Everyday the Snow Movers come. It takes a while for a small town to wake up from a snow storm that dumps one and a half to two feet of snow (who can tell with all of the drifting and wind-ing). And so every day the Snow Movers come. I hear them rumbling outside, like earth movers moving our white earth from the mountains that have piled up. The streets have been cleared and walls of white line them. Their shoulders are full of lumpy ruts and each parking lot has their respective hill. In drives the Black Cat followed by the dump truck. Shovel, dump, shovel, dump, shovel, dump.
Everybody keeps wondering if the spring will bring more national news flooding because the snow isn't going anywhere, not really, even the snow they drive away will still be in the sound of our voices. It may rearrange itself into new shapely drifts, but it will hang around.
29 December 2009
28 December 2009
everything all comes out in the winter time
I've forgotten that when everything is white and cold--w & c like it only gets here because you know it goes on for miles, hundreds of miles--you fill up the space with dreams. You can't stop dreaming, how anyone lives without an imagination I've never figured out. Last night as I was laying in bed I thought of the perfect kind of future of filmmaking. It involves lots of things one of which is making blogotheque-take-away-shows-esque videos like this one:
notice how quietly they cut and follow around. oh, I'll do it, I'll do it, I will.
What I dreamed in sleep was a stream of walking home from school, people being chased by wild animals, me being chased by wild animals, running through the old recital hall where senior citizens were pouring out of their seminar. I hoped they didn't get eaten up by the wild animals. My dreams have been a mash together of the university town I live in and the university town I grew up in. And it's all been winter.
I walked downtown this morning, because my family walks everywhere and because I couldn't face the new parallel parking only zones that they've put in place since the last time I've come back here for a visit. I thought about driving to assimilate with the locals but when have I ever done that one well?
It blizzarded here over Christmas and the town just barely started emerging yesterday. Most of the sidewalks have been snowblowed and are lined with walls of three or four feet of snow. Sometimes when the sidewalk hasn't been cleared you have to climb over a bank of the snow to walk out on the street. You can walk on top of the snow, really, because it packs into dense dense sleeping beasts. Sparkling on top. Sheets of sparkling white. I listened to my iPod as I walked and for once listened to somethings current. I wanted to listen to indie pop to remind myself that the last five years had happened. I love home and am glad to be here but a lot of the things you love have deep deep deep deeply laden cares.
First Aid Kit - A Take Away Show from La Blogotheque on Vimeo.
notice how quietly they cut and follow around. oh, I'll do it, I'll do it, I will.
What I dreamed in sleep was a stream of walking home from school, people being chased by wild animals, me being chased by wild animals, running through the old recital hall where senior citizens were pouring out of their seminar. I hoped they didn't get eaten up by the wild animals. My dreams have been a mash together of the university town I live in and the university town I grew up in. And it's all been winter.
I walked downtown this morning, because my family walks everywhere and because I couldn't face the new parallel parking only zones that they've put in place since the last time I've come back here for a visit. I thought about driving to assimilate with the locals but when have I ever done that one well?
It blizzarded here over Christmas and the town just barely started emerging yesterday. Most of the sidewalks have been snowblowed and are lined with walls of three or four feet of snow. Sometimes when the sidewalk hasn't been cleared you have to climb over a bank of the snow to walk out on the street. You can walk on top of the snow, really, because it packs into dense dense sleeping beasts. Sparkling on top. Sheets of sparkling white. I listened to my iPod as I walked and for once listened to somethings current. I wanted to listen to indie pop to remind myself that the last five years had happened. I love home and am glad to be here but a lot of the things you love have deep deep deep deeply laden cares.
27 December 2009
platypus
Last night I dreamed a hundred and one million more stars appeared in the sky. The truth was the stars had been there all along, but we hadn't been able to see them until last night. Constellations looked like real things, I saw a platypus made of stars. It was beautiful. Dark blue night with more sparkles, more depth.
Remember that feeling of calm you have when you lay on the hood of your car as you look up into the night sky?
Remember that feeling of calm you have when you lay on the hood of your car as you look up into the night sky?
19 December 2009
teenage wasteland
We sit in conference in my room. Me on my bed and a whole bunch of furniture and artwork that used to either be scattered throughout other rooms in the house or I had shoved into my closet as I was growing up.
There's the side table inherited from Aunt Milly that's actually made for a record player but I have long since stuffed full with books, notebooks, chunks of collected wood, and tchotchkes. There's the cupid lamp, the arm chair my mom would always tell me I was going to ruin everytime she caught me draping my legs across one of the arms. There's the tall bureau, the small bureau, the large vintage bureau, and the plastic lawn chair. There's the print of Whistler's The White Girl (which used to freak me out but now I feel drawn to her creepiness), the child's drawing (we're unsure of the artist as of yet. I feel like the tinfoil buttons taped on might be representative of something I might do but the nose connotes my sister's work), and the painting of the mad scientist I did in high school.
We're here, convening in my childhood bedroom wondering what to do with ourselves. It's not that we're at a loss as to how to spend the next two weeks. No, there's no worries there. I figured out that my dad doesn't like when I sing Sam Cooke's "Cupid" so I might enjoy pulling that out every once in a while. But the Upper MidWest is a place that will either wash you out or make you wonder about things. So I normally choose to wonder about things.
There's the side table inherited from Aunt Milly that's actually made for a record player but I have long since stuffed full with books, notebooks, chunks of collected wood, and tchotchkes. There's the cupid lamp, the arm chair my mom would always tell me I was going to ruin everytime she caught me draping my legs across one of the arms. There's the tall bureau, the small bureau, the large vintage bureau, and the plastic lawn chair. There's the print of Whistler's The White Girl (which used to freak me out but now I feel drawn to her creepiness), the child's drawing (we're unsure of the artist as of yet. I feel like the tinfoil buttons taped on might be representative of something I might do but the nose connotes my sister's work), and the painting of the mad scientist I did in high school.
We're here, convening in my childhood bedroom wondering what to do with ourselves. It's not that we're at a loss as to how to spend the next two weeks. No, there's no worries there. I figured out that my dad doesn't like when I sing Sam Cooke's "Cupid" so I might enjoy pulling that out every once in a while. But the Upper MidWest is a place that will either wash you out or make you wonder about things. So I normally choose to wonder about things.
17 December 2009
pad tie
You're lucky, I almost broke my stream of gibberish by writing a philosophical post because I'm chillin in the cave with my editor who's fixing our lower-thirds and listening to music that I listened to in jr. high. Like Lifehouse. I've got so many memories running through my head. Mostly about the pothead I sat next to in study hall who I was absolutely in love with and we'd listen to Mudvayne together.
Oh I'm chuckling at this memory lane. layne.
I 'on se cass'd, I think I passed, I want to listen to Nirvana and The Clash and The Pixies and and break things. I'm so excited for Christmas break when I'm going to tweak this film I made for a class last year. I'ma make it DA bomb. bombshell. a blond one. fake blond. blondie. D.
da dee da dee de dee dee dee.
I want to write marshmellows and trip cars and flip bars and steal mars. And make it steel. Still and distill again. I would de-steal but real things don't D.
Remember when we used to listen to walkmans and portable CD players and when people carried boom boxes on their shoulder the first time around? Because I'm drowning in those memories right now. Gah. Editors.
Oh I'm chuckling at this memory lane. layne.
I 'on se cass'd, I think I passed, I want to listen to Nirvana and The Clash and The Pixies and and break things. I'm so excited for Christmas break when I'm going to tweak this film I made for a class last year. I'ma make it DA bomb. bombshell. a blond one. fake blond. blondie. D.
da dee da dee de dee dee dee.
I want to write marshmellows and trip cars and flip bars and steal mars. And make it steel. Still and distill again. I would de-steal but real things don't D.
Remember when we used to listen to walkmans and portable CD players and when people carried boom boxes on their shoulder the first time around? Because I'm drowning in those memories right now. Gah. Editors.
aunt acid's harry rag
There was an upswing in ookiness and that up jumped the boogy. The boogy man'd the station with the hips' invaduation. Aiyaiyai, it will all be over tonight, right? And then I'll on se casse myself from this campus. That, if you haven't noticed, is my favorite thing I've ever learned to say.
on se casse
on se casse
on se casse
Voila la la la la.
Vous voyez, le problème is that who wants to listen to guillaume du fay's stinking polyphonic masses when you could be listening to the davies sing their Kinks-y hits? I know, since when did I turn up my nose at ancient music history? I'm usually the champion of studying the obscure and outdated. I'm rolling over in my grave. Butsa whateva, whateva, whateva eva.
Also, can we make note here that to the untrained observer there is no difference in the phoneme of the "oi" of french words like voila and the "oy" in voyez, BUT there is a HUGE difference and even though I'll never have success with my ridiculous obsession over tiny details comme ça I can rest self-satisfied.
I know Mom, I'm getting pompous. Apparently lack of sleep makes me spout gibberish, become pompous, and french.
la la la la la
c'est tout !
love,
M
P.S. I guess you hate all this dribble laying before your eyes but I was just getting so tired of waxing profound. I'ma go James Joyce on ya'll. HA!
ok, here's the translations:
on se casse: LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!
vous voyez: you see
comme ça: like that
c'est tout: th-th-th-that's all folks
on se casse
on se casse
on se casse
Voila la la la la.
Vous voyez, le problème is that who wants to listen to guillaume du fay's stinking polyphonic masses when you could be listening to the davies sing their Kinks-y hits? I know, since when did I turn up my nose at ancient music history? I'm usually the champion of studying the obscure and outdated. I'm rolling over in my grave. Butsa whateva, whateva, whateva eva.
Also, can we make note here that to the untrained observer there is no difference in the phoneme of the "oi" of french words like voila and the "oy" in voyez, BUT there is a HUGE difference and even though I'll never have success with my ridiculous obsession over tiny details comme ça I can rest self-satisfied.
I know Mom, I'm getting pompous. Apparently lack of sleep makes me spout gibberish, become pompous, and french.
la la la la la
c'est tout !
love,
M
P.S. I guess you hate all this dribble laying before your eyes but I was just getting so tired of waxing profound. I'ma go James Joyce on ya'll. HA!
ok, here's the translations:
on se casse: LET'S GET OUT OF HERE!!!!!
vous voyez: you see
comme ça: like that
c'est tout: th-th-th-that's all folks
16 December 2009
i always have ulcers at finals
and it's not because I care so much about them.
It's because by December I've lost patience with my migraines. So tonight it was two mt. dews, four pills from a bottle that said headache, and crackers for dinner. And maybe I shouldn't still be up at 1:07 a.m. to be experiencing this, but I'm getting the shakes, there's an uncomfortable hole being dug in my stomach, and the headache is coming back. I promise I normally take better care of myself.
I'm going to do nothing but do yoga and listen to vinyl all Christmas break. La la la, here I come The Byrds.
I.
If I could make this finals week last forever, I would. On Saturday my best friend, JG moves home and I'm trying not to think about it. And in April, E graduates and moves away, too. My biggest motivation to graduate is that in five months these, my closest dears, will all be gone and I'm going to want to bust this town. The thought of this impending depression spurs me to set goals. Goals like a December 2010 graduation (and I will not be walking. gross.) and internships. I just emailed Radiolab about internship possibilities with them. I'm also looking into the This American Life int. even though I think the staff and I would kill each other because of how FORMULAIC they are. Clever and lovely, but formulaic. You see, if I worked at TAL I could get a job anywhere I wanted. It would only mean loss of soul but growth of character and curriculum vitae for 60 hours/week for 6 months.
II.
I have a claymation set in my living room that I try to cover with a blanket when guests come over because I get embarrassed when people ask about it. Their reaction of awe makes me feel so awkward. And the plasticine kindergarten children are out of their crayon-colored cardboard chairs and are all in the fetal position on the plywood kindergarten floor. They look like casualties of nuclear fall-out.
III.
How, at 22 years old, do you make sure that your loved ones know they're loved? How do you have Christmas heart at the "selfish" time of life? I'm loss of words'd when it comes time to say you made my life, my soul is like claymation clay and you've become a permanent, vibrant strip in its plasticine pattern, you've got super8 mm style nostalgia written all over you, we're bound by yarn rope, you warm my heart more than a yarn pet or than the hallmark commercial from the 90s where the little boy is digging for a toy under his bed.
I learned from accidentally leaving my horrible and emotional teenage angst creative writing papers lying around the house that it was OK to say things in a fairly butchered way as long as you said them. So I probably won't be able to say these thing to you in person but I'm writing you all secret love notes (in a teenage angst way?).
I have almost used as many adjectives in this post as a certain S. Meyers uses.
Love you.
M
It's because by December I've lost patience with my migraines. So tonight it was two mt. dews, four pills from a bottle that said headache, and crackers for dinner. And maybe I shouldn't still be up at 1:07 a.m. to be experiencing this, but I'm getting the shakes, there's an uncomfortable hole being dug in my stomach, and the headache is coming back. I promise I normally take better care of myself.
I'm going to do nothing but do yoga and listen to vinyl all Christmas break. La la la, here I come The Byrds.
I.
If I could make this finals week last forever, I would. On Saturday my best friend, JG moves home and I'm trying not to think about it. And in April, E graduates and moves away, too. My biggest motivation to graduate is that in five months these, my closest dears, will all be gone and I'm going to want to bust this town. The thought of this impending depression spurs me to set goals. Goals like a December 2010 graduation (and I will not be walking. gross.) and internships. I just emailed Radiolab about internship possibilities with them. I'm also looking into the This American Life int. even though I think the staff and I would kill each other because of how FORMULAIC they are. Clever and lovely, but formulaic. You see, if I worked at TAL I could get a job anywhere I wanted. It would only mean loss of soul but growth of character and curriculum vitae for 60 hours/week for 6 months.
II.
I have a claymation set in my living room that I try to cover with a blanket when guests come over because I get embarrassed when people ask about it. Their reaction of awe makes me feel so awkward. And the plasticine kindergarten children are out of their crayon-colored cardboard chairs and are all in the fetal position on the plywood kindergarten floor. They look like casualties of nuclear fall-out.
III.
How, at 22 years old, do you make sure that your loved ones know they're loved? How do you have Christmas heart at the "selfish" time of life? I'm loss of words'd when it comes time to say you made my life, my soul is like claymation clay and you've become a permanent, vibrant strip in its plasticine pattern, you've got super8 mm style nostalgia written all over you, we're bound by yarn rope, you warm my heart more than a yarn pet or than the hallmark commercial from the 90s where the little boy is digging for a toy under his bed.
I learned from accidentally leaving my horrible and emotional teenage angst creative writing papers lying around the house that it was OK to say things in a fairly butchered way as long as you said them. So I probably won't be able to say these thing to you in person but I'm writing you all secret love notes (in a teenage angst way?).
I have almost used as many adjectives in this post as a certain S. Meyers uses.
Love you.
M
10 December 2009
I know that trick.
This is the week where a boyfriend with a car and a good income and good taste in food would come in handy. Because I need to spend hours editing/transcribing/studying/writing papers and so it would be perfect for him to bring me lovely healthy meals and pick me up from campus at two a.m. Other than that he would probably get in the way this week, lets be honesto.
Also, to Travis: Nobody has ever made me feel OK about spiders before but now as I imagine them singing karaoke I think I'll be able to handle it. Maybe even smile.
And to Eliza: I hope someday to not be talking to anyone at all at two in the morning. I hope to be sleeping. Always.
Also, to Travis: Nobody has ever made me feel OK about spiders before but now as I imagine them singing karaoke I think I'll be able to handle it. Maybe even smile.
And to Eliza: I hope someday to not be talking to anyone at all at two in the morning. I hope to be sleeping. Always.
09 December 2009
just to let you know I'm alive and awake
I've been tempting fate by spending the last week staying up until two in the morning editing and doing homework and I will be doing the same ce soir. Mais après ce soir je peux me dormir*.
The results of this fate tempting are as follows (because I know you care):
The other day (I think it might have been yesterday) I said, "I'm tired of complaining" and then realized what I'd just said and mumbled about meta-ideas and self-reflexivity knowing that neither of which actually applied but nothing seems to apply lately.
Last night while making graham cracker houses with my roommates I frosted a graham cracker mustache to my face. I thought it was a good idea. Then I tried to blow my nose on JG. I thought that was a good idea, too.
Last night, again, I met a boy who started polling me about how much I might believe in a revivalist club he was starting about thinking. I mean thinking about starting. Oh dear. It wasn't a religious revival. Anyway, I think (none of us can be positive) I think I understood his club, but I could not process words. There were lots of words going on and I'm not sure I heard them all and I think I just stared.
And lastly of last night, I, of course, would be the one who was awake at 2am to go to the bathroom and find the largest blackest spider I have ever seen and I made the weirdest sound I have ever made. That sound could only be a product of lack of sleep. I tried to imitate it for my sister this morning when she called to laugh at me.
Anyway, here's to another good long night of not sleeping. It will all be over in a matter of twenty hours.
*That's my poor french way of saying I'm going to go to sleep early tomorrow night.
The results of this fate tempting are as follows (because I know you care):
The other day (I think it might have been yesterday) I said, "I'm tired of complaining" and then realized what I'd just said and mumbled about meta-ideas and self-reflexivity knowing that neither of which actually applied but nothing seems to apply lately.
Last night while making graham cracker houses with my roommates I frosted a graham cracker mustache to my face. I thought it was a good idea. Then I tried to blow my nose on JG. I thought that was a good idea, too.
Last night, again, I met a boy who started polling me about how much I might believe in a revivalist club he was starting about thinking. I mean thinking about starting. Oh dear. It wasn't a religious revival. Anyway, I think (none of us can be positive) I think I understood his club, but I could not process words. There were lots of words going on and I'm not sure I heard them all and I think I just stared.
And lastly of last night, I, of course, would be the one who was awake at 2am to go to the bathroom and find the largest blackest spider I have ever seen and I made the weirdest sound I have ever made. That sound could only be a product of lack of sleep. I tried to imitate it for my sister this morning when she called to laugh at me.
Anyway, here's to another good long night of not sleeping. It will all be over in a matter of twenty hours.
*That's my poor french way of saying I'm going to go to sleep early tomorrow night.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
