Sunday, August 24, 2008
hello, old friend.
5:39 AM
we must love one another or die.
---
lovely lovely
it's raining outside and everything is grey and remorseful and still and quite, quite beautiful.
I wish I could catch a storm and put it in a bottle and hear the shhhh-shivering of rain against silver pavements and see the miniaturized neon F!L!A!S!H! streaking across the sky like some electric vein.
lit seminar at acs(i) yesterday was pretty neat.
my workshop: The Poet's Fire (From Page To Stage).
we did lots of writing exercises, like when she would bark out a word, any word, and then we had one minute to "just write and not think and don't you dare edit what you write- screw your inner editor".
... I can't say it wasn't stressful; but I was surprised at some of the queer run-on lines that shouted "pick me pick me" and I swear some of them wrote themselves.
Like when she said the word "sun" and I started writing about a particular someone but somewhere along the way (rough approximate: from the second line) the lines morphed themselves into being about another different someone and then somewhere close to the last line it became none of them and both of them all at once, and it wasn't what I expected at all.
sun:
you were my golden apollo
my blue skies your blue eyes your copper skin
freckles like kisses on postcards
and oh god that smile when you
closed up
hung up
gave up
i thought you were the summer sunlight
but you were just a tanning lamp.
p.s we saw Crawshaw again today and some girl wanted to buy his badge.
we so should have played that prank on him.
"hey, can I buy your badge?"
"can I buy your clark kent glasses?"
"...can I buy your shirt?"
DO NOT. CALL ME. AT 3AM. IN THE MORNING.
unless you are standing on a building ledge/in some dire kind of trouble/in need of a listening ear/have been injured/need to talk to me for some urgent reason/have some kind of valid reason/are absolutely sure that I love you enough to pick up the phone and entertain your call
do NOT call me at 3 a-friggin'-m in the morning
unless you have a deathwish.
p.p.s sexy sweet sixteenth, tingker belle. <3 ily.
we three watched Death Race and it was so weird-- looking out at all the heads in the cinema, most of them had short spikey hair (albeit were guys) and I think we were three of the few, few, FEW females in there cuz it was such a guy-ey show but aside from all the gore, it was actually a pretty neat show. Granted, it was one and a half hours of auto carnage- but it wasn't so bad.
I am starting to seriously doubt Maxy's taste. :I Meet Dave and funky orange starzzzzz and lime green and ohmygosh the black/gold Paris Hilton-meets-Missy Elliott stage.
but when I raised this epiphany I was promptly quashed by Maxy and Ting reciting a whole list of the various different phases I had gone through. (I swear you guys added on a few- I don't remember there being so many!)
At the dinner table, Daddy was talking of visiting London for the next Olympics.
(just think-- I'll be twenty over by then! ...suhkary.)
I wouldn't mind visiting London; but I gave him my input-- that I'd much rather go to Breckenridge to ski again and Mum agreed but said it wasn't much point going to the same place to ski again so why don't we try another place? and I said okay and I'd like to learn how to snowboard this time.
okay busy week: straight ahead.
goodbye loves.