the testing center

Today, if you met a Martha while you were being Mary, don't judge too harshly. Martha probably just felt like she fit in more with the dirty dishes. She probably knew them well and was a little afraid of Mary and co.

That's all.

oh for your pathos and another theory of relativity

Do you ever wonder who is reeeeeallllly out there? Do the heavens hang as the sphere depicted in quelques paintings, draping about our shoulders with their million tiny stars, the fires that give hope to our souls and mourn with those that mourn and delight with those that delight? Will anyone notice if I eat this entire jar of nutela in one night? Are our worlds made up of a mosaic, each tile from a different source? One for the time mon père m'a partagé de sa connaissance, one tile for Don McLean singing of Vincent's eyes of china blue, another tile for Victor-Marie Hugo's belle poem Demain dès l'aube, a tile for ma mère rounding the corner and saying, "have you seen my orange-handled scissors," and one for the time she told me she wished I could paint in the sand for a week. And still more, others and others for all the bits and pieces I've read--I could go on for a velly velly lon time, you'd stop reading if you haven't already. So many tiles, a tile for you, and you, and you and you and yooo-ou.

Well, for whoever is out there making tiles, I would like to talk to you about homeostasis. Every creature is created to stay at a state of equilibrium. I heretofore will refer to you all as human buoys who bob and bounce and stay at a good level of not drowning most of the time.

Not going home for Thanksgiving? No worries, buoy up and eat more pie. Not working? Don't let your equilibrium esape you, just hit your yead against the wall a few times till a certain amount of cloudy confusion sets in and then make a wish on that turkey wishbone.

Single? Psh! What's so bad about that? Like I've always said, being single makes you more intelligent. Since you're having a Totinos pizza for one, you can read the dictionary or wikipedia or layout plays by Marlowe and Shakespeare side by side and you can form your own well-informed decision over whether the chicken or the egg came first.
Nextly, you can sample every fish in the sea and then throw them back without ever having to worry about global warming. Being single is like not having a conscience. Goodbye Jiminy Cricket, I'm a real girl.
Thirdly, there's no one around to find out exactly how much chocolate you really are eating. Everyone can go along with assumptions like that of my roommate's, "You eat more vegetables than anyone I know. It's like you're a vegetarian. Oh wait, you are."

Alors, I must split, but you see, the theory of relavity was meant for you and me.
Now go out there and take back your homeostasis my dear tiles and buoys.

ode to the need to stop sitting at cafe tables with sartre

Maybe I should stop voicing this reocurring theme....

Does anyone have any suggestions for how one stops pensive-ity and takes action and all that jazz?

Sometimes I sit here on my tuffet (in my wee little basement home) and think, I didn't mean to be Emily Dickenson. I didn't mean to philologize so much I sat behind a wall of words in wistful sentiments staring at my ceiling. I really intended to be the girl in glitter dress dancing on the table. But then my voice was so silent when I opened my mouth and now I find myself getting phone calls from peoples who find my voice comforting and talk no sense to my ears. QUOI ?! OUI !! people who make no sense to me!! Pourquoi est la vie si méfiante* ? As my 101 prof would say each time she turned around, AH-lohr-a (alors).

Been listening to too mucho Joanna Newsom but she's such a great friend.

I would like to be an action type of person for a day.

*ummmm it's something like "why is life so unreliable" like a misbehaving child or something.
alors in this sense is akin to saying "And so..."
oh and Quoi, pronounced kwah, kind-of, means what.

à cause de

Your words,
live and paint the dreams I've had.
Not the ones of terrible travels (travails) my conscience takes me on at night;
O no, the beautiful ones
of stories of moraccan rugs,
Of days when the sky will sun or not sun in a rainy sort of fashion
and inspire those tableaux that hang on the museum wall,
My dreams of the stars that spice the best children's stories,
of wanderings paired by descriptions from dictionary pages-
their etymology calling me on like sirens in a greek sea.
oh...
and then I'm left writing a poem just to comfort me
without any senses made in it for others.

AAAAAND end scene!
I found this. an on line etymology dictionary! So that's good...

the christmas bird settled happily between the nutmeg spiced winter squash and the family favourite: goulash

Remember the days of, "It's just/ a little crush/ not like I faint every time we touch*." Whatever happened to those days? This isn't out of bitterness, I never took that speaking in portuguese critical life step, I've just been...
Well, why don't we dress up? Why don't we date? Why don't we paint the town red just for laughs anymore?
I went truly vintage this year and decided to support crushes, high heels, and dresses ten times more than I have in the past.


I could wish a thousand suns upon your plastic credit cards.

*song by Jennifer Paige.

the day I also accidentally poured basalmic vinegar down my shirt

I...stepped in pee today.
My bare feet stepped in little boy pee.
I don't think I've ever done that before.

left me speechless.

after all the fruit flies died

So I'm considering taking this big step in my life, you know, the telling the boy from "Alaska" that he's charming in Portuguese step. We all face it at some time or another. It's a new phase in life and that first step is awkward and I might misstep and tip over like I did that one time when I was carrying my cousin's baby and now I have a little dent in my shin...in the bone of my shin. I feel such hesitance because you don't always know the boy from "Alaska" as well as you'd like before you start saying sweet nothings in foreign languages but then again in other phases I've hesitated and lost my chance.
Why step this time?

I will not let the Portuguese 'r' defeat me!

Aiyaiyaiyaiyaiy.

ruttatut tut

Here's an experimental session for you:
MY FRIDAY NIGHT DESCRIBED IN THE ABSTRACT
Bonfire. Country Music? Chaperones. GED. Professional writer. Superheros and Neptune and Bermuda Triangle. Kid Rock. Puka shells. Dead Pheasant. Yes, a floppy head pheasant. "Let, me guess, Bon Iver." Have I met my stalker? Religion, yes. "I feel like I understand the scriptures." Still the dead pheasant. High school. When will we leave? Oh, you speak Portuguese. Teach me how to tell this boy he's charming. Dueling truck stereos. More hard rock woes. I'm walking towards the car and everybody better follow! Wait! A hug? You just kissed me on the cheek! This has been a very strange week.

just an obvious truth that makes me reflect on what are the pros and the cons of being an adult with a more comprehensive understanding of history

I'm guessing that when I start talking about Thanksgiving with a four year old I shouldn't spoil it by bringing up small pox and collonialization and racism and fire water.

can't help being young and happy

I love the United States a lot.
Why?
I can't keep it in, I love the Midwest and I love Obama.
I want to get my copy of today's New York Times laminated.

m'améliorer

beware the opposition

The clouds ate the mountains this morning. In one big gulp the top half of the eastern chain was gone. The wind dug at me and the leaves were soggy colorful on the ground. Soggy with a slight crunch.
I couldn't help rejoicing with this big gulp of mountain underneath the heavy poofy sky because:
I VOTED.
It's never been done before by me and I did it. You can all probably guess who received the cast of my ballot, but I stand by my father's famous words, "I don't have to tell you that" (said smugly every time).
I couldn't stop staring at my vote, I wanted to gaze forever on those names, "that's important!" my brain kept exclaiming as it danced inside my head, "that's important stuff right there!"

The excitement had been building for times and times and 21 years. It burst forth today on this little wobbly electronic booth, one of five, in the barest of rooms, empty of people save the two other people voting at the time and the four poll guardian-ing women, in a little public library. The steps of the adventure being explained to me by the four middle aged women.

Previous to this excitement I was reviewing this state's voter's handbook, which I couldn't help laughing over. All of these little local politicians were accusing each other of socialism. In these accusations I imagine socialism embodied by the 1954 Godzilla chasing after us. Stomping on the American dream. The cry wolf of socialism seems very...well like a cry of wolf. As far as I can see we've all be enjoying bits of socialism in this country for over fifty years. Social Security, Medicare, Medicaid. Etc. We all know we're not completely free-marketed. I haven't seen anyone reach any political popularity in my lifetime (it may be a wee span, but it's a span indeed) who would turn us into Sveeeden.

Anyway, I did the coolest thing today.