Animal Stains

When I was younger, I did everything but punch.
It's happening again--I'm getting cuts on my hands and bruises on my knees. I was quite certain I'd left this behind. But then, I have a habit of living in circles--perhaps this was just one of the larger wheels, just now making it's second turn.
In this leg of the cycle, I am not a very good reader of books. It is this one that pushes out the next:
Wash. Rinse. Repeat.
But I can never get dry.

D:

Job hunting sucks.
That is all.




No, that's not all--if I can't even take job hunting, I don't know how I expect to have feet in the rejection flurry that is the writing biz. Fuck that. Fuck this. This sucks. :\

Mrarghadsk;lfa;;hdfsk.

Dreaming up Flavrs

"I'll be there/by your side" I have this snippet of lyric/tune stuck in my head, but I don't know what it's from. It is choral with orchestration; unfortunately, that's a fair sized chunk of what I've heard lately. The lines are nothing in themselves, but they are sung in such a y a w n i n g manner that I cannot seem to shake them from my head.

I write that because I do not know what else to write here; I am terrified of what I might write here. This place has become so strange. It has made me strange.

It takes me ten minutes, tops, usually, to fall asleep in my dorm on a regular school night. I'm there, I'm thinking about stuff, then I'm out. But here, the air is so cold--it keeps me awake. The silence, somehow, keeps me awake. It's too dark--the sun rises but the curtains don't know. I stay awake hours extra because I have to be drop dead tired by the time I roll into bed or the places my thoughts will wander to in the meantime will scare me awake.

The dreams I have been dreaming alone in my dorm room--I'll get a house, I'll get a cat, I'll get a job, I'll travel--have existed in a vacuum. My whole thought process up there exists in a very selfish vacuum. And I am doubly embarrassed--first for these dreams, and again when, even after they've been put in context, I still find myself pining for them.

I don't know what to do; to confront is to admit and (to a degree) to settle--to be productive. But to ignore is selfish and cruel. Unforgivably so.
And this is all sounding very much like games, but I do not at all mean it to. There are some places I do not want games to go. This is one of them.
So let me give them another place to play:

I hate that you are different every time I close my eyes--not because I do not like the change, but because it is such a cruel thing to do when you know I must wake up to something quite fearfully static.

Returns

I feel terribly contrived sometimes, and I wonder if it is because I cannot be bothered with thinking more on certain things--I am too tired, too pleased, or else too displeased; either way, I am too much of something, and to try earnestly to write that away seems so silly. So the most I can do is offer up a bit of contrivance, an over used (and perhaps a bit roughed up for it) symbol; this is somehow, sometimes better than trying give a tired thing a paper ceremony, for it needs none--the ache, that fine pulled pleasure, is itself the ceremony to the pleasure or displeasure that preceded it, that caused it.

There is a distinct line between being tired and being jaded, and the former always pleases me on some level.

I have been thinking a lot about the idea of waking up, and I am still not sure if this is something the parasite has to (or wants to) do. Or must do, rather.


It is not Isaac's intention to lie--it is not explicitly part of the rules of his game. But that is what the parasite must do when annexed, pushed out into the open, into a spot of discomfort. Lie. Make a sound to cover, to excuse away your presence. It does not mean to lie; it means only to make enough noise to allow it to creep back into the woodwork. It is not saying "go away," only "turn the lamp off, I can't see so good with all that musty light."

I am the English major of my family, and in my family, that reads deviant. Which I suspect is not so far from the truth, but it is that they make the truth seem so far (miles away, really), so Other, that miffs me a bit. My sister took one look at the book I was reading when she came home and pshaw'd--"that's such an English-y title," she said. And it was kinda true, akshully.
The first ten minutes of the drive home were spent arguing (and by arguing, I mean in the dissolving-into-lols-but-still-trying-to-be-12%-serious sort of way) over the definition of philosophy with my mum. I'd like her to know that not all philosophers are arrogant dick heads; I'd like her to know that not all college kids are shit faced crazy; I'd like it to be known that I am a bit arrogant, and a bit crazy. But more than this, I want her to be happy, and grow pretty plants, because she deserves this more than anything.
I have been all three (two?) of the cards I made for my TE at some point; but I have been known to linger in that first position.
So when I come home, I become my own secret; I slip into the screenname, the karma I've saved here.

I just saw a movie with my sister; afterwards, we talked about what we liked and what we didn't. Her overall opinion was positive; thumbs up, if she were Ebert. I did enjoy it, but there were several things that made me very...uncomfortable?
Namely the main dichotomy, and how it ceased to exist by the end. Well, I suppose it did still exist--but nullified. Neutralized. Dracula's teeth filed down to little nubs; Spartans with cake swords.
Also, it made entirely too much sense. And that was startling. And nude. And therefore, uninteresting.

Fiction, though sometimes nonsensical, does not erase what existed before it, in the same way that clothes do not erase the body below them. To leave a story so scantly clothed is to say, "I do not trust you to know where the shoulders, hips and bum are, so I will show them to you plainly now."
And the same with lies; that is, if you wear a barrel, it may hide the fact that you are wearing nothing underneath, or that you are wearing a nice pair of jeans. But it does not keep what is already there, skin or skin and jeans, from existing. It does not denature; it cannot denature, not at that level, but it can at the point of my tongue, and that is why that movie made me uncomfortable.
Movies have become very strange for me recently; I feel as if I am intentionally pulling myself out of the experience sometimes, which is not at all what I go there for.

~

I don't like the dreams I dream here. And I am aware that I'm dreaming different dreams. Stale dreams--more difficult to remember than the ones I've had squeezed in my little dorm room. I am aware of those ones being shorter, brighter...warmer? Can I say that? Does that make sense? The difference is one of room temperature, but it gets into the dream itself, too. There, I will call them dreams; here, I have...thoughts-while-I-sleep. I suspect they are more difficult to remember because I am not interested in remembering them.

I miss missing sleep.
Two days into my break, and yes--I miss town. I miss people.
I miss drawing--I've become artistically lazy to the max since I got here. I still owe Thunderwood a picture. I still owe several characters forms. I want to draw Unlikely Shapes. I--I think I'm gonna go to bed. Like Birdie. So much mud before the dawn--but that does not keep it from coming.

Saturday Night sketch spam

Much love to Sarah for letting me scan stuff for like, an hour. >_> I cleaned up the lines of some of the ones that got all sooted up, but that's mostly it. I draw faster when I'm...not all there. They're in chronological order, and you can kinda tell. Well, I can kinda tell, at least. Click on the picture for a less crap-sized version.

Rabbits and Jaw Bones

Beginning of the night, but after a few drinks or I wouldn'tve been drawing, I think.

Octoman

I think someone brought up octopuses. That, or you were all talking about sexy-type things. Sex and octopuses are pretty close in my head.

Frogs and Trees

I've been drawing mohawks lately; they please me. The thing on the right is pretty close to one third of what I drew for my Thought Experiment. The mysterious blank spots are where the Nothing ate away at that world.

Miggity Diggity Monster

The first of several things to not get real hands this night. I enjoy drawing thighs. I have no idea why I wrote "miggity diggity doo" in the upper left hand corner. But at least I remember doing it.

Muthafuckin playlist

The playlist was being changed on the laptop, I think. I like drawing the declivity between shoulder blades. Yes, the words "crawl" and "muthafuckin playlist"are there, and again, I'm not all that sure why. But still, I remembered writing these and going "wow--my handwriting's crap."

No Collar Bones

This was about when the movie turned on. She got bug arms 'cuz I said so. At the time, I was thinking of the ridiculous outfits they were wearing and the fact that cats don't have collar bones. Also David Bowie, I think. David Bowie and cats are pretty close in my head, too.

The Gut Returns

This is when the movie started to bother me and I started feeling nauseous. Not a good combination.

Djinn

Movie was still on. I think I was feeling less nauseous, but I was still rather displeased with what was happening on the telly. My way of getting back at things that displease me is drawing them. If parts of this picture seems familiar, yes, it is that character.

Up?

Oh, chatroulette adventures. :) This made me so happy I had to draw it. Also, as I was cropping this, I realized the word "up" is written upside down on the arm. This is very distantly familiar, but I cannot for the life of me actually remember doing this. It weirds me out.


All in all, that was some fun stuff, and I look forward to doing it (and drawing it) again sometime. You all are quite rad.

Furthermore,
Fuck yeeeeeaaaah.

203 sketch spam

OHEI.
I told myself I'd post all (or some, at least) of the stuff I drew during class (before I started bringing my larptap) at the end of the quarter--even if the lighting was bad, even if my webcam was crappy, which are both the case. I drew nice things in my other classes, but..not so much in 203. So sit back and enjoy the short spam.

Books and Still-to-do's

There is a book I want for my library that I am tentative to put in my library because I know it is in yours.
And for some reason, this duplication bothers me. I want to read this book again--all of it, this time, instead of all-of-two-chapters. But I cannot quite bring myself to buy it.

There is a picture (theme?) I draw over and over again--not every page in my sketchbook, not even every other other page. I have drawn things repeatedly before, but usually this stops when I have drawn it's best form (champion form--like it's a digimon or something), or when I'm pulled into another style or idea. But this thing...I must keep drawing. Even when the picture is a good one, passable, acceptable, it is never what it should be--it is good enough in some other category. I is a bird or a robot or a hound or a horse, but never what it should be. It is so far what it should have been now that I don't know that I will ever draw what I initially intended; those first sketches on lined paper, in older notebooks (I've saved them)--they are not the best looking, but they are closer to what I was looking for. Or at.


~

Now, what to do?
Beastly-huge portfolio has to be done for tomorrow; 5-page introduction, 10 more glossary entries, table of contents. And I have to track and return those poems for punk-ass-kid-who-will-not-be-named. Also need two more lines of iambic pentameter by conference time. Also need to contact my Logic prof. and get help before the final murders me next week.

For Friday, just the 2-page preface for the other portfolio. A nap would be nice, too. Finishing the first third or two thirds of my thought experiment would also be great; I would love to just have the marrow alone to work on over the weekend.

Then, finals time. And there isn't really much I can do then. Look at some apartments, maybe, if I have time. Take out the staggering amount of recycling/trash that's piled up over the last week. Get out of my regimen of Monsters (I'm working up a colorful little collection of their tabs). Walk. Nap. Pack. Go.