self-indulgent sociopath poem has now reached 68 lines
and is on part two of three
threw together an eight-line poem in an hour in a futile attempt to balance the proportion of normal wordy pretentious poems to crazyfuck wordy pretentious sociopath poems
this did not have a significant effect
still have to finish part three before sleeping tonight
if you're reading this, send help
Just got off the phone with my mother.
MOTHER: One of my co-workers recommends watching the Sherlock Holmes movie. Your thoughts?
JADE: Allow me to pontificate for several minutes upon the significant differences in atmosphere and characterization between the many adaptations of said series (half of which you've never heard of), and also the fashion in which more modern versions have started to give our leads a chemistry which tends toward "bickering" or even "vitriolic", in line with the sudden rise of people being total assholes in modern media.
MOTHER: Allow me to augment your diatribe with commentary on Darcy's scathing dialogue within the modern work Pride, Prejudice, and Zombies.
Blame my upbringing, folks!
On the bright side, when I say "a month" I mean I wrote like 3000 words in one slacktastic week, took a break for about two weeks, and then wrote the next 2500 over the last five or six days. So if I actually put my mind to it, as I have not been doing, there's a chance it could go a lot faster.
An unrelated note: I forget what they say about people on vacation. Is it that they aren't themselves, or that they are their true selves? I've also forgot who says this. Probably some philosopher douchebag.
She is not sure what we are doing yet (possibly genealogy work, dropping me off to swim later) so I told her to get back to me on it.
But "Blue Monday" kind of makes me want to dress in drag and go dancing at a gay club.
Except they'd probably just play Lady Gaga instead of 90s music that sounds like it wants to be 80s music.
Oh, and my cat masterfully captured a mouse the other night. This has nothing to do with college but I am very proud of him and would like to share his achievements with the world.
But I won't.
Instead, I will mention that my Cultural teacher has sent me an E-mail saying I ought to submit my "Thoreau discusses natural rights with Zombie!Hobbes" essay to some sort of Honors contest. Unless I have something more interesting from another class which I would like to submit. No, sir, I'm fairly certain the dialogue between a zombie and a hermit encompasses the heights of "interesting" present in my Very Serious College Essays this year.
Je n'even sais pas.
In conclusion, get your whore asses back into the kitchen and make me a sammich.
This is significant to absolutely no one else but me.
And contrary to how this may look, I have not actually spent the last two weeks exclusively on Wikipedia...
Well, I mean, essays due tomorrow and Friday and stuff, but right now things are fine. And anyway I'm considering skiving off the Honors essay, 'cause, Jesus, we've got essays like every day in that class, I'm not sure if missing one will hurt.
By "Honors" I of course mean Honors Cultural, not to be confused with Honors Counter-Cultural because the two are very very different. HCC hardly ever has homework, except some readings from shall-we-say unusual texts (crossdressing book, swearing etymology book, Communist Manifesto, etc). HC, on the other hand, has both the constant essays and constant readings, mostly like old Greek literature and dense philosophical texts and stuff. We read a chapter from a book called Pedagogy of the Oppressed. I took notes on it, but that was less to remember what it was about and more because I kept yelling at the paper and wouldn't have been able to go on if I hadn't got my hostility out somehow. (They were not very nice notes. The phrase "bitch, please" may have been thrown around.)
The Counter-Cultural class has very relaxed conversations where we posit that, like, dude, the bourgeois has totally been screwing over the proletariat for the entirety of history, amirite? Whereas the Cultural class involves discussions of things like, oh, say, interesting rhythmic devices which seem to counterpoint the surrealism of the underlying metaphor of the
Though I am not actually fond of the book we are reading in Counter-Cultural now. It's an easy read, but it's entirely about this author avatar working for the post office, drinking a lot, fucking a lot, and generally perceiving the world in the most unromantic way possible. Because I am a huge chick, I have mild issues with this, and ended up reading Vonnegut before bed to cheer myself up. The change in gears from the previous book to stuff like Long Walk To Forever had me more or less flailing around and squealing quietly as I read the latter. BECAUSE I AM A HUGE CHICK and that story is amaaazing.
All right, off to class.
THIS IS AMAZING.
...I'd be running over with praises for Firefox, too, but so far the three things I've noticed about it are 1) it has a kickass icon; 2) you can customize the toolbars at the top to be all like colorful dude awesome; 3) it scrolls, for some reason, at one line per arrow-key-tap, so I have to buttonmash furiously to reach previous speeds of websurfing. So the "woo!" and "dammit" are kinda cancelling each other out.
Packing keeps having these weird, suddenly interesting moments. There are certain layers, strata of papers in these drawers, that haven't been disturbed since probably eighth grade, or freshman year at the latest. I feel like an archaeologist!
I'm in a bit of a hurry since I'm apparently moving tonight; I can but hope I'm not throwing out interesting relics in my haste to reach the good stuff. So I guess the archaeologist I feel like is Heinrich Schliemann.
...OMG STILL LOLING OVER BoS FIC.
EDIT: I feel I should add that I got my last report card the other day, and apparently I managed to pull off a B in Chemistry. I have no idea how--certainly when I spent that week doing nothing but as described in the last entry (i.e. fanfic binging and pseudo-nocturnalism), I was completely resigned to making a C in that class. I feel a bit guilty now, actually. I doubt I deserved a B. Oh well; I totally deserved an A in French last semester, so I guess it evens out.
The C in Calculus was nearer the expected mark.
I was living back in my apartment, picking out clothes from a dark laundry room with two guys talking about something in the other room. I chose a Worlds of Fun shirt that I think I got rid of in like seventh grade and honestly could not have remembered if the dream hadn't yanked it out of somewhere deep in my subconscious. I can hardly even remember it now that I remember it, but... I remember what I remembered about it in the dream, and a little bit more. I think that may be a point for the "you really do remember everything that you experience, you just can't access it" idea.
Shortly after that I looked toward the bathroom and was confused because I couldn't think of the last time I'd used the shower, but surely I shower every day, right? Or every other day, maybe? I don't know, have I hit puberty yet? This was confusing, whatever, I went to school.
From the junior high locker room I went with the gym class out into a field where some adult landed a helicopter to talk to the teacher while the rest of us fished from a pond. Until I looked around, wondered what the fuck I was doing, and decided to steal the damn helicopter and get the hell out of there.
Some girl came with me. We left the school grounds and flew away for a while until we found a celebrity's magically-suspended sky-castle, which shot missles at us until we left it alone. Meanwhile I was still learning how to use the helicopter's controls. I got the hang of it eventually, though--joystick on the right tilts it forward and backward, pad on the left turns it side to side.
I woke up really confused about what my age was, where I lived, and who I knew.
I figured if I was going to have my residence burned down I could at least get some good pictures out of it. I'm on a sort of corner, so I had a good view of shadowy figures setting stuff up in the middle of the street, and also of the firework that "fell over!", so they cried.
It looked like this:
Only instead of blossoming in the sky it exploded all over the street, several yards, and the family setting up the fireworks.
They're still going, too.
I'm taking it a few more times 'cause I'd really like
It freaking rhymes, dude.
And since it is summer, I have of course gone nocturnal, so the ACT, yeah, I took it on five hours of sleep. XD I couldn't fall asleep any earlier than two! IT WAS AN IMPOSSIBILITY.
A bit ill and not willing to let my mind and body make contact, I turned outward (for once) and didn't think. I just observed my surroundings. Namely, Corey and Sam, who were in the same room as me. It was sort of amusing, to try and figure out what they were thinking.
SAM: Ohh god, what did I do last night?
COREY: Dum-dee-dum. Oh look, a Punnett square on the chalkboard in the front of the room. I wonder what the "P/p" alleles were meant to be.
SAM: *rubbing his eyes* The Rascal Flatts concert, right... And there was this smell, like my wacky uncle's old plaid suits...
COREY: Wouldn't ya know it, I think the "5" button is sticky on this calculator. Oh well. It should still work pretty well.
SAM: And some kind of blonde blur... God, I need a Vicodin...
COREY: Hmm, I see now that there is a bulletin board next to me. "20 Little-Known Facts About the Human Body", huh? I wonder if any of them are dirty. *reads*
SAM: *fumbles with his box of supposed Tic-Tacs and then pops one in his mouth in textbook drug-addict fashion* Hoo, that stops the shakes...
As for me, I had tons of free time after the English and Reading sections and by then I was a bit more awake. And so I ended up having some of these "thoughts" things myself. Well, sort of.
ME: *taps pencil* *twirls hair* *yawns, stretches*
ME: Now Mary...
ME: ...I'm so so-rry...
ME: *guitar* Chk-chk-unna DAH NAH NAH
Did I mention I was sitting in the back?
But for the life of me, I can't imagine why. I guess he just has no one else to turn to.
It's not that we're not close or anything, it's just that I frequently respond to his worries and angst with stuff like this:
Him [6:00 P.M.]: Man do you realize that the seniors are going to be gone forever at the end of next week?
Zweelum [6:01 P.M.]: Uh, yeah.
Zweelum [6:01 P.M.]: Same as I realized it last year and the year before.
Zweelum [6:01 P.M.]: I don't know that many seniors this year anyway, so no big deal. Especially considering you can still get in contact with them on Facebook and stuff anyway.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: You know I'm missing a 25 point worksheet in Science? No wonder my grade's so low.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: Other than, y'know, the one he lost and then found that he put in today.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: So I'm going to turn in another one tomorrow and maybe that will help.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: I wish he'd tell us this stuff.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: So, seniors, yeah.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: Oh yeah, there was that one chick you knew.
Zweelum [6:02 P.M.]: I forgot about you being sad about that.
I think in the dangerous cases we're just renting a place or something, because while there is a feeling that the main rooms belong to me and I'm the only one living there, there is also a feeling that the place does not belong to me. Other people have lived there. Other peoples' baggage has been left behind.
In the cases where it's more quiet and undisturbed it belongs to me, and the baggage that has been left behind was left behind long ago, with no indication as to whether it was left by men or gods or just the forces of nature.
Listen to me, getting all poetic-like. El Oh El.
The places also belong to my mother, I suppose. There are often family and friends in the main rooms that do not come along whenever I start explorigating, and soon I'm far enough away from them that it just feels like I'm in an empty house.
Sound doesn't travel well in these places.
Some of the houses would seem to be haunted in some way. All of them are at least a little bit creepy.
The night before last I was exploring a pretty big place held together with small rooms. I think it started out as a hotel. Then it was my new house and I was staking out my area. The place got quieter and quieter as I went on, really surreal, and although I don't remember what rooms I went through eventually I wound up in a bathroom off the side of a nice big bedroom. The bathroom was huge. It was all white shading to off-white, nice plastic or possibly ceramics with a big bath in the middle, and steps leading up to an open shower on the side, and probably a fountain somewhere with a small stream of water curving around the bathroom and leading off to a grate, I wouldn't doubt. There was also a skylight on the top, which lit the room with the sort of glow you get on days when it's just cloudy enough that the whole sky is white and you can't tell where the sun is.
It was pretty nearly too grand for the name of "bathroom" and I think I was thinking of it as a shower room in the dream.
Then I left again. I think I was thinking that I would keep it sort of secret and hidden and use it at my own leisure and probably hang out in it more than one would a normal bathroom/shower room. Well, I mean, I do like water, and that place was like a white, sparkling temple to water.
The house last night was just a bunch of small boring rooms on the top floor--a few bedrooms, a dining room, a kitchen, a living room, all decorated in faded dusty tans and blues and pinks and greys, with only the basic furniture. Then I realized there was a cellar, which I thought had the potential to be awesome.
When I went down there, a bit nervous because it's a cellar and that's where things jump out from under the stairs at you, y'know, I looked around, and there were some boxes and stuff, and a really subtle door in the wall. Your eyes would cross over it at first, like. It was the same light color as the wall, doorframe and all. It looked like a door that wasn't often used and possibly wasn't often supposed to be used.
So I went through it. And the rooms sort of got creepier as I went along. There was a clown at one point, I know. I ended up in a room with crack down the center of the floor, and I realized that someone had built another floor over the floor that had originally been there, and there was a one or two-foot crawlspace underneath.
I stick my fingers in the crack and pull it up, and there's a lot of... just miscellaneous stuff underneath. I think maybe a clown mask? That could have been where the clown thing came from. Formless shapes that were too shadowed to make them out, further underneath. But the room was starting to really freak me out, so I decided to leave.
When I got back upstairs my mother told me I shouldn't muck around down there, because the bottom floors used to be a dungeon.
Which was creepy for about .5 seconds, and then dream!me decided to ask, "A fun dungeon or a pain dungeon?"
It was a fun dungeon.
I think the formless shapes may have retroactively been S&M stuff.