April 27th, 2004


(no subject)

for no particular reason, i'm feeling torn apart today. like a cat pounced on my shadow & poof, there i go, toppled into the sea. spirits of the air & darkness hovering in the eaves of brooklyn, out of sight. when i said for no particular reason, i guess i lied. i know at least a major contributing factor- that BEAST named self. or more specifically, self-destruction, that seed planted in my breast that hungers for my defeat at all my enemies' hands. in this case my enemies are a couple of research papers. to my credit, i'm at least starting to scratch & hiss weeks before they are due- thats improvement, right? my english paper, natch, i can sweep that up in hand like a raven with a broken wing. i can mend my thoughts & set them to paper. but the post-proceedural historical ecology paper? what the hell am i supposed to write that about? as much as i enjoy the class, i have to confess that i'm at a loss to go higher on bloom's taxonomy. i can soak in it, but what am i supposed to talk about for fifteen pages? i may talk a good game, but i don't feel fucking original in my thoughts when it comes to, for instances, privliged views. for a second i tossed around ideas about haunted houses, & how they act as, i dunno, status dilineators, like how broke down mansions in poor neighborhoods are likely to be seen as haunted, or whatever. thats an idea, sure, but how the fuck would i find information on it? oh, fuck, i hate my life. & then of course there is japanese lurking under the waves like god-fucking-zilla.

chris came back from barbados finally, so to celebrate him & me went to see hellboy after work. it was alright, i guess, & it gets the imagination going, but i'm sad to say i wasn't blown away or anything. perlman as hellboy was probably the films biggest triumph- he's pretty fucking believable as a 6'5" red demon guy. also, the nazi clockwork assassin guy was well done, though his name escapes me at the moment & i don't want to get up & try to find it. "clockwork nazi assassin guy" is a pretty acurate description- how many of those guys can there be? (answer: not enough). i kind of think i pissed jenny off by going to see it; chris & i sort of decided at the last minute, & i didn't call her until i'd gotten out of the subway at union square. i'm torn between wanted to feel (unreasonably) like i don't need to ask her for permission or (more reasonably) feeling like a bum, because she was waiting at home hoping i'd pick up chinese food, because she was hungry. i guess i just want to spend more time with her. sunday & monday both she's been asleep most of the time when i've been home, & i'm asleep when she goes to work. we're like ships passing in the night, sdf-3 & the robotech masters gliding silently past each other in the silence of space. i realized this morning that i should try real hard to be a great boyfriend tonight & wednesday night, because come thursday there is going to be a hustle & bustle going on here, with ranai & pj staying on our futon, & mark coming into town. hell, thursday night we're both hanging out with diffrent groups.

i can't afford to alienate jenny right now, even a little bit. she's my tenuous link to caring about the real world, my reason for fighting in the academic gladiatorial pits. if i keep her in my coror, i can throw all haymakers at school- the triple team of english, japanese, & post-proceedural historical ecology is not a match for the pair of us. osteology i've got well in hand, at least- if i had to spend hours in lab on top of all this shit, i'd probably...well, give up. & like the ads in the subway say ...giving up is not an option. so i'll be like that black dude in the track suit, & keep on keeping on.
  • Current Music
    cmk- the last narwhal
modern nazgul

small things forgotten.

the barking sounds of sea lions distracted fatima from the sky for a moment. her stone perch in the mastadon cemetary was carved all up the sides with primitive ideograms (later nuanced by cabalists & sorcerers) & stood like a broken tooth amongst the scattered skeletons of tusked cyclopes. the sandy floor of the graveyard was long since overgrown with crabgrass & mottled with shell middens from fearless prior inhabitants who paid no mind the macabre ambiance of the place. her chest heaved, bound breasts pushing against the woven fabric of her simple dress, & she felt her cheeks to assure herself that the stigmatic bleeding of her eyes had not resumed.

up in the sky, the bloated gods of the neolithic hung in the sky like air-borne cuttlefish, feeding lazily on areoplankton. the tentacles of one stroked the sides of a sealed black spire, searching patiently for any opening. patient as extinction. the tower, a sharp talon marring the twilight sky, stood silent, sealed, defiant in silence. while the mahdi sat on his throne, the gods were impotent, vexed, barred from the minaret. his muazzin, three fold, stode the blighted land still, & his general marshalled his armies. the mahdi would not be undone by old gods of ruin. fatima knew this- she knew much of things occuluded.
  • Current Music
    crown me king- rise up, antitribu