Jam Every Other Day

anyways

Fri, 04 Dec 2009 04:34:49 GMT

What is something nice about living? Not just the world or life in general - something you have to be involved in to appreciate. Like music, for example.
how would you turn into a puddle without being supersuper gross?
what do monks do? are they ever sad? do they miss people?
I can't really handle books or movies very well. It's like having thin enamel on your teeth. I am an aged neanderthal perhaps...gumming the mushier bits of life. ummnyumm.
Sleeping on ledges is a very delicate sleep. I felt like the gargoyle of the roots and stones, slacking on my watch, but really I was only a shivery little down-puffed blob drooling onto my backpack. I wasn't actually drooling though. Huzzah. Not drooling is pretty cool.
rachel gave me a warm thing for my ears. she is nice.
I should pack so I can move tomorrow. I'll nap first.
People are so difficult. I really just want to be a puddle. Or my footsteps. I like my footsteps. My footprints are also pretty nice. I'd be ok being a footprint.
but instead

Wed, 25 Nov 2009 15:18:52 GMT

oh woe, the little spider in the bathroom finally gave up and died

the trees drop their leaves and so their senses

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 08:09:53 GMT

I seem to imagine almost everything as carving. even seeing in the fourth dimension! ...or would it be the fifth.... any dimension perhaps? you carve away the maybes and presto - the god of happens is revealed beneath a dust of would.

back when the sun still sang, moths steered clear of the silent flames

Fri, 20 Nov 2009 07:43:22 GMT

Pie is delicious and singing and spinning with Kathlyn is gollygee happy.

Thu, 05 Nov 2009 03:00:16 GMT

Being a person is really hard

I am ridiculously permeable

Tue, 03 Nov 2009 07:21:15 GMT

and from the myopic, broken-hearts of the fallen sons of sky grew a longing. The winds and the waters tumbled the stones about, trying to return their songs, but merely ground that longing into clay. From clay were the golems and trolls born - creatures of waiting. The trolls looked at the sky and knew that someday the sun would harden them to stone and then to stars and they would rejoin the sky. The golems looked to the earth and knew that someday the toils of her turnings would dissolve them into the roots of the trees. Knowing that someday they would not be alone, the golems were the lonelier of the two. They found life and listened. Mankind commanded them to work and the golems did. The trolls, knowing that someday they would burn lifetimes apart from each other, wandered the mountains and mines alone, singing in deep voices to harmonize with their echos and watching the land rise and fall.

Mon, 02 Nov 2009 03:51:23 GMT

me and the kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty kitty and the parakeet who is rearranging the perchbars in his cage hm

Thu, 29 Oct 2009 12:42:09 GMT

I am going to take a nap. I feel like this is a really bad idea. Whee.

...yup. bad idea. My body revolted and refused to hear the alarm. Woops.

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 02:27:29 GMT

Someone tried to wash a dead Barney down the sink, but there are chunks of decomposing purple floating and smelling putrid and grapey.

Tue, 27 Oct 2009 09:58:39 GMT

I just had icecream!

It must be secret - I don't know the rest!

Fri, 23 Oct 2009 06:56:03 GMT

"Take my breastbone as your vessel and my wings as sails. This would kill any ordinary bird, but by the words I speak, I am no ordinary bird." And so saying, he smote his chest with his bright beak, and lay open and still at her feet.

what do you do with last words? It'd be nice to think of a bunch for lots of situations. Make up a special language for those who are about to die!
Maybe tomorrow I will go out and make lying names for the labeled trees.
I get all tongue-tied when I am in a bad mood though, so maybe I will be unable to be so friendly with them.

later later someday we used to we will

Mon, 19 Oct 2009 04:34:12 GMT

Do you guys have 'somedays' you all wish for? What are they like? Do you believe in them, even just a little?
I mean, any sort of someday... the bridge-builders or lemonade-trees or sky-diving, what ever.

mm, I gotta bike to school and practice cello and piano (I finally got my book back), but I'm so lazy. Also, I need to remember to sleep on weekends. Also maybe I should go glaze gloopdadoopbloop. Oh! and take out the trash! right!

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 10:46:54 GMT

Nerf nights are the best nights!

roses smell good

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 04:40:48 GMT

our upstairs people galumph!

blah blah blah she said blah blah blah please don't eat me

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 04:38:08 GMT

hush... still your throats, oh wolves that were once Wolf (as is the way for all who lost the ways of Gods to become many). I have heard your howls, and though I do not know your name, I know that the moon once loved you and you left her among the love-lost stones still warm with your lies. You drove the moon mad when you were still a God. Both of you were fools to make promises among the fallen sons of Sky, for the God of Happen is half-blind and clumsy-handed and was sure to match your fates with theirs...turning all promises to loose-knit lies.
blahblahblah
I don't know. I just talk to the trees and I'm sure they laugh at me behind my back.
blahblahblahblahblahblah
blahblah
blah

Sun, 18 Oct 2009 04:29:31 GMT

and I go blah blah blah into the empty with no echoes blah blah blah blah blah shutup.

trees are really pretty

Mon, 12 Oct 2009 05:30:51 GMT

I guess tomorrow exists...I just don't want it to

I'm finding it increasingly difficult to believe that tomorrow exists

Sun, 11 Oct 2009 01:01:25 GMT

I saw a girl sitting on her porch with a baseball bat- tapping it with a jar of nail polish-experimenting with different sounds and rhythms. daw.

we watched a movie on orangutans, and afterwards I found my mouth hanging open

Tue, 06 Oct 2009 07:03:33 GMT

Before the naming of things, the world was wild and boundless. That which would become Rabbit was as likely to hunt that which would become Fox as to flee from it. That which would become Tree was as likely to walk like that which would become Man as to tangle its branches against the sun. That which would become Man was as likely to fly like that which would become Bird as to speak. The rivers wandered and sang and the mountains shifted and danced. The beasts and plants understood the minds of one another like one.
Except for that which would become Cat, for cats have been different since Sky first breathed life into the oceans of Earth. That which would be Cat sat on the high places of the Earth to watch, and was dissatisfied.
One day, that which would become Cat, went to Sky and wound about his knees. Sky turned his gaze to that which would become Cat, and in a voice of thunder, asked "What?"
"Sky," mewled that which would become Cat, "This world is twisted like the heart of one who weeps, for there are no boundaries between things."
And Sky sighed, for, since his sons had fallen, he knew what it was to weep. He turned his gaze to the world below and saw that all was chaos and he spoke again to that which would become Cat.
"I will name all things and so all will be separate. You will know how it is to be oneself, but you will not know how it is to be a thing which flies at night. But before I do this, do you speak for all things?"
"I do," lied that which would become Cat.
And so Sky looked upon all things and named them names that only they could know. The trees stood and tangled their arms against the sun. Man walked upon the earth and spoke. Bird flew, Fox hunted, and Rabbit fled. The rivers flowed silent and the mountains rose up clear and still. All was beautiful and clear and lonely.
Cat again went to the high places of Earth to watch and again was displeased.
So Cat went back to Sky, for cats have been changeable of mind since Sky first breathed life into the oceans of Earth. Cat rubbed about Sky's knees until Sky looked down and thundered, "What?"
"Ah Sky, each thing is alone like one who mourns, for there is no connection between things."
Sky sighed again, for, since his sons had fallen, he knew what it was to mourn alone. He turned his gaze to the world and saw that all was self-absorbed and unconscious. He spoke again to Cat.
"I cannot take away a thing's name, but I will make all things forget. But you will feel the edge of your forgotten name, just as you will feel the edge of having forgotten what it is to be another. But before I do this, do you speak for all things?"
"I do," lied Cat once again.
The Trees waved and stretched and though Man walked upon Earth, he crafted wings. Though Bird flew, he mocked the speech of Man. The Fox did not always hunt the Rabbit and the Rabbit did not always flee. The rivers sang, and the mountains, from time to time, danced just a very little bit.
Cat sat upon the high places of Earth and was pleased with what he saw, and so he went down and sat in the lap of Man and purred, for that is how cats have been since Sky first breathed life into the oceans of Earth.
And so, my friends, all things are themselves, but they do not know their names and that is why we ask what it is to be a bat.

Sun, 04 Oct 2009 01:02:37 GMT

there are so many things in the world that I don't quite want to bother to do..
I am so lazy
I'm bad at having a brain these past few days. Post offices and printers seem so dauntingly complicated, and it's difficult to play anything because my fingers start making assumptions that are not correct.
It's really windy today, so the PAC outside stairwell was howling with all its might. Perhaps secretly I'll stay late at school today and make the inside stairwell match.

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 02:33:16 GMT

I sometimes like the whirr and thumps and creaks of being surrounded by human life. It's kind of a friendly sound.
My housemates are away, so I'm being all cleany and bustley without worrying them and making them feel like they have to clean and bustle too.

We'll fly, but we won't fly away. No no no, we're going to save the world someday.

Sun, 27 Sep 2009 09:12:51 GMT

what can I fill my eyes with and yet still see past to live?
I don't want to waste this, and that makes it that much harder. I am going to believe in heaven, dammit, I am. I am going to stop worrying and hurrying and I will let myself ghost in case I can't be a ghost after I die. I am going to watch the birds and the squirrels and remember them over themselves and then forget. I am going to eat the sun off of the blackberries and I am going to galumph like a monster and stop feeling paused. I am not dead I am not I am not even a leaf undecided midfall. I want to read books with lots of pictures and diagrams with no plot or reason, just telling. I want to watch a nature film where nothing happens. I want my umbrella to hear the world and remember it in the metal spars. I want to sail away in a bathtub full of moldy books and watch the sudden spray startle seagulls. I want to wave my feet in the air and wiggle my toes in the sun. I want rub myself away and discover I am an immortal vapor so we could realize we are short almost-giggles of earth breath. I want to dance with you. I want our spines. So I will sleep of lemonade and I will be able to close my eyes and the wind will pool in our shoulderblades, raising them to wings so that we can carry each other. We are going to fly someday we are.
I am so glad to be alive. It seems almost blessedly unfair that humans can love life so much. Right now, my ears are burnt with the after-images of a million songs and edged conversations, in my eyes linger the echoes of a thousand setting suns and camera flashes. My bed is soft and warm and feet are pleasingly frigid. Goodnight, I'll see you soon.
I must find something important about damp shoes.

note to self

Sat, 12 Sep 2009 05:06:04 GMT

as I said goodbye to Ben, there was a high pitched trill going on..too smoothly continuous to be crickets, but I assumed it was at first, and oddly enough, I found it almost as comforting as rain. It felt like home instead of loneliness or empty-chest-music.

and when I make a boat out of you, will you swim true?

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 09:48:01 GMT

Long long ago, when the sky was young and dry, he had many sons, all stones. The stones could see the curve of the earth, curled sweetly upon herself. They loved her dearly and sang long soft songs to try stroke her horizons. But they stretched their voices too far, too taut and they pulled themselves to the ground. All they could see were each other, scarred by their fall, and their songs shorted and hardened. They wore away and grew silent. The sky missed them and grew worried. He went down to the waters and the winds and asked what had become of the stones. The rivers murmured that the stones had fallen and the oceans roared that the stones had despaired. The breezes whispered that they lay still and the storms wailed that they crumbled. The sky wept tears into the wind and bled his light into the water. The waters and the winds were discomfited by his grief and took pity on the sky. The waters rolled upon the earth finding stones and awaking what brief songs they could with the light of the stones' father and motion of flight. The winds swept the earth
aww, the kitten made the weirdest purr. So nasal and high.
I dunno what I'm writing. It's bedtime now.

Wed, 29 Jul 2009 08:32:41 GMT

yummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm!