Wednesday
January 14, 2004
Winter · 3 entries
Chapter Heading
by Hemingway
For we have thought the longer thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devil's tunes
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.
Amazing, it still fits...
Before, it was about the pressing feelings one conjurs when they are embarking on a decision. Intellectual intercourse and the idea of entertaining a new voice; Was I to accept the request for rekindling of relationship fires, fires I never extinguised internally, from the only boy I, at the time, had ever loved with all my heart? The one that I had loved infinitly, but also the one that had done a complete emotional whitewalling and had repeated a vicious cycle of leaving and regretting? I had trusted this boy on countless occasions with my trust, and this new voice was whispering "drive to him." Something inside me knew that "him" wasn't the boy who wanted to rekindle.
The poem, for me, had a lot to do with correct decisions and the fear associated with the haze of indecision. It was a battle of inner bravery yet exterior cowardice....Which voice do I obey? The idea of even going to see this new boy was a betrayl... but it was also *right*, and you cannot betray those who let it happen to themselves.
Drive, Drive, Drive Away.
this boy who was my best friend... I wanted to go listen to him talk for hours. I had cell phone bills that clearly showed I was practicing. I wanted to drive the hours it took to visit him, just so I could lay next to him, knowing that at some point in the night he would scoop me up and twist me into a pretzel, hugging me as tightly as he could. I wanted to feel it in every chakra of my body that I was wanted and loved.
I've never known more than when I was seventeen, and there I was eighteen. I could have made the decision so much more properly had I been forced to six months sooner.
I heard this poem in my head the first time I made the drive home.
I felt like I was doing such wrong. I couldn't help but drive to see him every second I got. To stay for as many weekends as possible. To envelope him the way he enveloped me. I can still smell his presence when I close my eyes, a phantom of pheremones that I wish more often than not to forget. But the voice was right. I needed to make that drive.
That poem is so different now. Its bigger, meaner. It's begun to embody a gorgeous, worldly woman with all natural hair-care products and a biodegratable poly-cotton blend power suit. She is the the corporate gaia, red tape incarnate. And, this poem comes to mind every time I'm forced to reflect on one of her assaults.
I was so much stronger and smarter. I wanted to be so much "more." But, now that more seems like so much less.
Frankly, things felt different the first time I thought about this poem. One emotion and one person had the potential to fill the world so much darkness... this vast, loud darkness-- and I thought I had somehow bested it.
Its different now, I said, some how flipped inside-out. The logo seems to be on the inside.
Before, it was one emotion affecting the world, now its the world affecting one person.
I wonder I'll ever flip it right-side-out? I think my eyes have readjusted to the very loud dark. I know that black bleeds with just a little water and I realize now that that's the only color corporate gaia paints in.
I don't get a sense of accomplishment from helping very rich people get very richer anymore. I can strike out on my own right now and start at some shmuck corporation... I know I can. But muthafucker, I know I won't be happy being a corporate tool, and I don't mean to be a sqwaking cliche.
I think that my ambition has changed. I'm so much more driven to being happy, as opposed to my happiness driving me to my ambition. I think my goal sets are very different, and I kinda fear that. I wanna be happy with making 24,000 a year and doing really engaging things. I don't know right now whats going to fulfil me at 45 because I don't know whats fulfilling me right now.
I don't know if anything is.
God, to be 17. I've gained perspective in the past couple of years. Frankly, though, I think I liked it better from over there. I can still remember the smell created by lovers body against me, but I can't taste ambition. Yet I can feel my powers rageing beneath the surface, ready to be used for something... Not love, not work, but what?
"It must be stretched before it is to shrink" -- Lao Tsu.
by Hemingway
For we have thought the longer thoughts
And gone the shorter way.
And we have danced to devil's tunes
Shivering home to pray;
To serve one master in the night,
Another in the day.
Amazing, it still fits...
Before, it was about the pressing feelings one conjurs when they are embarking on a decision. Intellectual intercourse and the idea of entertaining a new voice; Was I to accept the request for rekindling of relationship fires, fires I never extinguised internally, from the only boy I, at the time, had ever loved with all my heart? The one that I had loved infinitly, but also the one that had done a complete emotional whitewalling and had repeated a vicious cycle of leaving and regretting? I had trusted this boy on countless occasions with my trust, and this new voice was whispering "drive to him." Something inside me knew that "him" wasn't the boy who wanted to rekindle.
The poem, for me, had a lot to do with correct decisions and the fear associated with the haze of indecision. It was a battle of inner bravery yet exterior cowardice....Which voice do I obey? The idea of even going to see this new boy was a betrayl... but it was also *right*, and you cannot betray those who let it happen to themselves.
Drive, Drive, Drive Away.
this boy who was my best friend... I wanted to go listen to him talk for hours. I had cell phone bills that clearly showed I was practicing. I wanted to drive the hours it took to visit him, just so I could lay next to him, knowing that at some point in the night he would scoop me up and twist me into a pretzel, hugging me as tightly as he could. I wanted to feel it in every chakra of my body that I was wanted and loved.
I've never known more than when I was seventeen, and there I was eighteen. I could have made the decision so much more properly had I been forced to six months sooner.
I heard this poem in my head the first time I made the drive home.
I felt like I was doing such wrong. I couldn't help but drive to see him every second I got. To stay for as many weekends as possible. To envelope him the way he enveloped me. I can still smell his presence when I close my eyes, a phantom of pheremones that I wish more often than not to forget. But the voice was right. I needed to make that drive.
That poem is so different now. Its bigger, meaner. It's begun to embody a gorgeous, worldly woman with all natural hair-care products and a biodegratable poly-cotton blend power suit. She is the the corporate gaia, red tape incarnate. And, this poem comes to mind every time I'm forced to reflect on one of her assaults.
I was so much stronger and smarter. I wanted to be so much "more." But, now that more seems like so much less.
Frankly, things felt different the first time I thought about this poem. One emotion and one person had the potential to fill the world so much darkness... this vast, loud darkness-- and I thought I had somehow bested it.
Its different now, I said, some how flipped inside-out. The logo seems to be on the inside.
Before, it was one emotion affecting the world, now its the world affecting one person.
I wonder I'll ever flip it right-side-out? I think my eyes have readjusted to the very loud dark. I know that black bleeds with just a little water and I realize now that that's the only color corporate gaia paints in.
I don't get a sense of accomplishment from helping very rich people get very richer anymore. I can strike out on my own right now and start at some shmuck corporation... I know I can. But muthafucker, I know I won't be happy being a corporate tool, and I don't mean to be a sqwaking cliche.
I think that my ambition has changed. I'm so much more driven to being happy, as opposed to my happiness driving me to my ambition. I think my goal sets are very different, and I kinda fear that. I wanna be happy with making 24,000 a year and doing really engaging things. I don't know right now whats going to fulfil me at 45 because I don't know whats fulfilling me right now.
I don't know if anything is.
God, to be 17. I've gained perspective in the past couple of years. Frankly, though, I think I liked it better from over there. I can still remember the smell created by lovers body against me, but I can't taste ambition. Yet I can feel my powers rageing beneath the surface, ready to be used for something... Not love, not work, but what?
"It must be stretched before it is to shrink" -- Lao Tsu.
Lil, the original of Coyote Ugly, sent this my way (okay, blatently ripped from her blog):
TARA'S QUESTIONS TO ASK TO AVOID DATING A DOUCHBAG
1. Do you still live with mother?
Having to wipe my ass everyday is a part of life. Having to wipe his ass too is only doubling your chances of getting your hands in SHITT!!
2. What kind of car do you drive?
He must drive a nicer car than yours or one equal to it. If not that just means his piece of crap car will always be broken down and guess who becomes the taxi
3. Do you have a checkbook and at least one credit card?
If he doesn't that just means he has no credit and eventually he will want you to cosign in order to replace his PIECE OF SHIT CAR!
4. Do you do drugs, or have the need for drugs?
Yes antidepressants fall under this category. Loser
5. What type of drunk are you?
A grown man taking a piss on the floor of the living room is not exactly material you want to bring home to mom and dad.
6. How long does it take you to get ready?
Taking longer than you to get ready means he is one of those pompous asses that will take the rear view mirror from you while you are putting on your makeup to check his hair
7. Have you ever been in jail and for every 10 people in your family is there more than one of them in jail?
If the answer is no, follow by asking if you were dating him and he went to jail would he call you to bail him out?
8. At what temperture do you wash your underwear? You might find this question odd, but if he can't answer it you'll find yourself enjoying doing his laundry as well as yours.
9. What do you do for a living?
Although the initial thought is materialistic, this question is actually showing you if you will be filling out resumes for a second job because you got stuck paying his bills too.
10. And last but not least the ever so important sex question.
How often do you NEED sex?
Don't get me wrong sex is great..to want it everyday is onething.. to NEED it is a flashing red sign that says CHEATER!
TARA'S QUESTIONS TO ASK TO AVOID DATING A DOUCHBAG
1. Do you still live with mother?
Having to wipe my ass everyday is a part of life. Having to wipe his ass too is only doubling your chances of getting your hands in SHITT!!
2. What kind of car do you drive?
He must drive a nicer car than yours or one equal to it. If not that just means his piece of crap car will always be broken down and guess who becomes the taxi
3. Do you have a checkbook and at least one credit card?
If he doesn't that just means he has no credit and eventually he will want you to cosign in order to replace his PIECE OF SHIT CAR!
4. Do you do drugs, or have the need for drugs?
Yes antidepressants fall under this category. Loser
5. What type of drunk are you?
A grown man taking a piss on the floor of the living room is not exactly material you want to bring home to mom and dad.
6. How long does it take you to get ready?
Taking longer than you to get ready means he is one of those pompous asses that will take the rear view mirror from you while you are putting on your makeup to check his hair
7. Have you ever been in jail and for every 10 people in your family is there more than one of them in jail?
If the answer is no, follow by asking if you were dating him and he went to jail would he call you to bail him out?
8. At what temperture do you wash your underwear? You might find this question odd, but if he can't answer it you'll find yourself enjoying doing his laundry as well as yours.
9. What do you do for a living?
Although the initial thought is materialistic, this question is actually showing you if you will be filling out resumes for a second job because you got stuck paying his bills too.
10. And last but not least the ever so important sex question.
How often do you NEED sex?
Don't get me wrong sex is great..to want it everyday is onething.. to NEED it is a flashing red sign that says CHEATER!
My cousin Mara has this anteater, and its really very adorable. The anteater has some great story attached to it, and an equally great name. I don't really remember the story or the name, because it was probably a really cute boyfriend-y story, and judgeing from my last couple of entries, I have reason to block out cutesy boyfriendy stuff 😉
Nono, it's Mr. Something-er-other, but really, he's cute.
I, too, keep an anteater next to my computer at all times. He's a teenie-beanie baby from McDonald's.... it's the mini-me of hers. Who keeps an anteater at the computer? Honestly.
Well, in my car there is a purple otter named Pip that lives in the sunglass holder. He has a brother, Pop, who resides in sunny California with one of my dearest friends, Becky. He's a great otter, and very few people know he even exists, since he spends so much time in the shades holder.
Becky was my first roomie ever, and I love her dearly. One late, late night we watched simultaneously the sun come up and "The Bear in the Big Blue House."
So, anywho, I found out today my father has a road buddy. We were taking some cars up to the auto auction, and I happened to notice that he had some weird figurine wedged in between the windshield and the dash board. Otter!
They talk. Kinda crazy, both that they talk, and that he too has an otter... I talk less to my otter than my father prolly does to his seein' as how a friend had to reprimand me once for talking to Sketch while driving. I was chatting with him on the phone, and of course he had to hear my talking Sketch Doll (from the great movie Kilo and Sketch) start ta1lking in the background. Those things are so accurate (hahaha), and they respond to so many things you say (or what they think you said). I was busted, but thassokay (it prolly would have responded to that).
Oh! My cousins Krista and Aric had a conversation recently that seems fairly fitting, and fucking kills me:
Aric: What does my m2 get at a 1/4 mile?
*begins to flip through book*
Krista (from across the room, barely looking up): 15.6
Aric: Damn! 15.6! You're Right!
Krista: No way! I pulled that out of my ass!
One Last Sketch Tangent: My Sketch Doll wears a burgendy bandana now, to differentiate himself from Jeremy's. That was a neccesity once Kate started SketchSitting my Sketch and Jeremy's Sketch. Headwear makes it happen!
Nono, it's Mr. Something-er-other, but really, he's cute.
I, too, keep an anteater next to my computer at all times. He's a teenie-beanie baby from McDonald's.... it's the mini-me of hers. Who keeps an anteater at the computer? Honestly.
Well, in my car there is a purple otter named Pip that lives in the sunglass holder. He has a brother, Pop, who resides in sunny California with one of my dearest friends, Becky. He's a great otter, and very few people know he even exists, since he spends so much time in the shades holder.
Becky was my first roomie ever, and I love her dearly. One late, late night we watched simultaneously the sun come up and "The Bear in the Big Blue House."
So, anywho, I found out today my father has a road buddy. We were taking some cars up to the auto auction, and I happened to notice that he had some weird figurine wedged in between the windshield and the dash board. Otter!
They talk. Kinda crazy, both that they talk, and that he too has an otter... I talk less to my otter than my father prolly does to his seein' as how a friend had to reprimand me once for talking to Sketch while driving. I was chatting with him on the phone, and of course he had to hear my talking Sketch Doll (from the great movie Kilo and Sketch) start ta1lking in the background. Those things are so accurate (hahaha), and they respond to so many things you say (or what they think you said). I was busted, but thassokay (it prolly would have responded to that).
Oh! My cousins Krista and Aric had a conversation recently that seems fairly fitting, and fucking kills me:
Aric: What does my m2 get at a 1/4 mile?
*begins to flip through book*
Krista (from across the room, barely looking up): 15.6
Aric: Damn! 15.6! You're Right!
Krista: No way! I pulled that out of my ass!
One Last Sketch Tangent: My Sketch Doll wears a burgendy bandana now, to differentiate himself from Jeremy's. That was a neccesity once Kate started SketchSitting my Sketch and Jeremy's Sketch. Headwear makes it happen!