::
2006 17 October :: 12.26am
:: Mood: hurt
:: Music: the shape of things - bear mccreary
when the bad moon in your heart sings
i am losing a tooth, and the way it pushes through my gums, it mostly feels like life. it is a continuous ache, and the pain goes mostly unheeded, but i've discovered that blood is bitter on tongues.
this may or may not account for the preoccupation i've had with mouths as of late. how some of my questions are chased with a nervous laugh or two. how i can feel words kept hidden behind my teeth when i most want them heard. how i might have a fondness of lopsided smiles.
i often find myself feeling used or unoriginal.
i am convinced, however, that the way homemade apple cider warms your chest and tastes like autumn; it is the only way october should be spent.
hehehe
we are watching patrick's dog for a couple days while he and brienne help his dad move to chicago. the dog is a german shepherd/rottweiler mix named mackenzie. she is so cute! she's very lovey and demands attention, something i am not used to because comet was kind of a loner. she slept with me in my bed last night and right now she's taking a nap on it while i'm typing up a paper. her eyes are shut tight and she looks so cute! my camera isn't working so i couldn't take a picture, so i decided posting an entry about it was the next best thing to do.
per mccarthy's suggestion
tuesday night, i dreamt that i was on the freeway (looked like I-94 around Detroit) and suddenly i saw a downed airplane on the side of the road. people were being rescued from it. then i looked up and another plane in the sky was falling, as if the engines went out and it was free-falling. it crashed 10 feet in front of me. even though it looked normal sized in the sky, when i got close to it, was really small. the size of a car seat, maybe. on the outside were printed the words, "get pregnant." i ripped it open to see what was inside. there was a dog and he was okay, he just jumped up and ran away. there was also a cold styrofoam box. i opened it and there was some kind of human organ covered in bodily fluids - blood, mucus, etc. that was inside of a sealed plastic bag (not a ziplock bag, but industrial/medical type plastic). in the dream, i thought "this must have been a medical transportation plane that brings organs to hospitals for transplants and things. weird." that's all i can remember.
i tend to dream a lot about bodies of water, driving, freeways, and airplanes/aircraft stalling out and then falling to the ground. off the top of my head, i can think of at least 4 other times i've dreamt about planes crashing to the ground right in front of me. it's very strange.
::
2006 26 September :: 12.03am
:: Mood: loved
:: Music: the winner is - mychael danna/devotchka
listen to this.
feel better. live happier. love unashamedly.
tell me if it makes any difference for you. i cannot imagine how these waves might reverberate in another's ears because the beats are in accordance with my heart and each tone created i can feel to my toes.
"The truth will set you free. But first, it will piss you off." - Gloria Steinem
Fajer's last post, in response to my post, has prompted me to write this post. Comments just aren't enough, I'm afraid.
feminists critique religion
"it's an incredible con job when you think of it, to believe something now in exchange for life after death. even corporations with all their reward systems don't try to make it posthumous." - gloria steinem, 1980
"it's interesting to speculate how it developed that in two of the most anti-feminist institutions, the church and the law court, the men are wearing the dresses." - flo kennedy in color me flo, 1976.
"man enjoys the great advantage of having a god endorse the code he writes." - simone de beauvoir, from her existentialist book, the second sex.
"one of my favorite fantasies is that next sunday not one single woman, in any country of the world, will go to church. if women simply stop giving our time and energy to the institutions that oppress, they would cease to be." - sonia johnson, 1984
"patriarchy itself is the prevailing religion of the entire planet." - mary daly
::
2006 21 September :: 11.20pm
:: Mood: sick
:: Music: cue the pulse to begin - burnside project
i can hear all the whispers that have lived a thousand years
when you are sick, you are timeless, and it is both incredibly freeing and severely jarring. this past week has felt epic and miniscule, as if someone has been unweaving the threads of time and then stitching them back together out of sequence.
i am concerned with my lack of motivation towards anything having to do with academia and i keep insisting that its this illness still trapped within my body. and although aching ears and blocked nasal passages and rasping throats may cause sluggishness, i doubt i've been so extremely indifferent since sometime around april.
it is increasingly odd, too, since i finally have a clear idea of what i will be doing with my future and still i refuse to accomplish anything that will hasten me towards any goals.
words have also changed their shape, and sometimes my mouth feels uncomfortable straining over their strange angles as they leave me in a rush of breath.
quick freak-out session
if i have to hear that women are "naturally just more emotional" or "have more emotions" than men one more fucking time, i'm gonna beat you to death just like the rest of my non-emotional male mates might.
okay, well of course not. but PLEASE. let's look up the definition of emotion before we speak. allow me to shell out some interesting statistics about over-emotional women. er, excuse me, i meant OVER-EMOTIONAL MEN.
1) more than three women are murdered by their husbnads or boyfriends in the US every day. in the year 2000 alone, 1,247 women were killed by an intimate partner.
2) in 2000, intimate partner homicides accounted for 33.5% of the murders of women and less than 4% of the murders of men.
3) pregnant and recently pregnant women are more likely to be victims of homocide than to die of any other cause.
should i go into spousal abuse, child abuse, molestation, rape, and other irrational behaviors exhibited by men? or do they not count because crying isn't involved?
we have only ourselves to blame
for the past few days i have either been experiencing some powerful deja vu, or everyone has gotten incredibly predictable.
::
2006 13 September :: 6.40pm
:: Mood: busy
:: Music: wish you were here - rasputina
running over the same old ground
she called us historians once, and i could almost hear myself swelling in pride.
and yesterday while writing an in-class essay on macbeth, i thought the ending result would be terrible because although i love literature, analyzing shakespeare is a different experience all together.
i got an a, however, while the rest of my classmates got d's.
and then i felt selfish and disgusting thinking that i was any good at writing, because the amount of shit i got about it was unbelievable.
i've gained some of my confidence back, though, and i'm going to try and hold onto it the best i can. i have to finish reading the mayor of casterbridge in two days, so i'm going to sit and make myself get through a few chapters tonight.
not
i am not here, you think. this is not happening.
hospitals are a shitty way to die, you think, and now the smell of formaldehyde is soaking into your clothes so as not to let you forget, and when you look around everything is busy and everything is motionless.
the only thing you can even reason with at the moment is that the walls are too white, too clinical, and you think they should've added a window or wallpaper or something to just cover up the fucking bleak feeling that's seeping through. and that's when you remember that white means death in eastern cultures, and you wish the synapses in your head would stop popping and sparking, because you really think this is the wrong fucking time for trivia.
the chair you're sitting in is made out of the most uncomfortable carpet-like material you've never had the chance to experience and you think its just another way to be distracted from the real issue.
and the real issue is--
no, you think. i am not here, and this is not happening.
you think you remember a story you heard once when you were young, when your mother fed you tales about magic frogs and kisses of life and happy endings, and your fingers are itching to smash something. they all had morals, you think, and the thought causes your stomach to seize up with red-hot rage.
they were all fucking dreams and you feel like hitting the rewind on your life so you can tell your stupid, idealistic, five-year-old self that no, real life is not ponies and castles and cotton candy. real life is--
you still want to smash something.
there's a storm brewing on the edge of your consciousness now, and you're sure if you continue to reject the current reality of the situation --
i am not here. this is not happening. this is not not not not happening.
its a mantra and you've got it fucking down pat. this, you think, is not. happening.
the doctor slips through the door and then shuts it gently, his eyes are staring resolutely forward and you think you can see his chin lift as if he's about to do something he rather wouldn't do. he pseudo-skims a clipboard in his hands and you think he's trying to readjust the look on his face so it will instead become an impenetrable mask of medicine. this is not fucking happening.
his mouth opens and god god god not not not---
"they're going to make it," and oh.
it is.