Pretty Bad Poker Face

But in dreams...

2004-08-23T20:40:48Z

I read my last entry - several times. Yeah, I'm crazy. I enjoy it, don't get me wrong, but JeezNeptune, I'm crazy.

Someone unmute me. I feel I have nothing left to say...

It's written in the wind. It's everywhere I go.

2004-08-19T05:36:36Z

[Post Hoc Ergo Procter Hoc]

Crumble me and start again.

Remake me; I want to be fresh.

I slept with pieces of you by the moonlight,

letting them cradle my head like a crown.

Shards of you from broken mirrors,

scraps of you, old and torn,

melted into me.

They are tucked in my coat pocket.

They slipped between my curls.

They are dancing on my fingers,

gliding through my skin.

No one will see where you stop and

I begin.

We don’t follow street signs anymore.

We’re the new breed.

We’re the new scene.

We’re the Alpha,

but I’m not sure I’m ready.

I want to kiss you under an archway,

hold you near a stairway,

the way I want you to hold me close,

so close, we might just melt.

Just melt.

I want to steady your shoulders,

graze my fingers over your haughty grin,

and replace the lip you lost in passion.

But I’ll just stay shy,

and get high

on what could be.

Darlings, let me tell you, I want love. I'll take up all the oxygen in the room, relearning how to breathe. A deep penatrating sadness overwhelmes me like a flashflood; yet, a lone honey candle, a single white rose, and a scarlet ribbon sit on a sidetable, with a brilliant cerulean dress slung on the chair nearby. I don't know what these things mean. I don't know if they mean anything. The picture it creates in my head, the dim lighting surrounding this oddly familiar scene, grabs at me. Then, a young man, his face unsketchable, but unmistakablly known to me, emerges from the shadows. There is a certain comfort that enevolpes us and in this moment, I know I've met him before. The way his shoulders glide when he walks, his hands, his rougish air, with a tint of untouched sweetness - it all puts me to ease. A garden of emeralds surround us. I'm sure I smell lilacs. The moon pours a spotlight on us. I'm dressed in the blue gown, holding the white rose with the ribbon tied around the thorns. We are dancing like there is a grand, but gentle swing band playing. I'm dazed and sure I'm wrapped in love. We may have kissed, it was such a fog. All I know is that I'm certain the stars above us can't feel this good. I'm not worried about my feet. I'm not concerned about what I might say. We are silent, but our dialogue is clearer than the crystal glass that seems to incompass our moonlit globe. Ladies in white gloves and bright dresses glide with their partners on the floor with us. He looks at me archly, with a certain silent dare in his eyes. There was something incredibly adventurous about the way we ran, hands held, from the crowd. We laughed and escaped, like mischievious children to their treehouse after only eating dessert, skipping dinner.

Suddenly, we surrounded each other. The garden turned into an enchanting forest, lush and inviting, yet full of danger. We melted into each other. There was no holding back. It was as if we surrendered our whole selves to something bigger than the wood around us, something almost as big as we felt that night, under the moon. I've never been so awake at night.

Then I woke up. A toast: may all of you find this great love in this world, and until then, in dreams...

But in dreams,

I can hear your name

and in dreams,

we will meet again.

For it was said, 'To Be Continued.' Thus, twas.

2004-08-17T19:54:52Z

Oceans take our secrets

what we don’t want to see or smell anymore.

We feel anonymous

we feel clean

when we throw our past away.

It will wash, we think.

It will sink

it will drift far from this shore.

It will disappear.

Maybe the fish will eat our words

maybe lost or spurned loves

will help deep-sea feathery green plants grow.

</o:p>

Now and again

I find myself walking on the wet, hard-packed sand

looking for tears and exotic messages

in the creeping, reaching water

that just misses touching my toes.

Swimming in thin ice sheets, gliding through knives, so sharp and clean - so cold - like long frosted silver silk, cool and soft, wrapping itself seductively around our numb bodies, whispering, just let go, just let it all roll off, I'll take it away, roll it off your legs, roll it off your backs, just go. The world was painted a glorious naked grey. The globe was a crystal ball, with a pewter pitcher's cool water poured over the edges; and we watched as the ripples fell off the sides.

Christine's eyes thinned, burning with determination. Piercing through the fabric, she broke records and glass. She had woken up that morning, but not like this. No, this was a different type of awake. The Sea was breeding a new type of life. The waves eyed us, challenging our every pretense - appealing to every sense of adventure. I dare you, it seemed to hush archly. As you can guess, it wasn't long before all three of us were racing the waves.

You watch movies and you might wonder, why don't they have those adventures in real life? Let me tell you, you just haven't met the right people. This past weekend was an adventure to be sure. Capital, simply capital. Polish saviors, words written in the sand, Anna's marvelous chocolate pillow, fabulous Italian food, a wolf named Pluie, and of course, the flare. Thank you Anna and Christine, for a capital weekend. Ladies, you slay me.

Here's to old friends and the ones with us now. Cheers.

Can you play the banjo, with the horizon line as your string?

2004-08-17T04:22:22Z

There are many types of ships. There are wooden ships, plastic ships, and metal ships; but, the best and most important types of ships are friendships (an old Irish quote).

Give me frosty diamond hills of slate, a dripping bun of cinnamon, Polish messiahs, a ruby stapler, a chocolate covered pillow, and the American government at their best on DVD any day. Life is great, you know that?

Its late. *To Be Continued*

This is me, this is 3:23

2004-08-14T07:25:55Z

Why on earth am I up? My head is heavy and so are my eye lids. Why on earth, heaven, and hell am I up? I had the greatest dream last night... I adore good dreams. Today went from chill to exciting to sharp to fun to tense. Then, to shitty to more shitty to relieving to much better to groggy. I'm going to go collapse now.

'Somethings you're just sure of; like longitude and latitude.'
~ Sam Seaborn

Strike a pose. Vogue. Vogue.

2004-08-12T15:11:31Z

A little change of scenery... chah! I'm a fan.

Among the cobwebs spun by our recollections... an echo... in a corner of our memory

2004-08-12T15:07:59Z

I want to get free.

Titling it 'self doubt' seems overused. I'm stocking up on empty journals and coconut lime verbena lotion, finding comfort in anything familiar. It is a conflict of interests - that is really what it is. Comfort and adventure. Daring and safety. Am I better crumbling up papers, trying to pull sonnets from my mouth like shooting stars, staring at the glimmering waters beneath me, or am I better off diving in? And then, it comes to me, echoing what wraps me up in so many of my obsessions - the theme. Don't give up without a fight. Be loyal. Do it 'til you nail it. Be a dreamer, everything isn't always black and white and don't be afraid when you wander into grey area. Go for it. Live a little. Win, but if you are going to lose, make sure its not because you didn't try hard enough. Above all, the most immense message is this, in the words of Mrs. Landingham. She says,

'If you really don't want to do it, then I respect that. But if you aren't going to, just because you think its too hard or you might lose, then well, I don't even wanna know you.'

So this is it. The deep breath before the plunge.

Scheherazade Had a Thousand Tales

2004-08-10T18:44:27Z

The sea is so far beyond the words majestic, enchanting, beautiful, fabulous, wonderful, maginficent. I am seriously considering purchasing a boat (a ship would be ideal) prior to buying a house. During much of my vacation, I was reading a hellish book called The Fifties. Although I am incredibly relieved to have it over and done with, Levittown, Richard Nixon, Edward Teller, the Nelsons, and the Holiday Inn continue to haunt me. I will vouch for the occasionally interesting topics, such as Martin Luther King, Jr. and the Beats. All the same, I am immensely glad that cover is closed.

While on vacation, I stopped into Portsmouth a few times. What a lovely little shop town that is! There was a stationary/card/journal/writing store which I ventured into four times - I'm in love. They sell these beautiful cards there (that I couldn't resist but stock up on) and gorgeous journals. I wouldn't dare try to describe them. One of my favorite things in the world is a bookstore. In Portsmouth, there is a delightful bookshop, with walls and walls of books - but its small and cozy. I thought I had walked on the set of You've Got Mail. Unfortunately, that little nook was discovered on our second to last day, so I didn't get to lose myself in its wonder. Pity.

As well as shopping and spending mucho time at the beach, we went to see Lion King on Broadway. I have to admit, I had mixed feelings about the show. The costumes were incredible, the talents in dance and song were fabulous, and of course, the storyline was superb, but Rafiki didn't sing Asquashbanana which is my favorite part. Minus 23 points for omission of a terrific song, but all in all, the show was spectacular.

This entry is quite lengthy. Cheerio!

Oh the places you'll go

2004-08-09T20:46:22Z

Things accomplished during vaca:

- Finally got my hair cut for Locks of Love

- Read the devil of all books, the 733 page whopper: The Fifties from cover to cover

- Endured hours upon hours without a computer

- Went boogie boarding in ridiculously cold water and had a blast

- Almost got tan

- Read tons on the SATs

- Found a place to do community service

That feels so good. Seriously, I should accomplish things more often.

Samhradh Oganach

2004-07-21T04:33:44Z

her shimmering little body sank under the sun

sank into melons and lilacs

the essence of stars in her skin

jade butterflies washed on to shore

lapping at her ankles

and she danced for all eyes

their gazes created a spotlight

little pink feet danced for the theatre

samhradh oganach

(samhradh oganach is gaelic for summer child)

lovingly dedicated to my cousin anna

very flowery wording, but what the hell.

Thanks for the best and the rest Big Jewish Mamas.

2004-07-20T19:50:12Z

I could attempt to take twenty-six or so symbols that all look slightly different, shape them into words that somewhat resemble the English language, format them into sentences that might seem to tell an almost cohesive storyline - and to make a long story a little shorter, I might end up with a long entry about the beyond amazing experiences at Windhover; but, I am not going to attempt to capture the soulful spirits of the nightsky. I am not going to try to bottle the energy of the ladies I reunited with/met at Windhover. The teachers, inspirations, the spirit and strengths of the place, people, and music, are indescribable. Give me the greatest poets and writers of our time - call down the scriptwriters and lyricists - sent forth all grand minds of this age and I swear not one could take the limited set of words we call a language and tell me what the shimmering essence that is Windhover. Speechless, thankful, my head throw back in laughter to the sky, I thank whoever is out there that gave everything I could ever want in a week. People often become skeptical of the fact that God made the Earth in six days (rested on the seventh). I'm merely human, and the biggest experience, the grandest growth, the most fantabulous moment of my life took place in a week. God created the Earth in six days; He showed me Heaven in seven.

In sickness and in health

2004-07-10T03:06:06Z

{Warning: The following entry is based on strong devotion to The West Wing, and a girl's young love. Be not alarmed at her insanity - and if you know her at all, I'm sure most of you won't be a bit surprised.}

The man of my deepest swoon, 'girliest' giggle, fastest beatings, loudest laugh, and greatest vivacity was shot last night. Yes, I've been hiding a secret for a year -- my affair with Joshua Lyman, the Deputy Chief of Staff. I know he's a bit old for me, but yall know how mature I am. He's not your Johnny Depp or whatever current movie star you are fancying. He's not eye candy of any sort, but I ardently adore him. He's brilliant, confident, spontaneously sweet, perfect in his imperfections, and the most essential of them all: he is what I'd like to call 'bantersome.' I didn't think I would know what love was when it hit me, but it hit me so hard I lost my breath. And he was shot. Something about a blood clot and a collapsed lung... but fear not, mis amigas! He recovered today, and is going to be alright. May I just say, in the lyrics of Damien Rice, 'You know when you've found it, that's something I've learned, 'cause you feel it when they take it away.' So happy, I'm floating.

'Can I just have one more moondance with you, my love.'

No hero in her skies

2004-07-06T15:02:05Z

Philosophical hour begins at promptly 4 o'clock on July 3rd. Looking out at the children on the beach with their sparklers, their little bodies shimmering from cold sea water, friends sharing drinks and laughing perhaps too loud for the public opinion that no one cared to listen to, couples holding hands staring at the fireworks, and families attempting to see where the entertaining sparks of color in the sky were coming from through all the sulfur, I began to grapple with a gratitude that was too big for me. There are many things in life I can't control. Though that drives me off the edge sometimes, where I was born and into what family was not something I could control. I got America and an awesome family. Luck? Sure, why not. The US obviously has its weakness and dark moments, but come on - would you rather be a sixteen year old in the United States of America or Iraq right now? That could just be me, I don't know. July 3rd was a reflection day. Our Founding Fathers deserve an applause that lasts at least a few centuries. Yeah, this gratitude is too big for me.

July 4th rolled back on the belly of the sun and brought my cousins from Philadelphia to my house. They are fantastic. Sarah is growing out of herself. It will not be long before she bursts with all that energy into the sky. Nobel prize for breaking the law of gravity.Melissa and Lauren are twins and its fun to watch them together. Obviously everyone is different, but these two are radically different. Anna, the youngest, still is holding on to those cradle dreams. She still has that innocence in her eyes, although she'd sell it in a day to be like her sisters. I wish there was a way to preserve her the way she now -- bottle her little spirit up. She is such a full person, like her skin is just a holder for this huge soul. Everything about her echos. I usually do not have much patience for childern , but I love my cousins.

We spent the day running up and down the beach, testing the brilliantly frigid waters, watching my cousins make sandcastles, playing cards, eating munchies and cake, and finally settling in to listen to the Boston Pops. Half way through the day, around 1 o'clock, I decided to lay on my stomach and read The Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood. To make a relatively long story short, I neglected to put suntan lotion on for the reason that I would not be out long. I dove into my book however, and now I am half-baked lobster-red. Beautiful.

Our 4th seemed very American, or at least very my family. Fireworks, the Boston Pops, cookout, sparklers, cards... the whole thing gave me a comfortable aftertaste. I actually felt real love for everyone in my extended family. They're show of affection may have been ceremonial, as it often is, but I found love for them all the same. All in all, it was a very satisfying fourth.

What a lovely way to burn...

2004-06-30T22:38:52Z

Obtained a lust for West Wing LJ icons today... another thing to add to the obsessions list. Absolutely fantabulous (great word. not real. still great.)! Thoroughly enjoying my Damien Rice/Dispatch CD made by the lovely Christine and Mr. Michael Buble, courtesy of Liz -- thanks to both of you splendid ladies. The effects of my West Wing icon hunt is this: I found a great many prettiful icons (mostly satisfying my immense enjoyment of Josh and Donna); thus, a change of scenery was in order. Although I'm a fan of green, red is definately up there - coming in second or third. I like this very much.

And so it is...

This obsession may be unhealthy, but its the best I've felt

2004-06-28T00:58:16Z

We’ve left the shore somehow

become the friends

of early theory

close enough to speak

desire and pain of absence

of mistakes we’d make

given the chance.

Each smile returned

makes harder avoiding

dreams that see us

lying in early evening

curtain shadows, skin

safe against skin.

Bloom of compassion

respect for moments

eyes lock turns

forever into one more

veil that falls away.

This after seeing you

last night, first time

smelling you with

permission: shoulders to

wonder openly at

as carefully kissed

as those arms

waited impossibly on.

They’ve held me now

and your breath

down my back

sent away night air

that had me shaking

in the unlit Anglican

doorway.

Are we ruined for

finding our faces fit

and want to know more

about morning? Is

friendship canceled

if we can’t call

each other anymore

in amnesia, invite

ourselves to last glances

under suspicious clocks

telling us when we’ve

had enough?

Your steady hands

cradling my grateful

skull: were you taking

in my face to

save an image

you’ve rarely allowed

yourself after leaving

that cold alcove?

Am I a photograph

you gaze at in

moments of weakness?

You ordered me

off my knees

into your arms.

Wasn’t to beg

that I knelt: only

to see you once

from below.

Tried to say something

that filled my mouth

and long to rest

in your ear.

Don’t dare write

it down for fear it’ll

become words, just

words.

--- Viggo Mortensen

So ladies, do you really still wonder why I love him?

This is me, this is 6:23

2004-06-25T10:28:05Z

I’m waiting for your

signal fire. I’m counting

how many days it’s been.

The geese are flying westward

because

the wind is being a control freak and

because

I agreed it’s best to be unconventional.

My head is turning red from this handstand and I don’t even think you looked yet.

What free vacation did you win?

Where have you been?

The truth between my first glass of

get me the hell out of here and my thirty-second glass of

well I wanted to get out, but if you stand here with me,

‘it ain’t so bad darling.’

Life glides

without me pushing it.

The world turns without you spinning it.

We’ve got ourselves a whole new town attraction

and wonder if we are still needed.

Sanity is a high price for living and since the taxes on chocolate has gone up,

I can’t afford it.

You’ve never paid your bills.

Admirable, I say, at least.

Your vices are in a jar that you hold in your hand and holler for me to look.

Like my unborn five-year old son, holding worms.

Drink our rubies down –

We challenged the world to make us better,

but we showed up late for the appointment.

We’ll just start thumbing through to find that homemade recipe.

"Just another dream, dahling'."

2004-06-23T03:57:27Z

Have you ever stared into the technicolor of a TV set after a movie, just watching, but not looking at the credits? Today was not the first time, but it will be counted among the times. Although perhaps not as deserving as the other movies in this new stare category, Mona Lisa Smile seduced me to get on that time machine project of mine. Sure, women were only wives and mothers in the fifties, sure, with my twenty-first century thesis and renaissance man ambitions I would not last a day in those kitchens and parlors, but oh, the wide brimmed hats, sunglasses, simplicity, parties, carefree spirits, and the dances! The keg of glory was drunk by those crazed ladies in Ya-Ya and Mona Lisa until they were drunk with gitty girl pride and optimistic delirium. I want to have childhood friends that shared the same summer air with me when I was five and when I was fifteen. I want to run into the creek that was there when I first swam and when I first learned what drowning is. I want to lay out in the sun, feeling like home has different connotations than a building. I guess I'm being ungrateful and selfish again. Given everything I could want, and ask for the few things I cannot have. Sounds like I've been strolling through Eden again.

'Distance makes the heart grow fonder.'
'Or forgetful...'
Under my eyes hurt. Just before I cry, when my eyes start stealing raindrops from the clouds that are heavy with the words I let slip into the sky, just before I bite my lip, just after the words are said or read, before my eyes become glassy and I take a great breath and sigh, under my eyes hurt. I'm stuck in that stage of tears. Trapped... and at this moment they hurt quite intensely -- like a migraine that has the wrong directions to my temples. A lost headache. Figures. That's life, ain't it lovey? A quiet, fearful, solemn, and lost prayer will be said tonight that she's well and safe. Hopefully, my prayer will have better luck and directions than my migraine... although I think that has redirected itself. Thank someone tomorrow, I don't care who, for the invention of advil. At least there is an over-the-counter cure for that kind of hurt.

Wriggle, wraith, and WRYEthe

2004-06-18T20:54:30Z

Well, there's nothing for it; I have Wrye for American Literature next year. I missed Williams long before this, but now I may tear. This news is horrific; but there is nothing to be done.

I've heard stories...Never leaves any survivors.

No survivors? Then where do the stories come from I wonder.

Prayers for the class of two thousand and six, for there are many students sitting, staring wildly at their schedules, as the name Wrye flashes in neon... hats off, a moment of silence...

Strike a pose

2004-06-18T19:00:20Z

Yay, new layout. Green. Breathe it in. Ah. Beautiful dahling, just beautiful.

I've taken to foreign language music. Oceano, Green Island Serenade, La Liama, La Reve Rouge, (yes, I am counting Lord of the Rings -- what, its Elvish!) The Grey Havens, The End of All Things, Breath of Life, Lothlorien - I could go on, but the point has been made I believe. I thoroughly enjoy. The La Nouba soundtrack never ceases to place me in awe. Hm. Splendid. Music is life. Well, that is about all for today. I came mainly to write about the new layout in my hooray spirit... hooray!

Who doesn't like the Beatles?

2004-06-15T22:40:38Z

Ain't got nothing but love babe
It is a must to want to hug whoever stretches out the 'ain't' like that(...John?)... Not a big enough fan to know the different voices and match them with faces yet, but we are getting there.

This song makes me really happy. I just want to say, 'YAY' all the time when I hear this song... although, that would be kinda annoying, I would imagine. Today has been frolicking (didn't think it was spelt like that, but I checked and behold! tis.) about - quite merrily. Not so much computer today -- ate some verily good food and watched Pride and Prejudice. Took a walk with the pup. Lovely thing, the outdoors. I wonder where the outoutdoors lead to... probably Narnia.

Speaking of Lewis, which for all of you ignorant fools I was refering to The Chronicles of Narnia (ie. The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe), by the fabolous C.S. Lewis, I am reading, surprisingly, another one of his many books: The Screwtape Letters. A charming satire containing the letters from an experienced devil called Screwtape, to his novice nephew devil, Wormwood, on how to trick his 'patient' -- very amusing. 'The best way to drive out the devil, if he will not yield to texts of Scripture, is to jeer and flout him, for he cannot bear scorn.' (Luther)

Folks, get yourself a Lewis book. I dont care if its Naria, Miracles, Screwtape, whatever. Just get one.

If you have the means, I seriously suggest picking one up -- they are so choice.

That's all for today. Ta-ta. Good eats.

Some more scotch tape, anyone?

2004-06-14T19:58:09Z

Currently, I am having a delightful conversation with the charming Christine. You know, about normal, everyday things, like duck finales, skipping music, an ape called Frankie the Fruitart, and scotch tape spying - you know, just the usual.

Story: Once upon a time there was a forgetful maiden. This forgetful maiden's companion, deemed 'Lennon's Lass' or Lady Katy Lennon, invited the forgetful maiden to a musical feast, featuring Lord Groban the Magificent. The forgetful maiden, we will call her Maeg for our purposes, proclaimed she would be escatic if she could go, but felt there was something that day that she had already planned to do. Many moons later, Lady Christine exclaimed that she was to be at that very musical feast on that very day, singing with Lord Groban the Magificent. She asked Maeg if she was coming, as Lady Christine had told her many suns ago she would be present. Suddenly, Maeg the Forgetful recalled all things regarding such a feast. That was the very event she felt was on that very day that prevented her from going to the feast she was already going to! (Following so far?) So, in fact, Maeg the Forgetful could please both herself and her two friends, for they were all going to the same place on the same day; and all was settled. Hooray.

Moral of the story: ALWAYS MARK EVENTS DOWN ON YOUR CALENDAR SO YOU WON'T HAVE TO TELL STUPID STORIES LIKE THIS! (courtesy of Lady Christine)

El fin.

I ate the catfish

2004-06-13T14:00:48Z

Yesterday was wonderful. From the performance to seeing some of my favorite ladies again, yesterday has a splendid aftertaste. Although I'm absolutely exhausted from a well worth it sleepover, I can honestly say I'm escatic - just without the energy to really sound convincing. A big thank you and bear hug goes out to Anna, Christine, Allie, and Beth for coming -- you all rock my world. We will do tons over the summer, lest the summer be incomplete. Hearts and hugs, forever and always.

Tragué el bagre
y el anzuelo
y la fe que
tan dulce tenía
la tarde del dia
que te conocí.

Me vi en tus ojos
y en tus brazos;
una vida entera
en tu boca viví
la tarde del dia
que te conocí.

Oh... Post script: I'm done. Hehehehe.

Concerning Mollies

2004-06-11T15:08:41Z

clearlytaupo's LJ stalker is lilmissmollie!

lilmissmollie is stalking you because they think you are rich and they want your blingbling. They are also in jail for murder!

LJ Stalker Finder
From Go-Quiz.com

Took that just for fun -- but the results were much too amusing to pass up sharing. Mollie, you aren't getting my supposed 'blingbling.' It just isn't happening. Sorry, dove.

Per l'amore chei non sai

2004-06-11T14:53:38Z

I am sitting at my desk, eyes wide in amazement, courtesy of Mr. Josh Groban (the man is incredible), and pondering the lovely tunes of Oceano. I thrive on lyrics when it comes to songs, but this song is in Italian. You would think that I would not enjoy because I cannot understand what he is saying - but you would be most mistaken. Not only is his voice absolutely amazing, but the music and the sound of the words are gorgeous. Bah. In shock. I need to turn this off before I have a seizure; but, I cannot! Here are the lyrics, both in Italian and English. Bloody fantastic.

Piove sull’Oceano
piove sull’Oceano
piove sulla mia identità
Lampi sull’Oceano
lampi sull’Oceano
squarci di luminosita
Forse là in America
i venti del Pacifico
scoprono le sue immensita
le mie mani stringono
sogni lontanissimi
e il mio pensiero corre da te
Remo, tremo, sento
profondi, oscuri abissi
E' per l’amore che ti do
e per l’amore che non sai
che mi fai naufragare
E' per l’amore che non ho
e per l’amore che vorrei
e' per questo dolore
E' questo amore che ho per te
che mi fa superare queste vere tempeste
Onde sull'Oceano
Onde sull’Oceano
che dolcemente si plachera
Le mie mani stringono
sogni lontanissimi
e il tuo respiro soffia su me
Remo, tremo, sento vento intorno al cuore
E' per I'amore che ho per te
che mi fa superare mille tempeste
E'per l’amore che ti do
e per l’amore che vorrei
da questo mare
E' per la vita che non c'e
che mi fai naufragare
infondo al cuore
Tutto questo ti avrà
e a te sembrera
tutto normale

(That would be the Italian version -- you know, just incase you did not realize.)

It rains on the Ocean
It rains on the Ocean
It rains on my identity
Lights on the Ocean
Lights on the Ocean
Gaps of luminosity
Maybe there in America
the winds of the Pacific
Uncover its immensity
My hands hold tight
some faraway dreams
And my thoughts run to you
I row, I shake, I feel
Deep dark abyss
It's for the love I give you
and for the love you don't know
that makes me wreck
It's for the love I don't have
and for the love I'd want
It's for this pain
It's for this love I have for you
That makes me get over those real storms
Waves on the Ocean
Waves on the Ocean
that will gently calm down
My hands hold tight
some faraway dreams
and your breath blows on me
I row, I shake, I feel
A wind around my heart
It's for the love I have for you
That makes me get over thousands of storms
It's for the love I give you
and for the love I'd want
from this sea
It's for the life that isn't there
that makes me wreck
deep in my heart
All this will have you
and to you everything will seem normal

('That would be the French.' Actually, the English, Captain, but we will let it slide.) Speaking of Captain Jack, has anyone seen the deleted scene Peas in a Pod -- makes me swoon.

Hm. Well, today should be interesting. Should consist of attempting to writedoodle on the computer, the phone, eating, the phone, reading, sleeping, going online, reading, the phone, eating, watching a movie with Jessi, the phone, eating, writedoodling --- wow, I'm quite a creature of habit. I find it fascinating so, I'll keep at it. 'None know what the new day will bring.' I must contact Lennon's Lass today as well -- Miss Katy and I have some things to chat about, namely Viggo and... more Viggo *giggle* He's fantastic as well. Bloody fantastic to be exact. Sigh. This obsession has gotten really horrible, but there is no going back now. How often do you come across a brilliant yet insane poet who happens to be incredibly attractive as well? Keep in mind: 'Age is only a number.' A girl can dream. I do admire him greatly, and I would even if he did not just happen to play Aragorn in The Lord of the Rings. Ah, he's wonderful.

I probably should check in with the Glowackis as well. What wonderful ladies they are! 'What madness drove me there...' The memories reel backward and I'm caught in the cords (like Frankie the Fruitart, but cooler, of course). From mucho movie watching, mall walking, and sugar fries to talking at night, jumping on the trampoline, lunch on the jetty, and Windhover. Mmmm Windhover sounds tastey right about now. Still contemplating the second week -- sounds joyous though.

Typing about Oceano, Josh, Viggo, Aragorn, Katy, the Glowackis, and Windhover is quite scrumious, I must say. That's good eats.

Excuse my akward walk; I've awoken with new legs

2004-06-10T21:00:25Z

Prologue: I've harrassed myself into trying this livejournal business once more. The tale goes something like this:

Maeg'sSchitzoSelf#1: You've never been able to keep a concrete journal, but you've always wanted to have one. You are almost constantly on the computer, so that is a perfectly good excuse to have one on the computer - makes sense. Secondly, it is not such a strange concept as you suppose. Think about it for a moment. You see?! Almost a comforting, relaxing, and healthy vent - and I'm sure it will be occasionally entertaining for those who have the time and will to put up with your thoughts anyhow! There is no losing.

Maeg'sSchitzoSelf#2: Yea, yea, yea, so its a way to write out your thoughts and issues, blah blah blah. Hmph. Do you really want people reading your thoughts? Since when did you want someone to have telapathic abilities (except the rare occasion)? You see?!

Self#2: She doesn't have to write everything down! Goodness, you are so narrow minded. This could be a good thing - but God forbid!

Self#1: Shut up, you!

Maeg'sSchitzoSelf #3: You are both absolutely ridiculous. 'If the tu-tu doesn't fit, don't wear it; but, at least try it on.'

Self#2: Agreed!

Self#1: Oh fine! *mutters* You and your stupid proverbs. Hmph.

So, there you have it folks. That's the way the best decisions are made around here. Come on down.

(No throwing me in an asylum for my madness -- someday it will be mistaked for genius, and you wouldn't want me to miss out on that, would you? No, I didn't think so. Now, back to the journal.)

Figures - now that the prologue is over, I must flitter to dance. Until next time, this is Ontario, giving you an Ontarious farewell: ta-ta.