Log in

No account? Create an account

Previous 10 | Next 10

Mar. 15th, 2006


Sportive dismemberment

Question for all y'alls who look at my entries:
Have any of you ever seen the inside of a golf ball, or tried to take one apart?
I've been haunted of late by memories from childhood of uncoiled golf ball hearts littering our backyard. We lived next doot to a golf course.
Or maybe I should broaden the scope. Have any of you intentionally dismantled a sports-related object so that it would no longer work.
(And yes, I got my worst grades in gym class.)
Odd question, but this is one of those all-too-common "Am I all alone here?" moments.

Mar. 13th, 2006


Some thoughts in the rain about writing stories

Thinking about stories, be they myth, legend, or the cobwebbing of facts we call history. So many things, places and, of course people, are fraught with stories, sometimes worn merely as a coat, sometimes forming the entire spine or Ygdrasil. Wondering where my stories are, where I could find them back in Wisconsin. Does the Midwest even have stories, does it have storytellers? I look back and what seems so omnipresent in my past is dirt, much clearer now in a city where I am so conscious of the lack of dirt. But that dirt is only dirt, good dirt for growing soy, corn and marijuana, but it’s not the soil of ages past, soft yet impenetrable foundation of countless storied generations.
Is it too much to ask for the hedge of my youth to be clung about with Arthur’s Vines, or for the many lakes in which I fearlessly swum to harbour unspeakable beasts of a time before time? Yes, but I still would like to walk through my town as if through a poem, hardly an epic but worth dwelling on/in, and say THAT house is where great things happened, dark deeds were wrought in THAT ditch by THAT pond, love unconquered burst, of all places, behind that crumbling cenotaph.
Maybe they did, but no one remembers, no one recalls, no one even mythologizes, for fear of stepping outside the bounds of normality, for fear of being called that most dreaded of names: “Interesting.” (It’s an insult where I come from—my father’s equivalent word was “Colorful”.)
Not sure where this is going, or what I’m looking for, but I suppose I’m making a demand of myself that, if I ever were to write again, at length, stories and poetry, that they be borne of my own soil, of mildewed Milwaukee attics, of Green Bays rather a ominous tinge of brown, of the new Lake Geneva, not the old (whose stories are legion and of whose myths I cannot partake), where ancient anglers whisper about fish 20 ft. long that eat drunken canoers who capsize late at night, dragged down by waters too cold to buoy their sotted flesh.
This hunting for stories should not always be like turning over large rocks—the unremarkably lichened granite replaced by crawling horrors, albeit tiny, who were never to see the light of day—for there needs to be some search, however desultory, for a verdant garden, no matter how overgrown, or to be more honest, a search for badly-paved small town streets, kids smoking up behind the gym, skeletons of elms dead 50 years (there I go again), of Al the mayor in his mesh cap, making the rounds of the town green (I never knew his last name).
Every day I read something more about the 12th or 13th century, about bishops and kings and my infamous archdeacons, and, for the most part, what survives concerns only the great, the beautiful, the horrible, the momentous. It makes my world seem so small, my deeds so insignificant. Maybe mine are, but the world which made me is not. I need to look anew, with my historian’s eye, at the small towns and schools of my childhood, wedged between glacial lakes, golf courses, and mile after mile of grain.

Mar. 9th, 2006


Synchronicities be damned

Just had the enlightening and/or benighted experience of sitting through Prof. Silano's lecture on the birth of the medieval inquisition, processing it with half of my mind, while using the other half to read through a couple of Lovecraft's shorter, early stories. By the end of the hour, Silano's soothing Milanese lilt was wrapped inextricably together with nameless chthonic tentacles.
And on that note...back to my lentil and ratatouille salad.

Good news

Woohoo! Yet another half-valid excuse to avoid my thesis!
Prof. Akbari asked me this week to assist her with yet another of her ambitious SSHRC projects, this time an edition of Book 15 of Bartholomaeus Anglicus's De rerum proprietatibus. That's the section on world geography, including all sorts of wonderful monsters on the far side of Asia, and a long description of the topography of Paradise. Make's you wonder how ol' Bart could find this stuff out.
I'll be transcribing and collating several manuscripts, translating, maybe do some editing. In a word, my favorite kinds of procrastination. I wish nearly every day that I had found some wonderful text which I could have edited and discussed for my thesis, rather than this rambling, disjointed blather on ecclesiastical hierarchies.
Stoopid history.
Ignored for another day--The rain makes me happy. Flowers coming up everywhere, after only a day of warmth.

I need to find a new set of Mood pictures. The little Goth guy never quite looks like the selected mood. He certainly doesn't appear busy.

Mar. 7th, 2006

hello cthulhu

The Little Things--Suck

You know how THEY always say that it's the little things that matter? Unfortunately, THEY are always referring to the happy, cute little things which you're supposed to stare at long enough to forget the lurking horror of mere existence.
THEY forget to mention that it's also the little things which will totally ruin your day. I just discovered that my brand-new ear plug headphones are broken. Something, some...cat, has chewed through the wire. I'm so angry right now that I can't possibly work, and must peruse Livejournal pages for several hours.
Yes, that's the only way to deal with righteous, nigh unlimited fury.
What makes me even angrier is that the cut in the wire is a bit clean for little kitty teeth, which suggests that it may in some way have been my fault, a concept so absurd that even its theoretical existence fills me with loathing so abysmally dark my eyesight has revoked the dominion of my brain and must wander aimlessly about my Robarts carrel, staring blankly at anything other than my thesis.

Mar. 6th, 2006


Wow, this made my evening

<td align="center">You are Andie Walsh from Pretty in Pink

You are original and clever person. Although your family may not be able to buy you all the cool stuff you want, you are able to make cool stuff for yourself. Like a rocking 80’s prom dress.

Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com</td>
hello cthulhu

Pick your favorite blasphemy

a) God is my Livejournal
b) Livejournal is my God
c) Livejournal is a god
d) Livejournal is a heathen idol which must be destroyed
e) Livejournal is a heathen idol which I bought at a local nicknack shop and keep on my dashboard
f) Livejournal is a many-tentacled horror of the soul-swallowing darkness

Mar. 5th, 2006


(no subject)

Quote of the week:

Monkey 1: I hear Tom Wolfe is speaking at the Lincoln Center tonight.
Monkey 2: [gesturing dramatically]
Monkey 1: Well of course we're going to throw poo at him!

This comes from "Madagascar", an absolutely UNfunny film, which I mistakenly thought would be an adequate waste of a Saturday evening. Emily asked for something we didn't have to think about.
Nonetheless, these lines were worth the $3.50. We nearly choked to death with laughter.
Somebody would have to come scrape us off the floor and prevent the cats from eating our corpses.

It's even more priceless if you can picture Tom Wolfe looking the prig in his Capote-esque white suit.

Mar. 4th, 2006


more time wasted...

40% Combativeness, 40% Sneakiness, 94% Intellect, 22% Spirituality
Brilliant! You are a Wizard!

Wizards are spells-casters who study powerful arcane magic. While Wizards tend to be pretty fragile, some of those spells can pack quite a punch. Unlike Clerics, Wizards aren’t as good at fixing people as they are at breaking them, so watch where you toss that fireball…

Your most distinctive trait is your intelligence. You're probably well learned and logical, if perhaps a bit fragile.

My test tracked 4 variables How you compared to other people your age and gender:
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 23% on Combativeness
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 51% on Sneakiness
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 94% on Intellect
free online datingfree online dating
You scored higher than 17% on Spirituality
Link: The RPG Class Test written by MFlowers on Ok Cupid, home of the 32-Type Dating Test

Mar. 3rd, 2006



Good lord, that poem from this morning blows a whole herd of the proverbial quadrupeds. I still like the first two lines, but it took a none too graceful swan dive after that. Have you ever seen swans trying to fly? You'll forget everything you heard about grace if you see those bloated feathery VW buses trying to gain lift. Keep em in the water, I say.

I'm not nearly as upset as my little mood feller would indicate.

Previous 10 | Next 10