| THIS IS A READ-ONLY ARCHIVE FROM THE SORABJI.COM MESSAGE BOARDS (1995-2016). |
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Is a cherry a berry? Because I really feel that if it isn't, it should be. What's a really scarey movie? Not campy scarey, but really actually scarey. Is a slut someone who's had a lot of partners, or someone who likes to try really kinky things (maybe something involving cats and dogs)? can someone suggest some online places I might order a really hard to find CD? I tried to think of some, but the only one I could think of was amazon. and mediaplay is in the states. I don't mind if it's in the states. I could use many suggestions here. |
movies never scare me. "eraserhead" disturbed me. if it is your choice to do the kinky stuff and you maintain your self-respect, then put on that teddy, grab a couple of household pets, and have at. one place to look for cd's |
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i don't identify with the word slut. i don't eat cherries wow, sorry i couldn't be of more help |
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a slut is someone that lacks respect for themselves regardless of what they do. |
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i mean what can ya say when you're a whore?" -perry farrell |
*I think the whole "Twin Peaks" series is the scariest thing I've ever seen. Episode 14 scares the pants off me. I still can't believe they showed it on network TV. It wasn't that gory, but it was extremely disturbing. *You still hung up on the kinky thing, Gee? *http://www.soundcity2000.com |
Movies in general dont scare me, startle maybe, but no genuine fear. Books scare me more because what my imagination can come up with is alot worse that what hollywood can. |
hey spider does kink have a palce in your life? |
What do you mean by kink, and what do you mean by a place in my life? |
i have found everything i have ever needed to find musically on either ebay, cdnow, or amazon. there are also two great record stores here in olympia, so between the five i have been pretty well set. "gothic" was pretty frightening, so was "the hunger." i rarely if ever use the word slut. if i did, it would probably be for a woman who used sex maliciously, for example a woman who habitually likes to break up relationships just to have that drama in her life. i rarely come into contact with very many sluts. actually, i tend to refer to men as sluts much more frequently than women. |
Pronunciation: 'cher-E Function: noun Inflected Form(s): plural cherries Etymology: Middle English chery, from Old North French cherise (taken as a plural), from Late Latin ceresia, from Latin cerasus cherry tree, from Greek kerasos Date: 14th century 1 a : any of numerous trees and shrubs (genus Prunus) of the rose family that bear pale yellow to deep red or blackish smooth-skinned drupes enclosing a smooth seed and that include some cultivated for their fruits or ornamental flowers -- compare SWEET CHERRY b : the fruit of a cherry c : the wood of a cherry 2 : a variable color averaging a moderate red 3 a : HYMEN b : VIRGINITY - cher·ry·like /-"lIk/ adjective Main Entry: 1ber·ry Pronunciation: 'ber-E Function: noun Inflected Form(s): plural berries Etymology: Middle English berye, from Old English berie; akin to Old High German beri berry Date: before 12th century 1 a : a pulpy and usually edible fruit (as a strawberry, raspberry, or checkerberry) of small size irrespective of its structure b : a simple fruit (as a currant, grape, tomato, or banana) with a pulpy or fleshy pericarp c : the dry seed of some plants (as wheat) 2 : an egg of a fish or lobster so there you have it. a cherry can be a berry, too. |
what is kink to you? is there a place (for your definition of kink) in your life, as a catholic? i would not be a good catholic. |
Oh, man, you don't know what you're asking. I have to go have dinner now, but I'll answer you when I come back. |
it has a pit (and a lot of complicated psychological problems stemming from being in the rose family) stemming was not meant to be a pun. |
Now I've swung in the opposite direction (and, sadly, it has nothing to do with any of you). I think now I'm pretty much like any non-Catholic in terms of what's considered healthy and normal and appropriate. But, in terms of what the Catholic church approves of, I'm too liberal. Hence my "not a good Catholic" statement. Plus, I haven't been to church since Jan. 16. I feel sorry for my confessors, who are no doubt bored by the fact that I confess the same things every time. But we can't all be exciting murderers. What is kink to a devout Catholic? I would say everything other than missionary-style sexual intercourse. What is kink to me? Things involving pain and animals and excreted bodily fluids and things of that nature. The Church's official position is that sex is intended to unite people together (which is why it's sinful to have casual sexual encounters) and to procreate children (which is why birth control and oral sex and things like that are forbidden). But, the Church also says we are to listen to and obey our own consciences. And I figure that God isn't quite as uptight as a lot of people make Him/Her/It out to be, and if I have impure thoughts he's not going to smite me. Does that answer your question? Anything else you'd like to know? |
oh yeah.....one more thing why don't you ditch the church and head out west sister......let nate show you a few things, then come down to LA, and we'll revel in your new found freedom as a full fledged hell-bound, guilt-free sinner? eh? Angry Sam is a PA native, you can call on him when you miss home....... |
I like them a lot. And this kid wants to buy both of them. They don't even have anything in common. But they're both monoprints. The only two I've done this quarter. I love doing them. He liked the style. One entitled Apathy and other Gunman #1. (I was thinking of maybe doing more gunmen later. I like counter-culture as a subject.) He asked me what I had going on behind the one titled Apathy.Geez, what to say. I had something, but it wasn't easy to express in words. It didn't even sound great in words. I like art more than writing. "Uhm, it's the stereotypical slacker I spose and I used that to represent the emotion. You know? But wait, what do you like about it?" He almost looks like the face that I did for it. And it's just a face with a dark background, slightly Picasso-ish, with a frayed cigarette hanging out his mouth. It's very cool. He wants to put both together on his wall. I hope he frames them, or something. To put them up like posters would kill me, they're my most powerful ones. The Gunman #1 is of a British guy in a suit holding a machine gun, like the gangsters back in the 60's, with the background streaked quite nicely. You gotta keep in mind that this is just ink smeared around, on a thick sheat of plastic. So I wouldn't be able to duplicate these. I might take them to Kinky's and get them color-copied before I handed them over. I'll scan them and show you. I was thinking maybe $30 a piece. |
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like "when I was one and twenty, I gave my heart away" or however that goes. |
A really wird hungarian movie I saw once. Forget the name. Someone who has no self-respect and cheats. Local record store. |
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and they're good jews, too. |
what kind of scarey movies are these? I want to be scared! I want to look away! I want to squirm and have nightmares! People! Thanks for the links, but none of those websites helped me find what I'm looking for. Does anyone have any others? My local record stores (which were my first stop) haven't given me squat. I'll tell you what I'm looking for. It's a tribute album to Joni Mitchell. It's called "Back to the Garden". I did see it on eBay, but I was outbid and I'm not willing to pay over fifty bucks US (aprox. 85-100 cdn) for one little CD. I also have another two questions: Aside from potatos and mayo, what's the best thing to put in potato salad? Do you think there's such a thing as love at first sight? Not the kind where someone deludes themselves into thinking they're in love, but the kind where they're Actually In Love. |
no. |
yes. |
Total absolute nonsense. And my two scariest movies are: An American Werewolf in London and Nightmare on Elmstreet (the original). |
I would put onion, egg, celery, potatoes, mayo, salt, pepper, and mustard in potato salad. There is no such thing as love at first sight - only lust. But that can get you a long way. Since I figure you need to know someone very well to deeply love them warts and all it seems improbable you could know enough about them off the bat. |
Hell no. |
i totally believe in love at first site. i mean, damn. just look at this hottie. |
goddamnit. vinegar. bacon. onions. these go into potato salad. |
pickle relish? olives? what the fuck! thats potato abuse.....keep it simple....... try this for potato salad. red potatos, small amounts of mayo, plain yogurt, and DILL salt and pepper to taste.......the best fucking potato salad in the world...... Jina, pardon my ignorance, but what exactly is a monoprint? Computer aided b&w print? What is the medium? If you sell, you have to decide if you will make more, if you do, you should number it. If you plan to seek sales in the future, you price your prints accordingly. Print 1/20 being cheaper than 18/20. Honestly, i don't number my prints, in fact i "number" my prints 1 out of infinity, using the inifinity symbol found on a camera lense, a horizontal 8. As long as I am alive, i will custom make prints for just about whomever. Price can be tough. I have a hard time asking alot from my friends and models i shoot. Just last night i sold a model an 11x14 print, window matted 16x20, museum quality rag board and one extra 11x14 print for $20. Now the cheap price was mainly due to her exchange for modeling time. But it was enough t cover my bare costs, i sold my labor and craft for nothing. Is your print matted? mounted? I would say if this guy is a complete stranger, ask high. If it's a friend, think how much you could spare for a print at this point in your life and charge that. This policy seem sto work for me. |
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8 cups cooked diced potatoes 1 cup diced cucumber 1 tbsp minced onion 3/4 tsp celery seeds 1 tsp salt *(or use celery salt) 1/2 tsp white pepper 3 hard boiled eggs 1 1/2 cup sour cream 1 cup mayo 1/4 cup vinegar 1 tsp dry mustard garnish with chives or parsley or paprika or pimiento strips or any combination thereof. |
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Don't make me sic Beowulf on yer ass. |
Speaking of which, anybody read any of the new Seamus Heaney translation yet? |
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What's with the recent surge of ancient epics translations? Someone's always taking a whack at Homer, but Gilgamesh is suddenly hot as well. I predict Spenser and the Elder Edda in the upcoming year. |
i'm sure this is boring the pants off of all of you, except for maybe jina. |
Oh yes I like. |
CELERY IS STALKING ME CELERY IS STALKING ME CELERY IS STALKING ME CELERY IS STALKING ME CELERY IS STALKING ME |
all that i can tell you is that it had a more modern feel - downplaying the heroic declamations for something that sounded a little more human. a lot of it had to do with seamus heaney's quiet, sad old irish voice - he sounded more like he was relating the story than just reciting it. this is all is all just my impression - but i give him credit for wringing as much of a sense of the characters as he could out of the text. you know, on cursory friggin' examination. |
6 medium red skinned potatoes, cut into 2cm cubes 30g lean bacon 2 sticks celery, diced 250g Weight Watchers Cottage Cheese cup light sour cream 2 tbsp skim milk 2 tsp wholegrain mustard 2 tsp fresh chives, chopped Boil or microwave potatoes until just tender and allow to cool. Grill bacon, cool and slice into thin strips. Combine with potatoes and celery. To make dressing, process cottage cheese, light sour cream and skim milk in a blender until smooth. Stir in mustard and chives. Fold dressing through potato mixture and chill until required. Serves 4: 3 * POINTS Yum. And yes to love at first sight. I mean you can really dislike someone at first sight too. People are mean and judgemental sometimes. |
I haven't killed "Bob" yet. I've only got about 20 "bobbie" souls stashed under my bed. I've only performed two short duration marriages, and I've tithed less than$200 to the Church. I've never made it to a Devival either. It's been a while since I spoke in tongues or performed a Smiting as well. |
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I can see my work is cut out for me. Why must you people mock the truth so? |
I'm going to sell the Apathy one. I basically have a backup blueprint of both if I want to do them again. He wants to know if there'll be a Gunman #2, and I want create one, but my motivation's been shot lately. So blah dee blah. |
Real potato salad is russets boiled al dente and cooled, lots of Hellman's, lots of red onions, a couple of hard boiled eggs, lots of salt, and lots of cracked pepper and tobasco, served very cold. End of story. No bacon, no olives, pimentos, pickles, relish. Leave those on the side for the those who want to ruin I mean mix them into their own potato salad. |
doesn't mattter whose recipe is used, the shit's toxic. friends don't let friends eat potato salad. |
Following recipes exactly is just plain wrong. |
If I have too, I'll shove celery down your throats until you love it too. I would like to hear more on the "love at first sight" thing. Youse guys have a way of answering the deeper questions with yes/no, as if it's really that simple. It's not that simple to me. I tend not to believe in it, but I'm pretty sure it happened to me once. |
Love involves a deep bond between people, a willingness to put them before yourself, knowing them really well and caring for them despite the things you don't like about them. You can't get that at first sight. In my opinion. |
("When i say i'm in love, you bess beleive i mean love L.U.V.-Ian Z.) AFter being with my wife for going on 7 years, after many bumpy roads, all of our experiences and trials and errors....we are just now truly truly experiencing love.... a psych teach once lectured us about this....in high school...he said...."you think you guys know love?!?!?!?! You don't know shit.....you go on afew dates, feel each other up, who knows, maybe you get her knocked up, she screws you under the bleachers, whatever the hell it is you kids do on your free time, you think thats love? You don't know anything, try being with someone for 10 years, THEN and only THEN do you realize LOVE!!!!!!" this statement and lecture staid with me for this long, and it's true. lust, at first sight....you bet! crimson, you commie, how can you not like potato salad. You reject thy spuds?????? |
& there's no love at first sight. brain-crushing, groin-melting lust, definitely. but not true love. |
need i say more? |
Patrick: How can I NOT go along with that stuff? It's perfectly suited to my sense of humor/worldview. |
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the thing about love is that you can't tell someone that they don't know about love. it's different for everyone. if they haven't been there they don't know. and it seems like a lot of people just don't get it. as far as love at first sight- i've had incredible connections at first sight, but patrick's right in that it takes years (and, i would argue, pain) to really see and feel it. |
Though I'm starting to know how Margret feels about spelling. |
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My humble apologies Markus I cant spell for shit anyway |
the thing about potato salad is it has to be fresh, and there has to be enough onion, and enough salt. One night in the refrigerator is perfect for melding the flavors, although I like it just a couple hours after putting it in there - just chilled. After the second night it's still palatable. After that it gets watery, toss it. the Mrs. Kinser stuff from the supermarket is an abomination because no one can make decent potato salad that lasts longer than two days. potato salad is probably not on the high protein diet, but it is an excellent thing for older people who have lost their real teeth. |
Celery rocks. |
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"Celery, Celery! have you seen my wisk, the big one???" I agree it takes years to perfect the recipe, but a little extemporaneous cooking never hurt. Remember: too many cooks make a messy kitchen. |
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"and it seems like a lot of people ... who have lost their real teeth ... just don't get it". Or something to that effect. Love at first bite, salt optional. |
speaking of unattributed quotes, someone whose job it is to find these things out is looking for who wrote: "All order is local and temporary." it sounds like a real quote. but none of the usual search engines has ever heard of it. have you? |
a cherry isn't a berry, it's a fruit. i deem it so and it's true. when i was little, my stepmother used to cut up turnips in long thing squares and pass em off as "carrott hearts". if i ever have children, they're doomed. |
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i say this because it sounds like it's referring to entropy - a concept i'm a little vague on, but ah kin tell ya what i know: entropy is the tendency of matter towards randomness (or the measure thereof). it's based on the first two laws of thermodynamics - 1. energy can't be created or destroyed, and the amount of it in the universe remains constant. 2. energy spontaneously tends to flow from concentrated (organized) states to being diffused and spread out. so, the law of the universe is that all things are degrading. it's like this: you have a glass of water and an ice cube (or half-moon like my ice-maker makes or whatever the hell your freezer makes) - two forms of water in different states of entropy, ice low and liquid higher. you drop the ice cube into the water, making a glass of water with a local instance of high order or low entropy. the heat from the water moves into the ice and begins to break down its integrity by speeding up its molecules. after a while you go back and the cube is melted, but the water is cold. the order that was once local has now spread out into the entire system and lowered the entropy of all the water a little. but it doesn't end there. the heat from the room warms the water and it eventually becomes warm water. furthermore, it is also breaking down - evaporating - into the water vapor in the air. it's sort of like we're constantly being digested by the universe. |
I dunno. Still sounds like something Michel Foucault might say, maybe in his essay on Kant and the idiocy of universal values. |
We should be so lucky. |
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Lately I've been feeling pretty dull myself. It's so hard to be interesting when you're shy. |
TWO POTATOES THREE POTATOES MORE OI! |
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Candyman was a little scary, but not a lot. |
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almonds too |
More questions: The clock on my computer is slow. How can such a thing be? How can I fix it, aside from putting it ahead everytime I notice it. I want a permanent fix! How can you tell when a character in greek myth is a god or not? I wonder about Skylla and Charybdis in "The Odyssey". I asked my humanities professor this and he told me the question was too complex. I pressed him and eventually he settled on No. Markus, you're the one who really liked the odyssey, aren't you? Do you think that it took Odysseus so long to get home because of the gods, or because of his character? Elaborate (sp). |
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I watched the part where brian was being a jerk. I kept hoping they'd get to the part where they start recording "pet sounds" before I had to go home. I wanted to hear that song "god only knows" or whatever it's called because I am a sap. but my clothes got dry first and I left. |
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if you ever get a crush on someone, and you think they like you back, then you know they do, well, if they even quote "the sun also rises," then that's when you can know it's hopeless for sure. I read the last mcsweeney's. not the one with the separately bound essays, but the one before that. I guess I'm really not going to go because I am still here. today I pretty much finished lorrie moore's "birds of america," a collection of short stories about THE WAY THINGS REALLY ARE. I'd been meaning to pick it up for over a year now. because when I was in kiev someone gave me a new york review of books in which she was praised. I read that whole issue. it also contained reviews of an orwell biography and a book by one of fidel castro's illegitimate daughters. the orwell bio reviewer pointed out that orwell was only one of two 20th-century writers who got their own adjectives. orwellian. kafkaesque. so I was reading about dave eggers, and he mentioned lorrie moore. he reviewed "birds of america" for slate. I picked up mcsweeney's because the guy who quoted "the sun also rises" (actually, he didn't quote, he just referred to it. and after I made an urgent-sounding phone call to an unemployed friend ("do you have any hemingway in the house? I need to know what the last line of 'the sun also rises' is. really bad.") I walked to the nearest barnes and noble on my lunch hour that day.) had it on his coffee table when I saw him last. "have you read this?" he asked. "no," I told him. "do you read the baffler?" I once read an issue of the baffler over and over because my only other choice was joyce. I once made 12 copies of a really long and funny and horrible amway article from the baffler and sent it to friends. I'm sure I sent one to him. he would have been first. it starts in an hour. I bet if I went, I could meet all sorts of cute smart boys, the kind who think literary journals are still relevant. yes. isn't it pretty to think so? |
quoting from that book isn't impressive. read two articles on cuba (and therefore castro) this month: one in vanity fair and one in new yorker. it was kinda interesting. there's a book that tells you about THE WAY THINGS REALLY ARE? wow. my mother came to my apartment this evening. it was her birthday on sunday. i gave her a bottle of australian wine and a diana krall cd and fed her roast chicken, salad and french bread. my mother brought a bottle of wine, too, and we drank both bottles. amazing how much wine that little old woman can hold. she tells me that my uncle pete, who has a heart condition, has 2 months to live. and my sister and her fiance are buying a house. |
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but now I see all the authors are put into one-hour segments. they clearly won't be showing everything they taped tonight. oh well. march 1, 2000 I was tired but I went anyway. the dave eggers reading was scheduled to start at 7:30, and I got to powell's at 7:00. as I walked in, there was a loudspeaker announcement saying that the whole top floor was already filled to capacity and no one else would be allowed in. fire marshall's orders. me and everyone else on the first floor tried to go up there anyway. the stairs had been roped off, and there was an employee on guard. but he was letting some people in. "my friend is saving me a seat." "ok." "I'm doing the photography." "go ahead." but then he realized that he couldn't just let everyone in, so he stopped. and I couldn't think of a good story anyway. so I just sort of mumbled to myself about how much this sucked. I went back downstairs and called handjob guy, whom I hadn't spoken to in weeks. he lived nearby. but he was just leaving with another friend. so I went back inside and looked for books. a couple weeks ago I decided that it was ok to spend a bunch of money on books even though they only last me two days each. I'm hoping they'll make me smart. I chose two and headed for the registers. but then I sort of milled about in the main lobby area. I mean, I had put on my very tightest clothes and all. though I wasn't sure how they looked. I'd spent some time in front of the mirror, trying to figure out whether these jeans my friend gave me last weekend make me look fat. this could be the test run, I thought. would any guys come up and talk to me? some guy came up and talked to me. I recognized him. I'd met him before but I didn't really know him. he had also come to see dave eggers. "too bad. they're not letting anyone else in." "oh, my friend works here. he told me to show up at 7:30 and he'd get me in." "oh! cool. hey, what's your name again?" we went upstairs and he asked to see his friend. I pretended I was with him. he didn't seem to mind. we got in. goddamn. dave eggers was really attractive. way cuter than on the dust jacket of his book, which I guessed I would buy if I could get it signed. so much beautiful curly brown hair. what I really wanted was the new mcsweeney's but powell's was out. a cspan crew was filming the whole thing for a booktv weekend. I could see him again if I wanted to. he read from his book. he had a couple people read the dialogue with him. and -- I swear to god I am not making this up -- he kept looking at me. he was so fucking cute. then came q&a. everyone was asking dumb, boring questions. if the dog on the dust jacket wasn't his, whose was it? what's his brother up to? I have my own literary journal, isn't that nice? he was being sort of mean to the people in the audience. he'd tell them they were boring, they didn't read well, he wanted them to shut up. I think he was nervous and didn't like to speak in front of crowds. I bet he never wanted to go on tour. he doesn't even give newspaper interviews anymore -- he'll only respond to journalists' questions over e-mail. I wanted him to acknowledge me. I wanted to impress this guy who got me in. I wanted to have something to write about later. so I raised my hand. "have you ever eaten food out of a dumpster?" he laughed. for real, I think. "these are the WEIRDEST questions." that wasn't true. the other questions were predictable. in fact, he said the guy before me had used the exact same words as a guy in boston. they had asked if he was sure he was only a 3 on the sexual-orientation scale (1 being completely straight and 10 being completely gay), as he had written on the copyright page of the book. (what is that page called? I'm sure there's a special name for it.) "no. have you?" I knew he was going to ask me to come up to the podium. he had been looking at me. "yes." "well, come up here and tell us your story." "no." "come on." ok. there were so many fucking people. I thought of them all in line for autographs afterward. so up there I asked him if he would sign my book. he said, "no, not now." it turns out he draws pictures in the books. later on I got a tooth. I thought I had been getting good at pretending to be the person I want to be. you know. the kind of person who wears skin-tight clothes and picks up guys in bookstores and charms her way past blockades and then asks bold questions of minor celebrities in front of capacity crowds and then claims the stage to tell her own story for national tv cameras. I am so not that person. the lights were very bright and the room was quiet and I was scared. dave eggers was standing next to me and from the way his head was turned, I could tell he was trying to read what I had written on my hand. "it was during the gulf war and it was the middle of the night and I was at some people's house and I was really hungry and they had these donuts and I ate one and then they said they were out of a dumpster and I thought that was really gross." next time I guess I'll need to ask a different question -- one that I have an interesting answer for. because I know I'll never be able to make anything up. but everyone laughed. I think they may have even clapped. I'll never know because the q&a session probably won't make it onto cspan. which is too bad because I really want to know whether I look fat in these jeans. |
I don't have an eye for design as much as my wife does.....i know what i like and don't like, but fashion has never appealed to me so much , as it did when i opened this book...... something that i am reading as of late......H.Miller Stand Still Like The Hummingbird........ "it is only in periods of decadence that truth becomes complicated and conscience a heavy sack of guilt." essay Immorality vs Morality i wish i had more time for books. I am barely scratching the surface of dead authors, muchless ones living. between smoking, drinking, screwing, eating, schooling, photographing, developing, playing, driving, sleeping and the occassional tv, i have no time to read....... i like the guys at powell's they are always accommodating when i need to have an author come by for a signing....... |
One image that I'd want to create if I had the skill would be by puting a big bright red blossomed rose in a girl's snatch. Gently of course, no thorns, and just rested there. Enough to cover everything up. I'd do it on myself. I imagine it being pretty tasteful, but maybe in reality it'd be totally gross. I have a great manual camera, a telescope lense, and a regular lense, I just need the time, patience, lighting, etc. On another note I'm thinking about trimming my hedge into a heart shape, and dyeing it Fushia Shock. |
The shot you are talking about doing has been done. It's an age old metaphor. I am trying to recall by who.....not that that matters. Do as you wish.........have fun....with a rose in your twat, the fun could be endless. If you do it yourself i recommend a tripod too.....does you cam have a timer? If not, you will need a volunteer snatch. |
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lorrie moore. birds of america. : went home to chicago, rented a room by the week at the days inn, drank sherry, and grew a little plump. she let her life get dull -- dull, but with hostess cakes. there were moments bristling with deadness, when she looked out at her life and went "what?" or worse, feeling interrupted and tired, "wha--?" ... it was true. men could be with whomever they pleased. but women had to date better, kinder, richer, and bright, bright, bright, or else people got embarrassed. it suggested sexual things. ... that had been in agnes' mishmash decade, after college. she had lived improvisationally then, getting this job or that, in restaurants or offices, taking a class or two, not thinking too far ahead, negotiating the precariousness and subway flus and scrimping for an occasional manicure or a play. such a life required much exaggerated self-esteem. it engaged gross quantities of hope and despair and set them wildly side by side, like a third world country of the heart. ... now they struggled self-consciously for atmosphere, something they'd never needed before. she prepared the bedroom carefully. she played quiet music and concentrated. she lit candles -- as if she were in church, praying for the deceased. ... the functional disenchantment, the sweet habit of each other had begun to put lines around her mouth, lines that looked like quotation marks -- as if everything she said had already been said before. ... earlier this morning, ann told therese that she is going to take tad's name, as well. "you're going to call yourself tad?" therese asked, but ann was not amused. ann's sense of humor was never that flexible, though she used to like a good sight gag. ann officiously explained the name change: "because I believe a family is like a team, and everyone on the team should have the same name, like a color. I believe a spouse should be a team player." therese no longer has any idea who ann is. ... "it's a movie," says ray apologetically. "did I spell it wrong?" "I think you did, honey," says therese, leaning in to look at it. "you got some of the o's and a's mixed up." ray is dyslexic. ... ray misspells everything. is it input or imput? is it averse, adverse, or adversed? stock or stalk? carrot or karate? his roofing business has a reputation for being reasonable, but a bit slipshod and second-rate. nonetheless, therese thinks he is great. he is never condescending. he cooks infinite dishes with chicken. ... she is also having an affair with a young assistant DA in the prosecutor's office, but it is a limited thing -- like taking her gloves off, clapping her hands, and putting the gloves back on. it is quiet and undiscoverable. it is nothing, except that it is sex with a man who is not dyslexic, and once in a while, jesus christ, she needs that. ... oh, well, therese thinks. it is her new mantra. it usually calms her down better than ohm, which she also tries. ohm is where the heart is. ohm is not here, oh, well. oh, well. when she was first practicing law, to combat her courtroom stage fright, she would chant to herself, everybody loves me. everybody loves me, and when that didn't work, she'd switch to kill! kill! kill! ... but first ray must do his charade, which is confucius. "okay, I'm ready," he says, and begins to wander around the living room in a wild-eyed daze, looking as confused as possible, groping at the bookcases, placing his palm to his brow. and in that moment, therese thinks how good-looking he is and how kind and strong and how she loves nobody else in the world even half as much. ... "no more weddings," albert announces. "no more divorces. no more wasting time. from here on in, I'm just going to go out there, find a woman I really don't like very much, and give her a house." ... bill, divorced only once, is here tonight with debbie, a woman who is too young for him: at least that is what he knows is said, though the next time it is said to his face, bill will shout, "I beg your pardon!" maybe not shout. maybe squeak. squeak with a dash of begging. then he'll just hurl himself to the ground and plead for a quick stoning. ... debbie is no longer a student of his in any way, so at last their appearance together is only unattractive and self-conscious-making but not illegal. bill can show up with her for dinner. he can live in the present, his newly favorite tense. ... he prefers a deeper, cleverer, even tardy fate, like that of a girl he knew once in law school who, years before, had been raped, shot, and left for dead but then had crawled ten hours out of the woods to the highway with a .22 bullet in her head and flagged a car. that's when you knew life was making something up to you, that the narrative was apologizing. that's when you knew god had glanced up from his knitting, perhaps even risen from his freaking wicker rocker, and staggered at last to the window to look. ... how can he assess his life so harshly and ungratefully, when he is here with her, when she is so deeply kind, and a whole new year is upon them like a long, cheap buffet? how could he be so strict and mean? "I've changed my mind," he says. "I'm happy. I'm bursting." ... "if only," says mack. mack himself would be a genius now if only he had been born a completely different person. but what could you do? he'd read in a magazine once that geniuses were born only to women over thirty; his own mother had been twenty-nine. damn! so fucking close! |
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http://www.nytimes.com/books/first/m/moore-birds.html I'll stop. maybe I'll end my sleep-deprivation experiment now. |
i'm reading a little japanese book called "i am a cat III", written around the turn of the last century. i think parts of it aren't coming though in the translation, but it's still interesting. "there is nothing quite so terrifying as the results of education." |
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what a fuckin' trip. i just read birds of america three months ago. great stories. lent it to my friend paula when she was visiting end of january from san diego. |
1. you're afraid of me. you think I could devastate you. 2. I'm not hot enough (purposely leaving this one vague). 3. not smart enough. 4. circumstances. 5. you don't think I'm attracted to you. 6. you think you'll need me your whole life long and can't afford to have things end badly with me. 7. you're going to marry her. 8. you think I'm stronger than you and you don't like that. 9. you know I'm not really what you hope I am and you want to avoid that disappointment. 10. you think I'm too good for you. 11. you wouldn't be able to look your reflection in a big window without knowing I'd notice. 12. the thought of kissing me has never crossed your mind, not even academically. 13. you're afraid you'll disappoint. 14. you'd never know what I was thinking. 15. then we couldn't be confidants. 16. you're afraid of what I'd do if you dumped me. 17. you'd want to see the notes I'd be taking. 18. you're afraid that I'd take your discontent personally. 19. you're afraid that for the rest of your life you'd find all other women fundamentally lacking. |
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21. you don't dig me because i think self-criticism is the same as humility. "like all dreamers, i mistook disillusionment for truth." - sartre |
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bottom line: the answer to the question "why not?" is *always* fear. |
i need to go home and spend some time with myself why is this so hard sometimes (these sentences are not directly related) |
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give me an example, dave. |
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we all make choices. the ONLY thing that empowers me, Dave, is the fear of regrets and death. life is too fucking short. blip. that's all we get what a rip-off. you can't get rid of fear. you can only choose to let it stunt your growth or motivate you to be courageous. nobody and nothing forces you to do one or the other. feeling like you don't have a choice is a just spell cast by fear. i'll ask again. what are you willing to sacrifice? |
i'm not talking about me or you. ask droopy why he doesn't run in the next marathon. i don't think it's because he's afraid to. all i was saying was that statement was simplistic. sorry to use you as an example, droopy. |
i was about to get on my high horse, but nevermind |
i like what gee said. fear or lack of interest. i have a date tomorrow morning at 4:25 a.m. |
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I wasn't prepared. before I arrived, I had imagined how I would react in person to our new, um, openness. I would have fun. I would flirt with you to see if you really would evaporate. everything would be the same except I could be a little smug -- even he thinks I'm pretty too. I knew I liked you, I knew I was attracted to you, I knew I was going to be excited to see you. I knew every exchange would be weighted with extra meanings. I even had a couple clever lines prepared. all fine. but then I was dumbstruck. I felt so stupid riding around in the car with you. I felt like I could have been any vapid, pretty girl just sitting there listening to you talk. I wanted to try to match my spoken words to my thoughts -- I didn't just want to make conversation -- but almost every time I would try to say something, I would realize I wasn't able to. when we were trying to figure out where to go, I wanted to joke with you -- "why don't we just get a room?" -- except I wouldn't have thought it was very funny. this crush had been so abstract and lofty. I mean, I recognized there was an element of concupiscence, but I hadn't imagined how much it could affect our interaction. I thought the only way I could really talk to you is if we were sitting in the dark and could never look at each other. (but then we would fall asleep; I was really tired too.) ... being alone with you for seconds at a time in that little room in the dark was like what I imagine heroin must be like. I didn't really want to discuss anything. and that was before I started feeling guilty about not talking. I don't want to presume that you were feeling any of the same things I was. but today in the car I realized that there's a term people use for how I felt things were like last night. "sexual tension." I hate that -- it's so tv drama series. was it fun? I am really glad I'll know what to expect next time. I was caught off guard. it was very exciting but irritatingly unfulfilling. that's how I've been feeling about all the impossibilities -- maybe not so much sad as irritated. I think next time I see you I'll be ready, so I'll be much more functional. I'm glad you said you don't find the impossibility pleasant. I was afraid you were enjoying the lack of outlet. I was afraid that you thought that was the best thing about it, that it was futile. it's good to know it's not all fun for you either. ... I was almost pissy when I first left you last night. any "nice to see you, talk to you later" seemed so phony, I couldn't say it. better just to say "bye" without even looking. I mean, what's the point, anyway? you called me back. I don't know why, but I was way more reluctant than eager. my first thought -- this is so funny -- was, "is he talking to me?" then I had no idea what you were going to say. I'm sure I was afraid to hear it. after you said it, I still didn't really want to. or I didn't want to want to. or something. I was wary. but then my god. (if you felt nothing all night but a mild, friendly interest in me, then I am going to be a little embarrassed. but I know you mean well toward me, so that's ok.) your embracing me was so powerful. I had no idea that you were so strong or that such a display would thrill me. I felt frail and feminine, which was really shocking and weird, and I felt like you were the one in control and I was more than happy to let you be. I wished I didn't have on the crazy boots to see how well we really fit together. I couldn't raise my arms up around you because the turks cut the jacket so tight that whenever I try to reach for something, I feel like I'm having my blood pressure taken. so all I could do was let you hold me and try to ruin it after you had spoken by simperingly asking you to continue an inventory of my charms. I wanted to feel your skin against my apricot-walnut-shelled face, and you let me go. I guess you had to. wow, it really sounds like I'm romanticizing this absurdly. after all, it was just a hug. |