September tomorrow

I went for a walk with my headphones and found, wearing them, that I could stand my prole neighborhood.

TomTom

Wow. After I jumped
it occurred to me:
Life is perfect.
Life is the best.
It's full of magic
beauty
opportunity
and television
and surprises -
lots of surprises, yeah.

All my life, I worshipped her
Her golden voice, her beauty's beat
How she made us feel
How she made me real
And the ground beneath her feet

And now I can't be sure of anything
Black is white, and cold is heat
For what I worshipped stole my love away
It was the ground beneath her feet

Go lightly down your darkened way
Go lightly underground
I'll be down there in another day
I won't rest until you're found

Let me love you true, let me rescue you
Let me bring you where two roads meet
O come back above
Where there is only love

My oh my, My oh my

# 2

I start real school tomorrow, as I've mentioned. I am not terribly nervous. The sum total of my preparations has been:

-printing off a map and a bus schedule
-buying mechanical pencils
-doing a load of laundry
-showering

The last time I went to school I was five. But the things I could be worried about do not seem very important. Mostly I don't want to get lost, although I probably will, and I hope I am able to do the work easily.

#1

I'd like some nice clothes to wear. Lately I've gone into stores and tried on things and been surprised to look wonderful. I've stood in front of the changing room mirrors and acknowledged that the prettiness suits me. I can't afford it, but it suits me. I've put my utilitarian clothes back on and walked home.

A poem I like with no qualifications

The room was cheap and sordid,
hidden above the suspect taverna.
From the window you could see the alley,
dirty and narrow. From below
came the voices of workmen,
playing cards, enjoying themselves.

And there on that ordinary, plain bed
I had love's body, had those intoxicating lips,
red and sensual,
red lips so intoxicating
that now as I write, after so many years,
in my lonely house, I'm drunk with passion again.

-C. P. Cavafy

because I have more friends over the internet

I am happy. I start real school, for the first time in my life, next week. I'm probably going to get lost at NAIT. But I am taking physics.

Tonight, I am going to start sewing another secret-compartment pillow. I'd like to get better at sewing, since occasionally I have such excellent design ideas. Pillows are good practice.

I have an 80Gb ipod, and very nice headphones [Grados] to listen to it. Tim has the ipod until Sunday. He's putting a lot of music on it.

I bought purple ink for my fountain pen.

This is quite a lot like one of Glynis's new posts. I think I unconsciously imitated her.

I finally understand exactly why I felt so threatened by my parents' exclusive appreciation of classical and baroque music. I cannot say I honestly thought the brand-new emo/screamo/hardcore music I made a point of listening to was artistically superior. I was rebelling against the idea that the creation of everything beautiful and original was past. People are so sickly nostalgic; not only revering the past, but hating the future. I very much enjoy and have always enjoyed Bach and Beethoven and Mozart. However, I refuse to hold the opinion that greater music will never be written.

third

second

trust your eyes absolutely

Insomnia

Although my written posts can stand on their own, I think, there is nothing wrong with a photograph of my friend Eden once in a while. I have shot the promised new photos, but they are currently trapped in my camera because something is wrong with my parents' comp's USB ports.

.
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I wish I could post pictures of the secret-compartment pillow I designed. It's really neat. I think I'd like to start selling them. People would buy them and hide books in them.

The summer in review, with reference to the list I made a few months ago:

-I have read books, including Utopia by Thomas More, which was illogical and silly, and Way of All the Earth by Anna Akhmatova, which was badly translated, but included poems like The Guest, which is the most erotic poem I have ever encountered. I am in the middle of Six Not-So-Easy Pieces by Richard Feynman right now. It's a book on some basic but gorgeous physics [Relativity, Symmetry, Vectors, etc.].

-The frequency of hand-holding walks is up to a more acceptable level. We both enjoy them immensely and don't make excuses about it. I like this kind of physical contact with this person a lot, and he likes this kind of physical contact with me.

-I saw Richard III at an outdoor theater in July, and it was marvelous and funny.

-I haven't gotten a lot thinner, but I have gotten thinner. I feel more myself and less ugly.

-Money? I am rolling in it. I'll have enough for my first year of college by October, if I keep saving almost all I earn. I'm not saving every penny. It's lovely to have the freedom to buy project supplies and books [I bought The Fountainhead], and to be able to afford to pay for dates sometimes because I want to. I'm going to subscribe to Poetry Magazine - www.poetrymagazine.org - on Friday. People forget that the money they earn should be serving their own purposes, should be enabling them to do what they want to do and have the things they want to have.

-I don't need as much sleep as I thought I did. I sleep at odd hours.

I have interesting and exciting plans for the next few weeks. They include a Superstore shopping cart, vinyl, lumber, cloth, electricity, charcoal, paint, quinces, and other things. I'll update as the projects get started and finished.


I finished Tom - Tom #2. Email me soon if you'd like a copy. It's good, but not as good as I'd like. I'm extremely dissatisfied with my writing lately, which is a productive thing, because I'm working to make it better. But read the new zine.

The perseids peak tonight.

What about the ethics of claiming an abandoned shopping cart? I need one, a Superstore one, specifically.

The Guest

Nothing is different: thin snow beats
Against the dining-room window-pane.
I am totally unchanged,
But a man came to see me.

I asked: 'What do you want?'
He said: 'To be with you in hell.'
I laughed, 'Ah, there I can't
Oblige you, you'd wish us ill.'

His dry hand touched a petal
With a light caress.
'Tell me how they kiss you,
Tell me how you kiss.'

And his eyes, glinting dully,
Never slid from my ring;
Never a single muscle
Moved under his snakeskin.

O I know: his joy, his greed,
Is to know intensely, eye to eye,
There's nothing that he needs,
Nothing I can deny.

-Anna Akhmatova

let me take you down

cos I'm going to Strawberry Fields.

The batteries are purchased. They are charging as I type. I couldn't observe my three-week grounding this morning because I had to go buy them.

I have discovered The Beatles. Also late.