Une developpement interressante

Captivating, irrational, absurd, quizzical, subtle, laughable, genuine, indeterminate, finessed, sarcophagus.

I like how the human mind jumps. I like how it literally bounds from one word, one sentence, one fragment, to another that has no correlation whatsoever. I like that. I don't like that it is Wednesday already. Because that means that we are running out of freedom, and my goodness do I love freedom when the sun is shining so brightly outside and my knee is letting me run, run, run. 
Feelings are odd things. Mine are funny shaped, but they fit into those slots that yours leave, like enzymes and the things that enzymes go into, do you remember the word? I don't. I also don't know anything about Oedipus Rex. I also am pretty much done with him, I think. It's almost April. Do you know how much I like April? Do you? I'm not sure you do. April sounds hopeful to me. April means spring time, to all those who don't live in Calgary. April sounds like a laughing baby...red panda. 


I got it from my mother. 
Never again.


I'd like a tropical vacation. I keep picturing the squashed avocados on our morning runs.
I'd like to sing, forever.
I know that I'll belong. But you do too. Come along.

I'm going to put on my grad dress again.

Le paradis n'est pas si loin

And when I see your (...)
And when you say my (...)
My heart skips a

Suddenly, the air is warmer, the chai tea/coconut cupackes taste even sweeter, the tips of fingers feel alive again, my voice is soaring, I am soaring. The air pocket in my lungs that was stopping my breath from passing through has popped. Things rearranged. I rearranged. There is someone in that spotlight, across from me, even if he is wary of being up on stage, in front of so many people. His hand is resting on the chair, and he is heading to downstage center, just where he is supposed to meet me. I keep telling myself to break a leg, break an arm, break my neck. Anything but. 
I will follow you into the dark.


Kittens in an umbrella, spinning, spinning, spinning, spitting.

"We used to call it his furry little problem...people were under the impression James was in possession of a badly behaved rabbit."

Things Beowulf must learn from Voldemort:
"You'd think that killing people would make people like you. But...it doesn't. It just makes them dead."

Par expret

• Been watching too much Grey's Anatomy: had dream about brain tumor and Patrick Dempsey was talking to me about treatment options. 
• I like Grey's Anatomy- I don't like the main character, but I like the other ones. I like how Supernatural has gotten basically ALL of its guest stars off of this show.
• Sundays make me upset because there is no crossword.
• I don't like writing comparative essays. I really prefer argumentative ones.

• Angel wings spread over water worn wishes
  Guarding the dreams and the things left unsaid

  

En Italie

I want a puppy, a kinder surprise, a superman sweater, the moon (in a basket), a green dress, a blanket-sharer, a pair of sturdy boots, freckles, (things that I can't ask you for), the muscles in my legs, two more hands (makes four, not thirteen, I'm not asking for thirteen), a finished essay, a travel mug that actually keeps my tea hot, hot not warm, onenightjustone, a new pair of pants, a prophetic dream, a kiss, a new knee, that's all I think,

Je suis repetitive, mais toi, tu ecris des eceureils

you'd think that people would have had enough of
silly love songs

my mother stole my crossword
(probably while listening to cbc radio 2)

Later, we'll make fun of these moments that we both know happen...but pretend to ignore for the other's sake. Later, you'll put your hands on my face and we'll just laugh. Later, I'll rest my chin on your shoulder while you dance to bad music. Later, you'll sit in between my legs with your guitar. Later, I'll act embarrassed and denying but you'll know that I like it anyways. Wrap myself in a book, wrap myself in you.
I'm embarrassing.


I should probably be looking up poetry.
I've found out that I prefer Spanish poetry.

La grande colline verte, qui se transforme en ciel azure, a la fin du monde, apparemment. Nous, comme un troupeau de moutons silencieuses qui passons par cette maison ancienne, burine, battue. Le son de la vent et les melodies Ecossais alternant dans mes oreilles. Mes mains sont lourdes et mes yeux, les yeux de ma grandmere, ma mere, mes soeurs, mes yeux n'ont jamais ete ouvert comme ceci. Ma grandmere, dans mes yeux, dans mes mains, dans les mains de mon grandpere, qui pleure des larmes paisibles. Ma mere, mes tantes, leurs yeux, leurs mains. La main de ma soeur dans la mienne, partageant notre grandmere dans nos mains libres et dans les larmes qui tombent de les yeux de ma grandmere. Je n'ai jamais cru dans la spiritualite avant que je l'ai vu avec les yeux de ma grandmere.

Elle est comme un oiseau

The universe has definitely righted itself. Hannah, you are one smart cookie.
(Mmm...cookies...I remember what cookies taste like...)


In following tradition of opening with a Broadway stanza:
That's why, I couldn't be happier...


And apparently this blog will be written
In this format. See the picture? Becoming clearer? Oh good.


You have the most piercing eyes. You have the warmest laugh. You tease me and tickle me and poke me. I love it. I pretend not to. You're not allowed to use that against me, because this is all in my head. Is it in your head? You're in my head. You have my Snuggie. Give it back. I want to sing songs with you. I want to hold your hand. I don't want to sing that song with you. I don't want to be just another cliche. Any more than I already am, I guess. You have dry hands. But they are comforting. They release oxytocin (from my anterior pituitary) into my bloodstream.
You make me remember what it's like to be me again. I never said thank-you for that.
"Gravity is not responsible for people falling in love." -Albert Einstein
When the space-time contiuum rights itself, my do things ever go along smoothly. Like peanut butter. Fucking peanut butter. Now if only those bitches would get out of our spot.

Me Gustas Cuando Callas

Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente,
y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te toca.
Parece que los ojos se te hubieran volado
y parece que un beso te cerrara la boca.

Como todas las cosas estan llenas de mi alma
emerges de las cosas, llena del alma mia.
Mariposa de sueno, te pareces a mi alma,
y te pareces a la palabra melancolia.

Me gustas cuando callas y estas como distante.
Y estas como quejandote, mariposa en arrullo.
Y me oyes desde lejos, y mi voz no te alcanza:
dejame que me calle con el silencio tuyo.

Dejame que te hable tambien con tu silencio
claro como una lampara, simple como un anillo.
Eres como la noche, callada y constelada.
Tu silencio es de estrella, tan lejano y sencillo.

Me gustas cuando callas porque estas como ausente.
Distante y dolorosa como si hubieras muerto.
Una palabra entonces, una sonrisa bastan.
Y estoy alegre, alegre de que no sea cierto.

-Pablo Neruda

Toujours pur

It's something unpredictable.

Life, I mean.

New socks can really change a girl's perspective. They'll give her a good day. Once in a while, all you need is a new pair of really nice socks. Or an old pair, that you find again, and all of a sudden you remember how comfortable, warm, and thrilling they are, and then, of course, they bring you a bouquet of droopy but beautiful flowers and life is just, well, good. Or so they say. They say lots of things. And right now, I couldn't agree more with them.

Let me count the ways...

Les mots d'action

Better? Than this dazzling plot?

I have made a habit of staying up late reading English homework (and not actually doing it) and just ending up writing silly things that usually open with a line from a Broadway song that is running through my head at the moment. But they tend to sort of relate...whimsically...cryptically...to life as we know it...as I know it...
My body is stressed. My body is tired. It's telling me to stop what it is I'm doing, shut down, take a nap, curl into a ball, read some silly French mountaineering book, arrest the pondering process, discontinue the jarring of leg joints. Stop feeling disappointed and frustrated in things you have no control over.
If you didn't WANT me, why did you PICK me, and then choose to make me feel bad about it? You always do this, mind you. Silly artsy folk. 
I think I fall under the silly artsy folk category.
But I think I stand with at least one or two toes in a more practical category.
I think that is why there is always so many ideas pushing and shoving and being generally impolite in my brain at any given moment. Maybe this is why I can't focus on English homework. Maybe this is why I can't even focus on sleeping.

Is there a button, somewhere, to press? Is it marked clearly? Is it color-coded? Does it make a satisfying beeping noise, and will I know it when I hear it? Will things suddenly be clearer, warmer, richer, solid? Solid.
Solid.
Solid.
Solidity. Strength. Comfort.
Enough with the adjectives- get on with the verbs.