Damn you, North Dakota.

Amy Amy Amy Amy

Thu, 15 Jan 2009 05:59:56 GMT

For my second entry in almost two years. There's nothing that I can write that will make it seem like any of this is worth the wait, so I might suggest just pretending as if I've been consistently Livejournaling this whole time.

I did, however, update my userpic.

Tonight I am, once again, asking myself who I am. Because this question has never been clear to me. It seems as though I am a million things and one very specific thing all at the same time. (Ah, life.)

It has been, by the way, a little secret of mine that I ask myself this question on a regular basis. There is a part of me that feels a bit ashamed at being 24 years old and STILL not quite having a handle on Amy yet. She's a complicated beast, and BOY do I hate saying that one out loud. Yes, yes, roll the eyes. Another one has claimed complication. Go figure. Well hey, this is Livejournal, afterall. This is the meeting center of us folks who feel we're too complicated for this world. We come here to celebrate, to sort, and to share this one fact about ourselves. So here goes.

Of all the things I could very easily ramble on and on about in excruciating/philosophical detail, I'm going to start with a Christmas gift I received from Papa Walls this year: a baseball bat.

I would have been less surprised if those tall, skinny boxes underneath the tree turned out to be bbguns. The old man has been rediscovering his sense of humor the past few years since falling off the wagon, and I'm sure he would be beautifully amused at the reference to that movie TBS marathons for 24 hours on Christmas Day. Christmas Day at the Walls household, by the way, you can be assured there are at least three rooms at any given moment that you can see woman-leg-lamps shining from the TV screen.

Ken Griffey Jr. 600th Homerun Edition Baseball Bat. A collectors item. For people who collect such things. And for artsy fartsy indie chicks in Los Angeles, apparently.

Before I go on with this story, let me back-track just a tiny bit. In early-mid December, I had a surge of inspiration to re-discover Vedic astrology. It's a terribly difficult science to get a handle on, but you might say, I'm not one to give up easily. I may throw down the pen, but I pick it back up eventually, ya know? So anyway, I found some new books with sample software and let the exploration begin. After doing the reading I found necessary to understand the software, I began to tackle my own chart. As it turns out, I'm a Libra. Oops. I went all of these years thinking that I was a Sagittarius. My point is that... who I know to be me can be false at any given moment. (And apparently, this is a shadow side to being a Libra. So this is all very fitting.)

Back to the bat.

I didn't question it too much at the time. My father and I had one of those American father-daughter stories where we bonded over going to baseball games, talking about baseball, sharing our baseball cards with each other, swearing at the TV when your team fucks up. Oh wait, that's an American father-SON relationship and he had that with my older brother. BUT, he (and my brother) did used to play baseball with me in the yard and taught me how to play and let me watch the Reds games with them. We would take family trips to go see the Reds, and some stories emerged from these times (i.e. getting socked in the face by Papa Walls when he got excited about a foul ball that seemed to be coming our way). There have been off-and-on moments between Baseball and I.

Like all things in my life, there is a real love-hate relationship going on here.

I shipped the bat to myself and it arrived in Los Angeles but a few days ago. Since it's been here, in my apartment, I've been faced with a real dilemma: What the crap do I do with this bat? And the answer behind that question lies within the answer of another question: Who.Am.I?

As I reminisced the "on" moments I've had with Baseball, I couldn't help but to reminisce the "on" moments that I've had with everything, including: theater, music, art, spirituality, athleticism, comedy, writing, film, design, cooking, math, dance, literature, nature, physics, gadgets, politics, psychology, nutrition.......... and...the...list goes... onnnnn.

I had one of those o-m-g moments by this point. This is why I don't know who I am. I am whoever I say I am in any given moment. If I decide to zoom into something, I can master it. I can master it because I develop a relationship with it. I developed a relationship with the Piano, and we learned how to play each other. But in order to make room for the next relationship, I had to let the piano go. Just like I had let Baseball go years before. But, like the Piano, I pick Baseball back up everyone in a while. And then let it go.

The same goes for people, I think. But don't tell any of my close friends that, please.

Is Baseball part of who I am? So much so that I would display a Ken Griffey Jr. 600th Homerun Edition Baseball Bat? Sometimes I would say that Henry David Thoreau is a huge part of who I am, but maybe not because I don't live in a cabin. And I do have a yoga mat in one of my rooms, but sometimes it gets put away. The room did, afterall, go from being a music room to a spirituality room. The arts and crafts table still exists... in my bedroom... with a million of unfinished projects and mail I haven't sorted yet. Even the desk that I am typing on write now... you know, the desk intended for my writing space?... is so cluttered that I can barely fit my laptop on here.

This whole things has really made me wonder.
Am I, possibly: Amy, thee who has love/hate relationships with everyone and everything?

As I ask myself this, a smile comes upon my face. I think about Senior year of high school. In our theater group, an annual "Senior Skit" is performed. This is a short skit written and performed by all of the underclassmen, and the premise is essentially a glorified mock session of the graduating students in theater. Sydney Morton wrote and performed the role of Amy Walls. When all of the other "seniors" in the skit were standing around talking, the character of Amy would join in, stand quietly and watch. She watched everyone put in their two cents, and at just the right time she said something funny and honest and insightful. The group would get a laugh, and "Amy," as if dissatisfied by the reaction, would walk away as soon as her moment was over.

A few minutes later, she would come back.
And the character's cycle went on for the duration of the skit.
This was the role of Amy Walls.

And I have to admit, Sydney and those underclassmen were way ahead of me in understanding this.

Thank you for reading.
Have a lovely day.

Love/Hate,
Amy Lynn Walls

gold. not the line. just gold

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 21:32:35 GMT

I'm posting this from my MySpace blog. I had been leaving all blogging alone for quite sometime. Now that I've written something for the internet, I thought I may as well post it on my livejournal as well. Here goes. ***
...
I come today with a question. (Always a question with me, I know.)

The question isn't any of the following:
- Am I good enough?
- Do I love myself?
- Do I deserve good things?
- Is it time I start getting the happiness I've worked so hard for?
- When will this hell end?
- Will I ever be healthy?
- Is the past behind me?/Will it ever be?

These questions don't bother to come around anymore. They're frustrating and irrelevent. I've taken to relevency lately (thank God), which is probably why my blogging has nearly halted.* No need to bother myself/let myself be bothered/bother the rest of the world with irrelevency. Not that my contemplation and exploration of these questions has been a waste by any means (it hasn't). It's more like... these irrelevent/once relevent questions have finally paid off.

Respectively, the answers are:
- Yes.
- Yes.
- Yes.
- Yes.
- Hell is subjective and personal.
- Health is subjective and personal.
- Yes, and before me, and with me./Always has been, always will be.

Today, I pose a more relevent (for this moment, anyway) question.
...
Nevermind. I lost it. I suppose it's already become obsolete. Making a point and expressing a point are two different things. Expressing a point and articulating a point are also different. I'll end this paragraph here before I say something I don't mean. Or before I insult somebody's intelligence.

In other/less abstract news (how boring):

I still live my quaint life in Highland Park/Los Angeles, California.
Back in school, studying the most holistic/beautiful/thorough/intuitive/logical system of health/life I've known to exist. It's known as Ayurveda.
I work three days a week at a lovely cafe in Eagle Rock called Auntie Em's. This pays the bills.
There is an interesting band called Big Whup that I've been invited to play with and have been doing so since February. We're recording next month.
Time management (another subjective and personal thing) is proving to be a frustrating and difficult concept for me to be conscious of. Familiar feelings. I'm starting to learn how to accept them.
For the first time, I'm happy to be falling in love. Another frustrating and difficult concept for a Sagittarian/Scorpio/Capricorn. But I must be overcoming my barriers of vanity, confusion, anger at the world, self-consciousness, needing to hide. Finding someone who operates on my same wavelength makes most of the difference.

Sorry to end with the boring news. Sorry to start with the rambling and abstract news. **

* The truth is, I don't know why I'm blogging right now. Perhaps it simply feels grounding. Write it down, they say. Down, down, down. Amy, come down. I can write this in my journal with a pen of any color, but I'm opting to blog. Maybe blogging is more than simply grounding. It's interactive. It says "here I am," without screaming "Here I am!"... and this has always been my style anyway. I'm choosing to allow interaction to occur between me and the rest of the world. I must be coming out of hiding. But I won't deny how grounding this feels as well. Thank you for taking the time to read this writer's footnote of the day.

** "Sorry." Perhaps the most irrelevent of all of the irrelevencies.

*** Added footnote, not from the original blog. How are all of you guys? I'd love to hear from any/all of you!

and thus

Mon, 26 Feb 2007 20:34:48 GMT

i gather my bits of strength, take a deep breath at the sorrow I feel for the girl in those pictures who weighed but 112 pounds at the time. she had so much control over herself (yet none at all), the anger i feel (at the anger i feel) for not being as small as she (who is me, by the way) was at the time. and i want to wish all of you a

happy eating disorder awareness week.

if you can find it within yourself to do so, please take a few moments out of your week to light a candle for awareness. it will give me strength and millions of others. i promise.

By the way...

Fri, 12 Jan 2007 17:39:28 GMT

I have been blogging on my MySpace page in case any of you are interested. Sorry I don't keep up with the LIVEJOURNAL.

*edit*
Oh, and the url is www.myspace.com/raviolus

Hi Livejounral.

Tue, 05 Dec 2006 03:10:08 GMT

I know, I know. It's been so freakin' long. Who even remembers that I have a Livejournal? Well anyway, I just had a birthday and it was happy and I am happy but I am lonely and I want to move on to the next phase of my life, please. Break will be good in that I won't be stressing out over school. I'm really into the notion of "family" these days. My mom is allowing herself to get close to me, so I'm close to believing her when she says that she loves it when I'm home.

Maybe they do. Maybe they all do.

The house is difficult for me. My room is difficult for me. In that room I have planned a couple of suicides, I have hurt myself, and I have hidden all of my shame in various clothing drawers. Sometimes in the closet. But mostly my drawers. In that room I have cried and panicked and rocked myself to sleep. In that room I have dreamed of sleeping in other rooms, having the hardest time of sleeping that said room. In that room I have strategized and fantasized about all of the ways that I can starve myself. In that room I have never felt more lonely, more worthless, more ashamed, and more hopeless. And safe.

The house is difficult for me. My room is difficult for me.

While my heart is now open and I no longer feel the hopelessness and (as intense of) shames and desires to kill myself, that room reminds me of these pieces of myself. I will be soaking in these pieces. That's why I always feel so lucky to come back to L.A. (alive).

(I've always had a hard time explaining this sort of thing to my friends. I've always been afraid of the dark and ashamed of my fear. It is fitting, then, that I have been ashamed of my fear of my own dark sides, of which I've had many, though I cover them up nicely, if not awkwardly.)

No school will be nice. Break will be nice. Family will be nice. I'm anxious to see the kind of damage, if any, I'll be returning back to L.A. with this time around. Maybe my room will not be so difficult for me.

Posetry Today.

Sat, 23 Sep 2006 19:52:08 GMT

Listen, chief, for I seek your approval otherwise
I’ll return to the days of sneaking melted butter into your shampoo
And chuckling as you wonder why your hair is so oily when clearly,

You just washed it.

I’m stuck with you, so it’s hard to find the “death”
Part of this Life/Death/Life cycle I’ve been hearing
So much about. Speaking of “so,” when are you going

To like me?

I’ll try to grow out of this phase of feeling inadequate but
Could you help me out a bit by
Pretending that I’m an all right pup? Never mind, I

Am not a big fan of appeasal.

And I won’t believe you

Anyway, I got to wondering. About your life,
Mostly, and how you hate mine. I try not to bother you,
But I’m stuck with you, really, so I need you to like me because

What else could die if not your hate of me?

Would you forget about my need of approval if
Not for just a minute or two sheesh
There you go telling me things I’d rather not hear

As if you’d stopped in the first place.

I hear “The only trust required is to know that when there is one ending there will be another beginning,” so I’m thinking that since you won’t die, then your hate
For me might, and then love can be born?

Never you mind my need of acceptance. It will live live live live…
…
Oh. Crap.

On Updates:

Sun, 06 Aug 2006 02:22:17 GMT

On food:

1.Tomatoes with salt and pepper are still my favorite food.
2.Chips and salsa was number 2, but has since been replaced with flour tortillas, microwaved for about 15-20 seconds.
3.Hummus and Mediterranean flatbread has been replaced by salad for third place.
4.Milkshakes and canned pineapple are first and second alternatives.

On work:

1.I’m still at the library. I just haven’t picked up any shifts there in about two weeks because…
2.I got a new job at a café in Old Towne Pasadena. The place is terrific. It just opened the first of August, so I got to train with the famous chef consultant/actor, William. Needless to say, the food there is ridiculously good and made with natural ingrediants. The owners are Belgian and ridiculously nice. And I’m gonna make a lot of money. When the school year comes I will only be working Fridays and Saturdays so that I don’t have to quit the library and/or change my class schedule.
3.Once the money starts coming in, this will all be very perfect.

On cash flow:

1.I have none, so please don’t invite me to do anything that involves spending more than $5, please.

On apartment:

1.My roommate might be the perfect person for me to live with. Maybe. It’s still up in the air, but for moving in with a stranger, I am friggin lucky.
2.We’re in between furniture.
3.Scruffy keeps bringing home live lizards to our patio door.
4.The apartment itself is still super sweet and awesomely priced.best.apartment.best.

On the upper part of my body:

1.This is really frustrating.
2.I almost don’t want to talk about it.
3.But I will mention that I have a really bad case of TMJ (jaw disorder). And it affects a whole lot of muscles (in the head, face, neck, shoulders, upper arms…) For over a week now all of these muscles have been spasming non-stop (charlie horse style)
4.It’s effin’ painful, and insurance is being a bitch. = I am frustrated, so I am trying to find ways to calm down, as this was all a result of stress-related teeth-grinding anyway.
5.We’ll seeeeeeeeeeeeeeee how this goes. (Unless we go blind. Which I might since I see blind people in my neighborhood all the time.)

On the lower part of my body:

1.Yep, still there.

On visitors:

1.Steven and Isabel came to visit me. They got here last Saturday and left today.
2.Love, love, love (and some fun in between).

On myself:

1.Well, since deciding to demand respect from the people that I let into my life, my days have become much less complicated. Mostly because it meant that I had to stop spending time with all those fools that aren’t keen on my new-found instinct to trust my own feelings. Life is considerably more boring. Well, not really. But it feels like it is on days like these when I actually have time to myself and my phone isn’t ringing every hour on the hour by people who don’t appreciate my inherently human qualities and feelings.
2.So today has appeared to be boring. Didn’t have to work. Steven and Isabel left. It’s Saturday, so I can’t take care of most of my errands/things to do/appointments to make/etc.
3.This means I’m going to have to start using my Amy time wisely again. Not like today. I mostly just waited for pain to go away, and for naps to come, and for food to cook. But I guess I needed today, also. I also spent a lot of time waiting for my phone to ring and listening to messages that say, “Amy! Let’s go do [this] tonight!” and me thinking, “That’s a terrible idea. You don’t respect me. You just want me to come out and play because I am fun. But I guess I don’t want to let you down, so sure! Count me in!” (more or less)
4.But that didn’t happen. So I want to say that I am making some progress on my mission to stand up for my feelings, but unfortunately, this is all coming off as boredom at the moment.
5.I’m proud of myself anyway.

In conclusion:

1.I rock.
2.I did a good job at making my life rock.
3.Once my tmj pain goes away, I’m going to be a hard-ass (rock).
4.School starts in two weeks from Monday?

Well.

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 23:13:00 GMT

So I felt like I'd given up on this journal, but that doesn't mean I can't use it when I kind of just... want to. (like now, is what I'm getting at.)

Yesterday evening I stood in line for an hour to get a token that would get me a darshan (hug) from Amma. (www.amma.org) My token had the letter "n" on it, which means I wasn't going to be able to get in line for the hug until way later in the night. So I went back at 2:30 in the morning, and they were on the letter "i." Which means that at about 6 this morning I was able to get my darshan from Amma. She whispered something in my ear that sounded like a baby getting excited about spaghetti. I think it translates to "I love you, child," or something like that.

And I thought, "The world is... so good. I can't believe that people are flying in from India to get a hug from this woman, and I just have to drive down the 405. The world is nuts."

So the world is nuts.

May you find your reflections on the face of a golden puddle.

Here Is.

Mon, 15 May 2006 20:33:06 GMT

Baseball blog as updated by my brother, Steven, and I.

http://pointlessbaseballblog.blogspot.com/

Knock yourself out. (It's a good one, whether you care about baseball or not.)

Baseball stuff!

Thu, 11 May 2006 03:49:38 GMT

On the Reds:

As of today, we are 1-1 in the series with the Nationals. Still first in the division, up by half a game with St. Louis right behind.

On history: (Thank you Steven for the suggestion.)

Hit this link to learn about the history of facial hair in baseball. http://www.baseballlibrary.com/baseballlibrary/submit/Kates_Maxwell1.stm

Some of my favorite facial hair in baseball:

Rollie Fingers with the handlebar.

Like we can resist Jim Grant's mutton chops

I don't know if I've ever seen a reverse goatee before.

Something for the People.

Sun, 07 May 2006 04:01:19 GMT

I've always been a baseball fan. There were those awkward years in the middle when I convinced myself that I didn't care about baseball (you know, for the sake of being a girl and wanting to fit in. Oh, and also... those years when I felt like competition is stupid and wondered why we all can't just get along, etc.) But since I've moved to California, I've come out of my baseball-shrugging shell, probably as a means of staying connected to Cincinnati.

Anyway, since I never really know what to write in my Livejournal anymore, Colin and I discussed the option of turning it into a baseball blog. I don't know how long this will last, but right now I can express that The Reds are losing to the Diamondbacks, which would make them 0-2 for the series so far if they don't pick up the pace.

In other news, congratulations to Orioles fans! Check out what you can now wear for casual Friday at the office!

Come to think of it, orange is kind of a hard color to come by like this, so maybe I'll get me one of these bitchin' shirts.

Things 'n things.

Fri, 05 May 2006 16:32:43 GMT

Anybody out there want to share a room with a friend in the Qwesi this summer? You know how fun it would be. Get back to me.

Timing is off these days. I want to go back to reading and meditating. Also: I wish I was straighter than I am.

My screenplay will be late, and I have pink eye. This is the first time that I've had pink eye when I've woken up, unable to open my eye because it's glued shut with eye gunk. Excessive use of the word eye.

So I'm going to have to coast on my savings for about a month and a half. We'll see how it goes. We'll see. (how it goes)

I will be in Cincinnati from June 6-21. So if you're one of my favorite people, please be around at that time.

Love and peace to all.

Brains. Brains. Brains. Brains. Brains. Brains. Etc.

Sat, 29 Apr 2006 19:25:42 GMT

So I'm at work and it's cloudy outside. I like the overcastness today because I don't mind the overcastness today. And since it has to be overcast some days, I would prefer that it be overcast on days when I don't mind that it's overcast because normally I just don't like it.

See.

So here I waffle between wanting to be a hardcore writer and not wanting to be a hardcore writer of film and TV. I don't like TV. I don't. I wish I did so that I could happily write for it. And you know, I like what I could do with film, but I don't like what is done with film. So I don't know how well I'll do as one who writes for films that others make.

But I can write books and I can write poetry. And I can write scripts that someday will be made as intended. And I can attend workshops and set up my life as an holistic healer who also writes. Because that is what makes me so... happy.

But then sometimes I think, "Fuck man, I can really do this writer for the industry thing. I could really be successful."

So this is why I'm glad that I am not graduating just yet.

Oh.

Fri, 28 Apr 2006 05:10:49 GMT

Okay, so thanks to everyone who answered my poll of sorts. I found the results as interesting as I'd hoped. The question came up for me at a time when I realized how I've always felt masculine, especially when I compare myself to the normal female. I think the realization naturally led me to a sun vs. moon curiosity, as the sun is associated with masculine traits and the moon with feminine.

And since at least one of you asked, I am way more inspired by the sun. I seem to shut off after sunset, and I almost always wake up with the sun.

A Sand County Almanac

Tue, 25 Apr 2006 19:08:17 GMT

Which inspires you more: the sun or the moon?

Best. Best.

Mon, 17 Apr 2006 00:07:11 GMT

Friday I did nothing. Friday was not a best day.

Saturday I opened the library and worked a four hour shift. It rocked. Then I went to the gym to do some lifting. It rocked. Then I came home and all of my housemates and I took to doing some spring cleaning around the house. It rocked. Then I went to El Cholo with LeighAnn to have dinner with our favorite supervisor. It rocked. Then LeighAnn came over and hung out. It rocked.

Today I woke up and the sun was out. It rocked. Then the sun went away, and I was BUMMED. But then the sun came back out and I woke up my house and we all made food and I set up the big table outside under the sun. We had Easter Brunch. It rocked. Then Edwood, the homeless man, came to the back yard to collect trash while we were eating, so I told him to have a seat and eat some brunch with us. So he did. It rocked.

Then we colored Easter eggs. It rocked.

Then we cut off Mishel's dreads. It rocked. For us, not for her.

Now I get to go to work and get paid to do the homework I have to turn in tomorrow. Which will rock conceptually.

Easter is probably my second favorite holiday, next to Christmas Eve. And I love my housemates like I love sunflowers.

Writing Subconsciously (and on a whim)

Wed, 12 Apr 2006 04:43:50 GMT

Brian always did hold me responsible for the mug shots. Fair enough, I often thought. I hold him responsible for those unsent letters. So then we're even.

"The mug shots," he would explain, " are everywhere. And now I feel like I have to make people smile at all times. So cheer up." I liked taunting him with a frown. But then again, this is why he holds me responsible. Maybe if he didn't always try to make me smile I wouldn't have written so many letters. So it seems the damage has been done, and I wonder what the advantage is to knowing more than he does. If power is indeed a blessing, then I'll be sure to keep my mouth shut on those occasions when I do smile for him. And I'm never tempted to frown with my mouth open.

I wish the first time I'd met him I had said something like, "Listen, I don't know who I am, but I know I like it when things are what they are." He would have smiled at my honesty and replied, "My name is Brian, and that's all I know about me.... Is that okay?" We would have had a moment; it would have been cute.

Instead, I think I said something along the lines of, "Hey there, chopper. How's life?" The "chopper" part always throws people off. Always. And now he sees mug shuts everywhere. Yet I never wonder what is wrong with me in those instances.

I've met too many Brians in my life.

Well.

Sun, 09 Apr 2006 15:11:09 GMT

Everybody, listen up! The crucifix may be wrong!

http://cnn.netscape.cnn.com/news/story.jsp?idq=/ff/story/7000/20060330/0325000001.htm

so i'm at work

Sat, 08 Apr 2006 17:14:43 GMT

I don't remember much except my alarm clock going off and the world continuing to spin. The good news is that I somehow made it to work on time. The bad news is that I don't remember where I parked my car this morning. In other bad news, the only thing the library has for me to eat is jelly beans. But in good news, there are banana and latte flavors, so it'll almost be like an almost complete breakfast. Almost.

For All You Writers Out There...

Thu, 06 Apr 2006 19:57:36 GMT

This is probably the most inspiring thing I've read since I finished Siddhartha almost four years ago. This is William Faulkner's Nobel Prize acceptance speech.

"I feel that this award was not made to me as a man, but to my work--a life's work in the agony and sweat of the human spirit, not for glory and least of all for profit, but to create out of the materials of the human spirit something which did not exist before. So this award is only mine in trust. It will not be difficult to find a dedication for the money part of it commensurate with the purpose and significance of its origin. But I would like to do the same with the acclaim too, by using this moment as a pinnacle from which I might be listened to by the young men and women already dedicated to the same anguish and travail, among whom is already that one who will some day stand where I am standing.

"Our tragedy today is a general and universal physical fear so long sustained by now that we can even bear it. There are no longer problems of the spirit. There is only one question: When will I be blown up? Because of this, the young man or woman writing today has forgotten the problems of the human heart in conflict with itself which alone can make good writing because only that is worth writing about, worth the agony and the sweat. He must learn them again. He must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid: and, teaching himself that, forget it forever, leaving no room in his workshop for anything but the old verities and truths of the heart, the universal truths lacking which any story is ephemeral and doomed--love and honor and pity and pride and compassion and sacrifice. Until he does so, he labors under a curse. He writes not of love but of lust, of defeats in which nobody loses anything of value, and victories without hope and worst of all, without pity or compassion. His griefs grieve on no universal bones, leaving no scars. He writes not of the heart but of the glands.

"Until he learns these things, he will write as though he stood among and watched the end of man. I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail."

I'm so profound.

Thu, 06 Apr 2006 06:56:22 GMT

I've found that everyone has their own way of dealing with hiccups. Some people hold their breath, some people drink water. I knew a girl who thought you could get rid of hiccups by being asked a serious of questions very rapidly, such as, "What did you have for breakfast?" and "What did you put in your omelette?" Etc.

But the way I see it, why bother spending your energy getting rid of hiccups? I mean, they're just hiccups. They go away on their own time, so just live with the fucking hiccups.

Stick to Licking of, Not Pitching of.

Tue, 04 Apr 2006 05:05:47 GMT

Dear President Bush,

You invaded Harang's mound to show him how to pitch. Consequently, we were whomped by the Cubs. Was Harang really that big of a threat to baseball? Afraid of his secret weapons? I'm surprised the Cubs mean that much to you. Please, never throw the opening pitch at any Reds game ever again.

Sincerely,
The Loud One Shouting Obsenities From Her Living Room

So then.

Sat, 01 Apr 2006 17:14:14 GMT

Dear people,
You are distracting me from my homework and well-being.
I kind of like it. But come on, now...
Sincerely,
Amy Lynn

Chopp.

Sun, 26 Mar 2006 17:10:00 GMT

Last night my scissors begged me to let them chop at my head haphazardly. After a bunny-sized wad of hair landed on my floor, this was the end result...

I'm actually pretty proud of this due. I've finally created a hair cut that requires awesome bedhead. I just hope it doesn't make me look cooler than I am.

Bingo.

Sat, 18 Mar 2006 19:22:06 GMT

The Universe does not need to send us any signs if we are already listening to it.