Hello, all. . . it's been a while, and so I thought to update you all of my life.
 I doubt anyone reads this sad, obsolete collection of pixels and megabytes - 4 years ago when this critter began, I updated almost every day, thrilled by the idea of having a voice in the tower-of-Babel web of the internet. Now, my most recent entry was at one of my ( Read more... )

Ay…¿por qué me has hecho éste a mí? No lo merezco te lo juro. No me dejes no me dejes. No puedo respirar no puedo pensar. Ay de mí, ¿por qué? Por favor, no me salgas. No me salgas. Es que me he puesto ridícula, dolorosa, enamorada. Desesperadamente enamorada. Estoy rogándote. Ha durado tan poco pero te quiero. De verdad - ay - mi corazón está ( Read more... )

In today’s society, apparently dominated by the immediate gratification of the media, it seems philosophical contemplation lies solely in less mainstream art. The recent popularity of a prodigious young artist - one Miley Cyrus, often known by her pseudonym “Hannah Montana” - however, seems to herald the approach of more profound musical ( Read more... )

The song sparrows aren’t even fazed. Here I am, typing away at dusk. The air smells like the summer has gently shaken the earth awake, whispered its name; it’s a riot of petunias and drying forest. If you’ve been watching the news, you know my home state has been in a bit of trouble. For the past week, we’ve had at least two thunderstorms a day. ( Read more... )

I just accidentally called Adam Stone. Or, rather, adam.stone. Oh, dear. I had texted B and tossed my phone into my bag only to hear the tell-tale ring a moment later. I’ll get the Kvetch soundtrack eventually, at least.

Yesterday I was biking back from Eric’s graduation party, listening to “Painting by Chagall” and reveling in the post-rain air ( Read more... )

So I find myself back in Crawfordsville, stretched out on the front porch and listening to the song sparrows squabble. One in the snowball bush (the same currently pouffing out my bedroom window) is rather convinced I’m ornocidal, if that were a word. Hmm, good start.

Tonight will be the infamous estrogen fest III; this sounds like some sort ( Read more... )

It seems apt that I’m re-beginning my livejournal with a burgundy sweater slung over my head and computer screen. In this fashion, I can somewhat see what I’m writing, despite the bright Illinois sun. We crossed over the Mississippi river some minutes ago, a thick brown dye glinting up to the cross-hatched suspension bridge. So now the bare ( Read more... )

Well, it's been almost a month since I last updated, so as always the problem arises of what to write. . .I dunno, as I have a meeting/breakfast at 10 and other things to attend to, I think I'll make it quite brief. I'm thinking of submitting my travel journal to the Cipher if it remotely fits the theme - but that would just be a transcription of ( Read more... )

this weekend has been strange. . .I can't quite describe the sentiment roiling about inside me.

I suppose it began on Thursday night. Due to an awkward situation, I arrived in the Loomis lounge ashamed and restless. It was a similar sort of feeling that led me to make a fire in the lounge the week before - granted, in the fire place. A dangerous, ( Read more... )

Dear Livejournal,
for right now I find I cannot hope to chronicle the stream of life pouring relentlessly about me. Like Heraclitus' stream, every step I take renders all others in a different light, a different time, a different precedence. Such is the life when I can discuss the nature of the Victorian dandy, practise Arabic, learn the basics of ( Read more... )