the subaltern blabbers:

_lj_is_a_virus_ is my commuity. fun for all.

mad_as_birds

and if i feel better, i might start to write again.

so, i've been thinking.

i always come up with things i want to write here, they pop into my head. now, whenever i get a lj pop, i think about how insead of just writing it down for all those who might happen to read it, i will bring up the topic with someone and talk to them about it. when a line comes into my head that i'd like to write here and form myself with, i think instead about internalizing that thought and making it me, rather than using it to make a website that's me. and it's so much better than just turning it into some html text and leaving it in cyberspace, far away from "real" me, who gets lost without that identity.

that's not really what i was getting at with this posthumous post though.

i want to keep in touch somehow to this world. i think it would be swell if we could keep in touch tangibly. this wouldn't be quite so scary as actual physical meetings or forcing "real" friendship when we really are only livejournal friends, because i am terrified of that, but if anyone would like to leave me their address, i would write them letters. actual paper letters. they wouldn't be letters like, how are you i am fine, but livejournal post letters. i think it will be fun.

email me: mad.as.birds(at)gmail(dot)com.

i think i'm going to quit livejournal. these posts have become my only means of expression, and they've become more and more measly. my little world is curled around their simple artifice. this journal is just as narcissistic as me taking snapshots of my self and posting them, again and again, begging people to know me through them.

the snapshots are getting stale and no one is caring any more, and who can blame them? it's not me.

so adieu.

( just a little more )

i think i must have seen 2001: a space odyssey when i was very young, for upon what must have been my second viewing of the film, i was shocked to see that my lifetime recurring nightmare was obviously derived from it.

the nightmare is totally abstract, there is no space theme in it. it just is this feeling, and these sort of patterns and sounds i guess, and 2001 was just that feeling.

scary. but illuminating.

i sit down full of thoughts put together well, and then when i look to type them they have dissipated, or fogged, or become so incestuous that they no longer make sense.

i've been wanting to write short stories, i've been wanting to write something here. but there's not much to take from anywhere and put here.

i always look forward so to the future. optimistic about the future, pessimistic about the past. if that's possible.

the paper i wrote for my philosophy class last week was so simple, and so elementary, and so babyish, i was sure of a mediocre grade. but i got an a, and a- because of the terrible typographical errors resulting from the utter lack of apostrophes that carried over when i translated my paper from word to apple works to print on john's ancient mac. when a paper is on descartes' and david chalmers' theories there are a lot of apostrophes. i didn't even look it over before i printed.

it had zombies in it. and round squares. that probably influenced the grader's grade.

reading my friends page has become quite a time consuming ordeal. i don't know if it's that i'm reading less frequently, or you all are writing up a storm {i rarely check dates unless it's relevant}, but either way, it's good.

i have never posted a meme before, except perhaps long long ago in the early days, and i never plan to do one after now, but i think it is time for a solitary meme of beacon-ness:

The problem with LJ: we all think we are so close, but really we know nothing about each other.

I want you to ask me something you think you should know about me. Something that should be obvious, but you have no idea about.

Ask away. Then post this in your LJ and find out what people don't know about you.

*sigh* it's over. that was easy.

i just want to take/look at good pictures.

and to clean up my life like mary poppins, with finger snapping.

and when I'm swimming in
through a tunnel
i shut my eyes

john sleeps so beautifully. except when he grits his teeth, he is a soft warm baby.

i don't know what i want.

just a new bed.

and a shelf for me to put me-things on.

*whimpers*

i am starting to hate the color red.

it's official:

buying things for myself is truly the cure for depression.

( yesterday's purchases... )

i feel like a pit of writhing cancer cells.

i HATE activating people's library cards.

people NEVER read the instructions on the paperwork before they fill it out, and they always watch me closely while i type their information into the computer, making me nervous as hell and slowing my fingers to a clumsy and inaccurate stumble.

i hate working. i just want to sit and read and absorb sweet sweet knowledge into my parched mind, but my parched mind is thirsty to the point where it is slowly crawling on it's stomach through cacti and gila monsters in the arid desert wasteland that is my life. i'm not convinced my little brain will ever make it.

i've aquired a nasty habit of saying idiotic things, asking idiotic questions, and just being an all around dolt. and it's just getting worse.

does anyone know of a cure? i'm desperately seeking and end to the sour taste of foot that constantly fouls my palate.

also, my hands have been sweating like cold glass of lemonade. i wonder if there's a correlation...

christopher reeve died today.

he lived an amazing life.

i was flipping channels and i happened upon the fox news bulletin stating his death. i started sobbing. a half and hour or so later i saw a commercial supporting prop 71 or something, a measure for legalizing stem cell research, and that made me cry even more. i'm going to watch all the superman movies tomorrow...

fgyr ferkvhkdcu bfjhkxjhfd f werjfhkius elkjle. wkf efnwsk jhf jekjfhmjhhw ejjrkej nndiien nd. jsiodo. wehfne cmdfojekwjehn, fdnekdfj sjsbnf e fjkedfs ejkfhkjsaiufne fiksdkvn ikdfjh. fjnicnd fkkjvnjv dkfj jdk fkdjsk cklciv, elskjfddd ekc. nf. wekjhkk sdvch cjksd vvfjkskjdf. bjud. ejcks, djglwkrr rekfvns snd grterkijfjjj. hfjkhwefjj dvks j sedkf chhsa fdkje. vgjjf edf; dcciienf. basdf, wecjk. djuasyydbw deujfhe fkjhdfhadk. bdhbeuu, edchsd cnc djsdvcvv flskjdii; sifnsmjans. jsfoe: nadsfbasoi. sadkjfj, ajfdhe ckjehfd.

please decipher.

if i think i'm mentally ill does that mean i'm not?

at this very moment, the very computer i am typing on is connected to my darling little ipod.

just three days ago this little beauty was sitting in a stock room in shanghai. after traveling across the wild blue yonder of the pacific ocean to anchorage, alaska, it made its way to illinois, where it was chucked in a plane/train/truck and made the journey to oakland, california. after a short trip down to soquel california, it was delivered safe and sound via fed-ex van to my front porch. housed in it's sublimely designed boxlet, it waited til john awoke from his slumbers and brought the wayfaring technological wonder-baby into the warm house, where he clothed it in his messenger bag, snuggling it into the paternal folds of dark blue nylon. after waiting torturous hours -- yet unknown by she who would welcome it into the world -- in a crowded classroom while john and i scribbled furiously at our in-class essays, it was finally brought out of its boxlet cloister and into the sunshine at stevenson college. on its bus ride home, it was oggled by many adoring/jealous fans as john explored the contents of its boxlet. finally, safe home at last, its firewire nestled into its tummy, it lapped at the glorious mp3s it had craved since the day it was born. after drinking its fill (11 and a half gigabytes of sweet, sweet music), it rested, rejuvenating it's sore batteries, beaming contentedly, and surrounded with the warm glow of my undying adoration.

its beauty is stunning, it's free-ness is miraculous, and it's existence is the hemoglobin on the concave-disc of my red blood cells.

*sigh*

JESUS FUCK! THEY SHIPPED MY IPOD!

according to fedex.com's tracking system, it is currently in a fedex truck in soquel, california (about 20 minutes away!!!1) waiting for delivery. now, i'm sure i could blabber elated nonsense about this for a good half an hour, so i'll force myself to shut up right this moment, as i really should do some sort of preparation for my close reading exercize for my us canon class. close reading exersize? what is this, sophmore english? waaaaa!!!

strangers who try to make conversation with me out of the blue never fail to creep me out. i can never tell if they're slightly off their rockers or if they're just super-friendly or if they have the dreaded *intentions*.

anyone who would be super-friendly enough to ask the stranger sitting next to them on the bus what class they're coming from and fumble a conversation from there must have questionable intentions of a desired romantic origin, or must not be residing at any location near their rocker. of course, super-friendly and off one's rocker often come hand in hand. is anyone securely settled on their rocker ever really that super-friendly? the rocker location is not necessarily the best location, or course. however, if intentions of courtship are present, both options can be scrapped all together and exchanged for pathetic. those pathetic ones must have quite a pint of courage in them, though.

a sad fact for those of the male genre who attempt to talk to me on the bus is that the sort of guy they happen to be is precisely the sort of guy i have a negative interest in talking too. it's the sullen boys with hair in their eyes and private music from their headphones inundating their arcane thoughts that i want to talk to, but if they happen to open their mouths, all is lost.