Tripping spinning falling fast fast faster. Nothing says I love you quite like that smile. Or forgetting everything that mattered. Its horrifying because you find yourself falling forward blindly. i wish I could create. Rather than destroy. This scares me. And I'm not sure why. It wasn't triggered. I just want to be away. I want it to end and then i won't have to be afraid or have time limits or forward expectations or anything. I thought this wouldn't bother me, but obviously it does. I can't help feeling that this is more than anything else me freaking out. I just wanna go away.

The Walrus and the Carpenter

"I'm reading a book" he says.
And smacks the paperback up against the glass.
"How to Break the Spell" it says.
In -red-block-letters-.
"It's about falling out of love" he says.
You need a hug, I think.

We chuckle.

I wonder how serious this is.
Not as serious as the -red-line-poetry-
we both wrote back in high school certainly.
Sarcasm then.
He learns there was truth in it for others then.

We swap stories.
I know his is doomed.
Malformed.
Should have been left to die on the mountains
like Spartan children
probably.

No matter.

It is about religion.
So more like witch hunts.
Hysteria and strange brews.
Picket fences and communion.

I contemplate accents.
Expectations.
Gold bands which bind.
Truths.

The conversation is kept light, jovial.
Behind my glass I can hide easily.
Inside his hoodie he is safe.
Jumpers and distance.
We are missing one though.
The blue elephant on the parcheesi board.

We are missing many things
it turns out.
Loose ends, as it were.

We will hook up electrodes to our brains later,
imitate rats and press the -big-red-button-
until we die of starvation.

If only there was a happiness machine.

I was tempted to wait twenty minuites to post anything so I could just go straight to the "April Dailies" that we're doing (we=the group at large), but I couldn't be bothered, and by the time I'm finished spewing here it'll probably be midnight anyways. I referred to this as my fake blog today. Which got me thinking about verious social networking sites and what kind of an identiy we're creating for ourselves virtually, as well as in reality. While this line of conversation tends to get very exestnetial equally as quickly, I like to aviod it, but having moved four times in the past year its impossible to not change. That and that I hang out with first years, who are all still (d'aw, aren't they cute!) finding themselves. Heck, I'm still finding myself and I'll still be finding myself in ten years. Hopefully by then things will be more stable in my life than they are now. It does give one a warped coneption of reality though, and inspires those weird questions: how much free will we acutally havbe? how much is already decided? etc (as demonstrated by &c archaeically). Beign a historian I have a hard time not beliveing that the future isnt already decided, but what I do tomorrow will determine that futre. and who is to say it sonw continue in a paralell universe. As this gets more and more rambly I'm finding it will probably fit better on the other, purely text, blog. It sucks becuse I so badly want for stablity. This will get edited...eventually-promise!

Sappy Somethings

Being in love is that exact same heady, intoxicating feeling everyone always describes it as. Only more suffocating. It’s that first glass of wine on an empty stomach, its coming in from the snow to a blazing fireplace and your feet hurt because you’re so cold and you’re waiting for your feet to thaw so you can feel the warmth. It’s the first puff of nicotine it’s the cellophane over the camera lens that makes everything in soft focus. It’s those artsy pictures where you can only see directly what’s in the foreground and make out the background but by the time you get there you realize you don’t actually care. It’s the pollution of a city making sunsets and sun rises beautiful and keeping us from seeing the stars. Its absolutely suffocating and beautiful all at the same time. Its more powerful than lust because lust is an ‘I want I want I want’ versus love is your heart thudding through thick blood every second. Everything seems too slow and then in sharp focus too fast. You loose all concept of yourself time and space when you’re entwined in sheets. It’s being kissed awake and having no idea who you are, just the rich sensation of butterflies coming from your lips to your heart. Its knowing that another human being is in synchronization with you. There is nothing more powerful than that, and it makes us horrifyingly open and susceptible to damage. Its pulling off the carapace of a mask we wear every day and separating the ribs that jail that muscle and letting them curl up next to you. Its not being able to breathe because you know that someone on the other end of that spectrum feels the same way, and nothing is more beautiful than that.

re: re: re: re: repeat

Today would be an excellent day to repeat.

I figured out how to fix myself, and boy, do I wish it was duct tape rather than my current coping mechanisms. Well, just the one. It's not plural.

So I've shared the blog with another human being IRL and now am cautious 'bout what I'm writing. To be completely honest I'd rather keep being candid (SMILE! You're on candid camera!). The writing is more fluid that way anyways.

I'm also quite torn between recounting things and just answering a questionnaire. I've always been a fan of the battery of questions that just drills you until it has enough weird information out of you to -just- frighten your friends. Actually, one of my favorite one of those I think I still have posted somewhere. (Rummaging through files of cyberspace binary). Indeed. It exists. All my best posts are facebook ones. Damn. Though its not nearly as exciting as I thought it was.

Also parts of it are no longer true. Like the thing that I've never broken a bone you can cast. I've fractured my wrist. Woo! (This is the part where you flail your arms wildly above your head).



I'm reading old love poetry. To remember. I'm 'inking' paper. To center myself. I'm not crying. To keep my heart from breaking. Later on, I'll pull out the sabre and strap on my boots and man-up. Right now, Imma pull an Ophelia.

Axis of Crazy

Check this.

So I'm certifably crazy. My boyfriend tweeted it.It's that kind of crazy. Basically I went to the library, sat myself down with an abnormal psych text book and the DSM IV (Diagnostic and Statistic Manual of Mental Disorders and the IV part stands for the fourth revision--Being homosexual is no longer a disease. Hooray!) and figured out what I have. The fun part about being a psych student that I miss is assigning your friends, family, pets, pokemon and self mental disorders to help yourself remember them. In this example, that was not the case. In this example, I figured out what was wrong with me, went through it statistically, emotionally, reviewed my history and compared notes. I've got cyclothymic disorder, which is an Axis II disorder. Axis III is like schizophrenia and being a psychopath and everyone who's got a personality has Axis I something or another probably. I haven't got full blown bipolar disorder, but its damn close.

I have also found out that one of my close female friends here has a blog, which has gotten me motivated to write more. ATM I lack -much- to talk about. I am doing well. I am going to tell the psyciatrist I am going to see on Tuesday I have this disorder. I'll unroll a big scroll and announce it to her. That or just have her watch the new Alice in Wonderland movie-for the March Hare. That twitchy awesome-ness. That's my mania.

Mwhahha. (Btw, there is nothign sexier than a boy who can do a good evil laugh. Just sayin.)

Boys, Boys, Boys (In the genre of Lady GaGa)

My hands are cut and bleeding from the night before. I can't open doors, carry food, or switch the light on. All necessary things to continue living. Metaphorically, of course.

Following a discourse with the Italian and Welsh components of the infantry, I equiped myself with the German resitance fighters trained in hand-to-hand combat. I even pulled out the womanly gusto, brand name "Bitch Slap" and shined up that beauty. It's on loan from the Italians, but I figure I can use it without fear of of infringing on its usage ability. Ireland had, as of this morning, yet to feel my rage. Insert "The Foggy Dew" here. Thus, with these armaments prepared, I went in for the kill and sent a message to the enemy, forcing it to make the next move. Response was quick, and soon I was marching forth to the banks of 59C, having dispatched my supporting flanks. Upon disembarking from our ships, the local inhabitants seemed calm, if quite tired. Following the amount of inebriated they left in last night, I was not surprised. Having seen all that I have, it becomes difficult to surprise me anymore. That happens to veterans. We, at first, were welcomed right into the natives camp, which was surprisingly tidy, considering scouting reports we usually received. They gave us reports of certain employed women sweeping through the simple abode of the natives and cleaning anythign they saw fit. This is not an uncommon practice for the area, but for this particular locale it seemed quite abnormal. The natives in this dwelling often repulse the so-called 'cleaning-ladies' as they are frightened by them. Continuing on our campaign, I pushed rapidly forward with a frontal assault which left the remaining troops mildly battered. Luckily, I was straightforward and began my attack by calming my troops and then dispatching them. I was told once that cold anger can be used, whereas hot anger just boils over and consumes you. This static worked remarkably well, and the enemy did not simply barricade themselves into their bunkers. I drew them out enough to have a good go at them. Following the first few minutes of pitched battle, staying calm, I dispatched another round of troops to attack the flanks of the enemy's army. This they rebuked with a sudden and surprising defense I had been expecting, but I employed the heavy artillery instead, in a methphorical rain of fire smashed his retreat. It ended up successful, though not without some severe trauma to my own troops concerning their psychological health. ( In layman's terms. I yelled at my boyfriend today. And I bit off all my nails whilst doing so. It wasn't a yell, actually. Because I knew he wouldn't respond well to me getting loudly angry at him. Although I was screaming, nearly, at the Italians earlier.)

So really today: my heart hurts, mt head aches, my hands are scratched and filled with prickles, my legs are also scratched up and bleeding, and my back hurts tremendously. I wish for a backrub. I wish for a cuddle. I wish for the sun to come out again.