~
"It is not that I am mad; it is only that my head is different from yours.”
~
Christmas is as tiring as hell. I prefer Thanksgiving.
Jesus, why must so much stupid stress be put into it? Why not just enjoy the holidays?
The Moments of Dominion
That happen on the Soul
And leave it with a Discontent
Too exquisite — to tell —
-Emily Dickinson
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TVW8GCnr9-I
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ckGIvr6WVw4
~
"It is not that I am mad; it is only that my head is different from yours.”
~
Confused again. I'm really not at my best at 4 am.
Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes.
Gaston Leroux - The Phantom of the Opera
Alive. Oddly enough.
I never thought I could wake at four am and live to tell the tale.
At four the previous day I was just about to head off to sleep.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?Eliot
Too sleepy, too lazy, too underachived...
~
"It is not that I am mad; it is only that my head is different from yours.”
~
I feel pretty drained because I've been personally, verbally and literally attacked, slandered, and accused of being everything from an anti-Semite to an outright liar by a number of people in the past few days who were supposedly offended by a line in a poem I wrote, and I have expended a great deal of energy in explaining and explicating and responding to the attacks. The only way I know to rebuild or replenish my energy level is by reading and writing, which I have been doing.
Sleepy and out-of-sorts. So this is what I get after days of overwork and sleep deprivation.
Dreams! adorations! illuminations! religions!
the whole boatload of sensitive !
— Allen Ginsberg, Howl II.
I feel pretty good tonight, which is nice for a change
Little Lotte thought of everything and nothing. Her hair was golden as the sun's rays and her soul as clear and blue as her eyes.
Gaston Leroux - The Phantom of the Opera
Tired (in a good way), refreshed (just had a Pabst), and ready for an evening of conversation by the fireplace.
“Oh crap”
-- Hellboy
Sleepy thanks to last night's long-lasting trance over great music, and forum
Lousy. It was a wonderful new years eve party. It rained though. Now my muscles hurt.
For I have known them all already, known them all:
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?Eliot