Everything about this video just turns me ON

That I'm a human being.

I'm listening to and reading it for the first time.
(This might be what you call stepping my game up, but I think it is just me trying to understand. And, I do. All too well.)




"The bourgeoisie cannot exist without constantly revolutionising the instruments of production, and thereby the relations of production, and with them the whole relations of society. Conservation of the old modes of production in unaltered form, was, on the contrary, the first condition of existence for all earlier industrial classes. Constant revolutionising of production, uninterrupted disturbance of all social conditions, everlasting uncertainty and agitation distinguish the bourgeois epoch from all earlier ones. All fixed, fast-frozen relations, with their train of ancient and venerable prejudices and opinions, are swept away, all new-formed ones become antiquated before they can ossify. All that is solid melts into air, all that is holy is profaned, and man is at last compelled to face with sober senses his real conditions of life, and his relations with his kind."

I don't usually openly set goals, publicly, or for the sake of some tradition.
However, as I argued earlier to the buddyguy, it is good to give oneself a time limit for these things so that I avoid just saying "eventually."

By the end of the year I am going to:
Graduate.
Run a 5k.
Run a 10k.
Work on an organic farm, preferably in Iowa, at least for around the summer.
Bike a lot more, and maybe to said organic farm everyday.
Take the GRE.
Possibly move to France.
Possibly steal someone's heart.

This is what I am going to do, and of course- keep being great.
I would also like to learn more songs on the piano so that I might sing at open mic nights.

Mister Loki,
Have you found this yet? I mean, as said before, it would appear to me that you would be most likely to have read this. Don't think I'm dumb.

Which you don't. And I think you're maaaaarvelous.
-Moi

I do not know how to ride the delicate balance between speaking annoyingly of my personal life and otherwise boring the world with my intricate and self-indulgent personal interests.

So much for eruditeness,
I give the finger to material richness;
I speak one of the most pretentious languages in the world
associated with finery,
I carry an intelligent demeanor,
I can hold my own, and yet-
oh stereotypes wither about me
for I am poor,
so poor
but my wealth lies in words.

Such is the life of the average motherfucker,
we, the college student,
the starving artist of our time,
I am your Kerouac.
Because perhaps I am not the poet, but the poet of them
the man who writes the words that they spoke
I am that which registers and records
with freezing fingers soaked in smoke and snipped
with knify nips
for I have working hands
like a man.

Perhaps I sip not the champagne
nor garnish myself with prancy shoes
or that delicate clipclop of a lady you hear
markedly boozed and a snap of makeup about her
I am the one in the corner
whose stare lingers like a cold curse
and hangs around you
inescapable
for days

et je lance mes
maledictions
mes louanges à toi
toi qui m'échappe et m'ensorcelle à la fois
jsuis à toi
la châtellaine
j'attends

[Nick]
Word.
I know. I can't even speak French.

[me]
bahhh ouais c'est difficile ça
mais c'est utile pour excluire tout le monde quand j'ai besoin de dire qqch de privée en public quoi hahah
le plus dur, c'est le taper et l'écrire que le parler tu sais
bah quand jsuis pompette comme ça c
c m'est égal
mais en français jsuis pas à la mode
tu sais que peut-être j'irai en France en septembre pour être assistant à un enseignant là-bas?
je peut participer dans des conversations mais en fait la vie quotidienne c'est dur, jsuis pas éloquente en français de tout
TRANSLATE


[Nick]
France, September, Tipsy, You don't care.

What I sing to him, and what someone else is probably singing to me.

Don't bother saying you're sorry / Why don't you come in
Smoke all my cigarettes again / Every time I get no further
How long has it been? / Come on in now, wipe your feet on my dreams
You take up my time / Like some cheap magazine
When I could have been learning something
Oh well, you know what I mean, oh / I've done this before
And I will do it again / Come on and kill me baby
While you smile like a friend / Oh and I'll come running
Just to do it again / You are the last drink I never should have drunk
You are the body hidden in the trunk / You are the habit I can't seem to kick
You are my secrets on the front page every week
You are the car I never should have bought
You are the dream I never should have caught
You are the cut that makes me hide my face
You are the party that makes me feel my age
Like a car crash I can see but I just can't avoid
Like a plane I've been told I never should board
Like a film that's so bad but I've got to stay till the end
Let me tell you now: it's lucky for you that we're friends.

Me:
I have learned recently that I am a dude hag
aka: a girl incapable of having female friends

Nick:
I think it has to do with your ability to throw down.

it's not about ethics, it's about how you spell "DUMB"

Posted this on facebook

Guillaume says in response:
"I'm awesome, just got 3 points. i guess having lived near the stadium and then in the student ghetto helped."

STUDENT GHETTO

Guillaume is great because all though his english is amazing for a Frenchman, he really doesn't get "That's what she said" jokes. hahaha.

"That's why I work here?"
"To make me feel bad?"
"Well, not you specifically."

“Un homme qui sait la
cour est maître de son
geste, de ses yeux et de
son visage; il est profond,
impénétrable; il dissimule
les mauvais offices, sourit
à ses ennemis, contraint
son humeur, déguise ses
passions, dément son
coeur, parle, agit contre
ses sentiments.”
– La Bruyère

A man who knows that the court is the master of his movements, of his eyes and of his face, he is profound, impenetrable, he conceals poor orders, smiles at his enemies, controls his humor, disguises his passions, denies his heat, speaks, and acts against his feelings.

I wrote this entry a while ago.

And I have to say, I think I've found it.

Going out on a limb here.

Because there's a small chance you might be who I want you to be, but I was telling myself this wouldn't be in your nature. I thought I'd scared you off, let alone prevented anything this frighteningly fantastic to occur. But here, in my lap, has fallen some sort of luck, opportunity, I don't know, something. Honestly, I wish it were you. But so that I don't dive off some cliff of despair, hopeless, lying to myself that what I did somehow did not impede your way into mine-hood; I know that if I tell myself these things that I'm going to feel it later, worse, because I am trying so hard to not feel right now.

After much detectivesque deduction, I reasoned the penmanship was masculine- though I won't lie, heart-drawings are usually not so much a guy thing.
So forgive me, if this happens to be a female and I've posted in the wrong section, but there was just something about the slope of those two G's in the word "biggest". If you're not who I want you to be, someone else completely, you're still a good soul who made my day and my life filled with a pinch more mystery, a hint of happy, and this invincible bounce in my step that shakes me.

Firstly, chances are, if you are some hip youngster (note I avoid "young hipster") that I do not know, this was just a moment of your life, a conceptual project, some artistic exploit, an experiment pinning lil' ol' me as guinea pig, but chances are- if you're this person- you're going to expect this ad because how else does one handle such anonymity? You're waiting.

Secondarily, if you're an unrequited lover of afar, I shall quote my roommate in saying "Well, you might just have an admirer who is also coincidentally really awesome." And in this, I obviously want to joggle the mind behind this. A risk.

Third, the likelihood is that you know my bike, where I park it, perhaps even when I would be there. This aspect is frightening, and also why I lean more toward it being happenstance and artistic whim than anything. Or the first paragraph.

Here is to comma splices, my actin' a fool, being pathetic, having a heart, and this book I'm reading because each and every one of these things is a comfort to me. And of course, you.

Guh, posting this was dumb.
At least I got a really nice fan out of the deal.

"I like beautiful melodies telling me terrible things."

I feel like I was offering
to sew Peter Pan's shadow back on
when I addressed the holes in your pockets

As if you would scoff yes,
you then went for the bar of soap.

So this is me- Wendy.
Plain as she could be.
Waiting, waiting, when suddenly
you appeared so spritely.
Eyes open wide, with a blank, absorbing gaze.
Blinking.

Because, I,
needle fingered
offered you a kiss.

Mouth agape and bewildered brow,
I somehow feel as if this gesture
you do not know.

Try as I may,
you won't grow up.

I am feeling things.

"Restaurants don't hire people with culinary degrees because chefs with culinary degrees suck. Yes, I have been told this more than once. Just keep rocking your knife skills and assume you have no Idea how to cook anything.

School is overra...ted. what the fuck is a masters degree? You want to learn in a school, fine. Don't think about it in terms of a degree. Degrees are fucking stupid.

teaching is cool, you like france.

psychology is the new communications.

Linguistics is cool but your time will be spent buried in books and you will end up like tobacco bowl luther; too smart, too out of touch, and lonely. keep it to a hobby.

Conclusion; go to france, teach a bunch of punk kids that they are not a cool as they think they are, find a strapping young country french boy and have him feed you wine and sausage on a nice grassy hillside. then fuck the shit out of him. at least, that's what I would do."

Me: "I don't think I'm being premature about this, after all, you didn't have two months alone in a foreign country to think about what you wanted out of your life."

Gi: "True, but I did spend tree months in Cleveland."

Me: I need a man and some coffee.

Katy: Mr. Coffee?


Why does my cat watch me while I am sleeping? And I'm talking sans cesse, just restless, glaring vigil. These things worry me.

Played darts for the first time- FIVE BULLSEYES.

Tom Selleck is like the poor man's Burt Reynolds.

This weather bites, the concert downtown lacks, there is no way I am taking part in this uncontrollable hullabaloo, except that I am probably am, why do I do this to myself? Homecoming. The only thing getting defeated is me.

Me: "Whoa, Professor Hope participated in May '68... badasssssss...."
Jovan: "Yeah, I know I had like half a chub when he said that."
Me: "Uh, oh. Wow."
Jovan: "Like in my pants."

Firstly, I love the time in between school and work because I literally give myself about an hour or half hour to sit around in my underpants and do nothing. Listen to music, rot on facebook.

Speaking of pants, I wonder when I should whip my shiny pants out again.

1) Should be studying
2) It's okay to take breaks, right?

3)

I can understand how some people think college is easy. If I worked less right now I would be doing so well that it wouldn't even be funny. I would be making straight A's. Except right now they're B's. Because I'm finding it hard to care.

4)

I want to be a fully formed adult right now. I want to have free time. I want to read books. I want to read the news, I want to maintain a political opinion, I want to be well-informed.

5)

Well, I guess I am, but on French current events. Which are important in their own right, but they aren't coincidental with the things we care about in my country of origin. So I feel a little behind.

6)

I wish someone would listen to me talk about things I think are important.

7)

I care too much about someone in particular, someone I see a lot, and it's breaking my heart pretty terribly. In fact, I really need to get over this, because I am a fucking idiot.

Locked self in bathroom (door broken), used facebook to look up friend's number, called with gmail to have them pick up key to house on the way- everything is in a distance of a block. And now, Kellie is coming to release me from my prison. Yes. I bring my laptop to the bathroom. ...In case things like this happen.

In a whim of emotion of today (also based on a listening selection of the previous evening) I have (with some hesitation) chosen to revisit The Postal Service. How do YOU feel about this? Discuss.

I don’t even know where to start.

Part of me lately has turned away from the beauty of the world. I have stopped beaming at the slope of branches crisscrossing the sky. The poetry of a sunset is far from me. I just stopped looking.

These things are supposed to come to one naturally. Insight cannot be forced. Observation requires effort. Or at least it does for me.

When I was in high school, practically none of my friends drove, except for one. When we needed a ride home, he was the man for the job- even if it was all at once.
Savannah was beautiful in its own right. A strange combination of the southern charm of Spanish moss dripping to greet you from sprawling oak trees and long stretches of humid interstate, stretching out in ponderous length to the beach. In these long drives, one could not help but think.

So a bunch of sweaty, salt-watered and sanded us would finagle our limbs into a tiny little sedan, everyone on top of the other, arms about each other, laughter, and just raw teenage emotion splitting it at its seams. And then there was the music.
I can remember I was sitting in the back seat, sandwiched in between what I thought was the love of my life and all the people who would or would not for some reason be my best friend forever. This song came on; a song that I have never liked for any particular reason, to which I could not relate to, which I thought was stupid and poorly written. But there was an ambience in that moment, where we all hushed our stupid jokes and just wide-eyed and heavy-breathed stared into space dreamily, wrapped in its lyrics, its repetition, and somehow its charm.

There was a certain exhalation in the car that would be unanimous. As if all at once something would hit us square in the chest. And it hurt.

One of the more sage of us, sitting in the front seat, blurted:
“Yeah, my dad says times likes these only happen like this when you’re in high school.
And for a while, I believed it.

I made Bacon Almond Fudge cookies.
And they are delicious.

Me: Trying to desperately avoid sending a tirade to the Phys Ed department for approving of Fitday and Mypyramid. Government enforced eating standards are full of stinky, stinky boococky.
Jesse: I think butter makes up the base of my pyramid. after that probably comes cigarettes, whisky, sex and leftovers.

Trying to slumber is an adventure of limbs falling asleep, weird dreams, waking up constantly, being molested by cats who purr and knead and meow meow meow all over me, tossing, and tummy aches. I am starting to prefer doing it as little as possible. Oh the constant meowing.

I went to a great show last night at White Lightning. It was probably the happiest I had ever been in a while. I wish I could bottle up that feeling and just drink it whenever necessary. It was a combination of the best company mixed with really crazy noisy girly surfrock, slight dancing in my seat, and the sweat from a day of hard working out, homework, and riding a bike around constantly.

I LOVE MY LIFE FOR THE MOST PART
There is one thing that could probably ruin it. And it might.

I also talked to my boss Harriet, who had a mastectomy recently. She is starting chemo soon. I made a giant lasagna for her and apparently everyone ate it last night. I didn't realize she was doing chemo so this is kind of scary, for her I imagine more than us. She is a fucking great lady, she can withstand it. I...just... want her to continue being awesome.

...There is a lot going on.

Love my job. Today while listening to ODB, chef says "This is like Serge Gainsbourg mixed with black person."

"It would be really horrible to have a baby made of cake... cuz it would get eaten."

"Helps loosen phlegm and thin bronchial secretions to make coughs more productive." I never knew that coughs could be productive. Touché Tylenol, touché. Really makes having a cold kind of pleasant and optimistic.

"Explanatory Nomenclature: When either the self estimated value or the commonly perceived worth of a women’s posterior reaches such a level of self-adoration or public worship that the beauty equation leaves the realm of sexual fulfillment, Nobody enjoys it."

I got two bucks for playing the only two songs I know in the ped mall. (Radiohead, Creep; Kings of Leon, Use Somebody) Sorority chicks love me. And drunk frat guys. Whatever, got a slice of pizza out of those folks. Best thing about it is if you screw up a song, people don't talk to you, and later these people just walk away so can play it again better and later and have a completely new audience. Hee- I cheat.

Other notes: Dominated Italian quiz today, kicking my classes asses- maybe minus a little serious memorization on the part of French Civilization. Business French is a bore, and Oral Expressions III is just too fun.

My cat won't stop following me around. He wants to be pet constantly, will not stop purring at me, and rubs his jaws on everything conceivable. Even know, he lay there, less than two feet away, staring. Madness.

I keep missing important phone calls.

So people who call me brilliant really must be joking, is what I think.

I will admit, I can be hyper-analytical. I am weary of others declaring "You think too much!" but frankly, I do not. I can barely read because I can't pay attention, and when I do I have such difficulty absorbing the subject matter that it is as if I have never read the text to begin with. Books I call my favorite books slip my mind.

I think what it is is that perhaps I have some sort of expressed power of dissection that I frequently call upon. Other than this, I do not think I am intelligent, necessarily, but creative. Then again, this is asking "What is intelligence?" is it knowledge based, or is it rather the ability to exercise certain learned skills with a noticeably great aptitude?

I only say this because yesterday one of the smartest people I know, wonderful guy, just closed our conversation with "You're brilliant." This is a guy who, despite his ramblings, says only knowledgeable or interesting things. I am intimidated, thinking at times perhaps I am not even smart enough to know this person.

But then I tell myself, I often let him do the talking, I am never permitted to ramble about my opinions of what I do professionally against his because I am genuinely more interested in what he does because it is different from me, whereas maybe this is a one-sided interest. Because if he cared to learn about what I do, he would ask questions. And he does not.

So maybe intelligence is selective, chooses what it deems worthy, and is personalized. Furthermore, whatever knowledge I do have that I am passionate about, the writers I do remember, the quotes and the philosophy and the principles- I have yet to share these.

My brain is a sponge, but with very specifically shaped holes that only allow particular things to permeate. And now I must tell myself what I think I good at so that I do not lose confidence. I must remind myself, there is not one type of intelligence on which I can base my self-worth.

Factually, the eternal struggle to learn everything, to exhibit my so-called genius, to make clear to the world that I KNOW THINGS, this is a losing battle. I will not win. I know nothing of history, books, philosophers, science, economics. I am ignorant to politics, ignorant to war, ignorant to man. I am some vacuum of language and song who observes the world around her in a wide-eyed pleasure, claiming to soak it in.

Brilliant- a joke.

If you know me, you might know this story already.
I had to babysit this 10 year old boy one weekend. He said he really liked Ninjas, so I got a bunch of black t-shirts and sweatpants and made us makeshift Ninja costumes. I then demanded that we dress up, go downtown and sneak around and hide in bushes.
I just miss that shit.

Hear it.

In the morning I'd awake and I couldn't remember
What is love and what is hate? - the calculations error
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-what is love and what is hate?
And why does it matter? - Is to love just a waste?
How can it matter? Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh; oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.

As the dawn began to break - I had to surrender
The universe will have its way - too powerful to master
Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-what is love and what is hate?
And why does it matter? - Is to love just a waste?
how can it matter? Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-oh.