not make for long life. hahaha.
Plato. owls. John Paul II's little hat.
male and female must combine to create anything. asexuality is amazing. objectivity. not connecting things to a life.
I'm on the 78th page, that's more than halfway...
online you don't know how long something is.
you don't have to be self-conscious about your use of time, the delaying images from your life that are so revealing, but only recently hindered you. in the past, I could read so quickly, but my mind was void of everything but the author's words. faster but less memorable, it's the best time to absorb.
you get too general. break it down to practicality. see, you need money. It's so much nicer to see the coloured dyes and to know the paper is made partly of linen and paper and not plastic. to think of masons putting the bricks in order one on top of the other. astrachan. but break to reality (what is reality? capitalism?) and money is freedom. and power. and disgusting.
I don't know myself. I don't like to commit to opinions because I might change my mind and most people wouldn't tolerate that. once I've explored the matter more in depth... I still won't know. I remembered that it was Abraham, I just prefer not to care.
it's nice to have friends because they let you follow them around. books are almost better than friends, though.
he's been gone a week, I had thought. gone but a week and I can't remember the sound of his voice. a terrible thought.
so you think about it and write it down because you don't trust yourself to remember.
but you can't write down his voice.
eyelashes, maybe, but what use are eyelashes away from the desert?
we're all tailless cats. there has to be a reasonable reason for the laughter.
And you remember verses of poetry by Christina Rosetti. rainbow shell. tennyson GOD tennyson.
You wish you'd found it yourself. but instead the wolf is rootling for you.
and pretending. I don't want to pretend to be cool. I pretend a lot. we're all actors, except for the sixteenth century women.
Tay would appreciate that. I miss her.
I'm not happy the way I am but I don't want to be happy because I don't want to be a man.
Mmm, book. I wish I could organize my thoughts better but alack, I'm lazy like that. Or shy, whichever works. No loss, really.
