So, obviously I'm going to get nothing done today. Even if I try I'll get; distracted, thoughtful, inspired, burnt-out, etc...and generally nowhere! So, why bother freaking out about the fact that I have so much to do, and so little desire to do anything? It's best just to accept the fact that I am getting nowhere today. All-right. Now what?

TO DO

1.) Math Project
2.) History Chapter 10
3.) Potato Lab Averages
4.) Fix Enzyme Lab Intro
5.) Read more of Huckleberry Finn
6.) Math Assignment # 15
7.) Study Assignment # 14

Help!

So depressing. Reading depressing book. Song fits in perfectly. Poor Connie. Freedom is great.

Some Music

Banjitar

Daddy surprised me with the beautiful banjo-guitar... my life is complete, can't wait to get home and feel the caress of those strings.

Just Thinking

There has got to be more to life than sitting in this school caf. There has got to be more to life than homework, and service learning, and 4.0's.
There has got to be something.

2days ago

Laugh your ass off. Mum, you there, in a third world country. Aren't you pretty? Look at your baby. You are without your husband what a pity you seem. That's such a tragic picture, you're an expert on that scene.

Where is the Songbird?

Chorus, but where is Kathleen? She lost her voice, and yesterday it hurt her so greatly. If we could trade voices, right here, right now, I would give her my own (and hope it serve her well).

People

People can be such a bitch. It is so easy for some of those talented talkers to find something about you to needle at. No shoes. Yep. No fucking shoes, and it's raining. There is no sympathy in that statement. It is just that, a statement, and no more. Life has no sympathy, rain is what you asked for, but not in your slippers. Footprints that follow my step, mud, conforming to the contours of the pedestrian vehicle. That's my mark. I am the girl without shoes. Life can be such a bitch.

This morning I had no time to be living, to sleep, to breathe, to find my converse, and kick out the door. Instead, I was sluggish, and shoeless, self concious. Obsessed with mistakes of the past, things that nobody could fix. Perhaps it is as they say. Things happen as they are meant to happen, all of this to teach me a lesson; the significance of which I can't even fathom until all is dead and gone, and I, ragged. Shoeless, cold, shivering in my own rage, self pity, and human humilliation.

Read me a symphony, sing my life backwards. I want nothing more than any needy human; to feel loved and understood.

I want to overcome my jealousy, overcome my obsessiveness. I want to triumph over evil. I hate fearing it is myself. I fall into submission, to life, to all worth living, all that makes it so hard to justify continuing sometimes. I want to get past this feeble minded phase, to awake into myself, to feel I'm in the right place.

It isn't like I'm the only one who feels this way, who fears these things, who gives in to hate-- hatred of self and people less than hatred of the situation.

I need to get situated in this skin of mine, that still doesn't fit me after 16 years. I can't stretch and be satisfied. I need more room, I need a safe place to hide. But, I can't.

Chorus in the Morning

There is power there. The violins, the viola, the cello--- the singers. This beauty. This power. I'm so tired. This is bliss. This is life. This is love. This is pain and joy all at once and carried in slow eras of change. Eric and Dylan would be changed. I read their journals with an obsessive rush. Rammstein, Marilyn Manson, NIN, we have that much in common. I'm obsessed with Suicide. I wish to go back in time to prevent it. Elliott Smith, those poor school shooters, bullied girls and boys of every colour and creed.
This is my obsession. Humans are my weakness. Boys and Girls, here we are philosophising, and making ourselves sick over much of nothing. I wonder who keeps journals anymore.
Dylan, Eric, why?
Why, why, why? That's the question you wanted me to ask isn't it? Or how, or how could everyone have been so stupid. But, you already knew. I've read the doctrine, I've cried the stuff of humanity. I've hated, I've loved, I've done both so vehemently as to make a nobel comparison.
I've fantasized about lovers, killers, life and death. I've done that. Dylan, I wish you'd let yourself live for her. I know how it feels to be lost to your own best friend. I know isolation. Externally connected, almost externally connected. But, I feel these walls of silence. I don't belong here, where I belong, I don't belong anywhere, not in my own skin.
Skin, haha, I realize now. Your doctrine made us impossible. You would have hated me.
Kathleen's beautiful wasian, human, angel voice, the harmonics on the violin. The sonoros voices of the basses. Build, build, build it.
The power of music. It keeps me on this Earth. I am too small to live without it. I used to feel big. I still feel awkward.
Trill, strings, that frenzied movement. The voices building so cataclyzmic a force I've never known. Devistation.
Break, break, break, slowly. Aural orgazims.
That is music, that is the substance of life, that is the sustanance of humanity, all that is, all I know.
Dylan, did you listen to music the way I do?
Halleigh-looo-yeh. Had to say it. Someone had to say it.
Hebrew Love Songs.
The accented voice of the singer. Kathleen, I could listen to this choir forever. I really could.
Eric, beautiful boy, angry boy, godly boy, that's what you wanted, now isn't it?
Dylan, intelligent, passionate, beautiful boy. Beautiful from the inside out. I am perfectly convinced that you were murdered, whereas Eric was a killer angel, Lucifer, a fallen angel.
Fallen from her grace, Dylan, why?
I wish I could trade places with you.
I was alive, you know, just pretty young. I was a thinking, breathing, wanting being when you still hoped for a reason to believe in something.
Music. Music.
Dylan, you make my soul ache. I've known your pain now. I understand you.
Eric, I understand so little, yet so much of your mind. You were god, the devil, now that's what you want me to think, isn't it?
Dylan, you can't make me think anything but the truth. You were wounded early. I've been injured too. I can't imagine I'll ever meet anyone like you, anyone who kept journals.

Whatshisname

This morning I thought I saw him riding his bike past my house. Funny, how things work out, I thought I was so past this "seeing him everywhere" when I don't see him at all thing. Ashley says I should simply read Yaoi, watch something that pleases me like that, she's probably right. The sooner I grow attatched to another, the sooner I stop suffering and forget him...or actually, forgetting him is the end to all suffering.
I don't feel things the same way anymore.
My mother is moving to another country...and the choir is singing this Bach Choral in a beautiful sad key. Oh, Bach, you knew this pain, didn't you? It is a divine wrath, is love. Dissonance, oh great breaking of voices. That is my heart. Opened up on the surgeon's silver table.
She's taking Ben too. She wants him to grow up in a 3rd world country.

Somebody that I Used to Know

We broke up yesterday. Elliott Smith spoke for me, when emotions screamed obscenities, and my friends, his friends were telling me to say something really nasty while I had this one oppertunity to get him with his gaurd down. In stead I said this "I guess you're just somebody that I used to know".

What is this fear?

What is this fear? Unknown? Nay, but it is known-- it is failure. Fear of failure. The failure is fear, and fear of failing. I fear failure.

Every moment spent thinking of something other than you, is a moment well spent.

So, He doesn't want to hear it

Well, I guess that makes sense...
My estranged twin-sister's estranged older brother no longer wants to hear me whine about how much I miss Esteban.
That makes sense.

In Choir

A hungry heart grows fat on the swelling fruits of their labour. The music...ahh, the music. I am stationed in the back of the class, by the basses, but on the Soprano's side of the room. It's my morning Eulogy that makes my heart surge with the love of life, death (which is as much a part of life as birth), oh music, dissonant, beautiful, layers of the delighful derge. I wish I wish I wish.
Esteban, what mistakes do you speak of?
Oh, music, completing me with this most perfect exaltation and pain, deliverance from the evils that are born in a silence of mind. This is my religeon.
Music, beauty, worship the wind, give thanks to the music.
Pray to the power of nature and little people.
Music, music, my drug, my escape.
My only understanding of the incomprehensible thing that is life, substance, and subtle chord changes.

Choral Warm Ups

Shh shh shh shh.
Shh t ck t ch.
Rrah rr rah.
"Some of you are going asian rllr rllr rllr rllr." Laughter
Clap-Clap clapclapclap.
1&2&3&4&
This awesome asian choir director is great :)