nirix5: (fly (firefly))
My new new journal header is TehLoveLustSex. Made from the best CSI promo picture on the face of the planet. Look at it and oogle its prettiness, and then bow before [ profile] arcadianwalnut and her mad graphics skills.

*does a happy Grissom dance*

Have an awesome quote.

We work in the dark-- We do what we can-- we give what we have. Our doubt is our passion, and our passion is our task. The rest is the madness of art.

~Henry James
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"I don't know which hurt more... my head hitting this stone wall, or the rabid mindfuck." --Scott
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Hey! Here is your tiara back. It saw a convoy to Balad and a car bomb on the way. Wear it with pride!

You won't hear from me for a good while- I drive on a three day convoy to Kuwait Nov. 30th. I will spend two weeks at Camp Arifjan, cleaning trucks on 12 hour shifts, and then I will be getting on a boat for thirty days. (The boat with all our equipment. The crew requested two people from our unit to go on the trip to help keep an eye on equipment. I got picked!) That should be cool, I'll get to see the Panama Canal and some kickass sunsets. I should be back in WA by the end of January. I'll let you know!


~ Kyo-chan

PS- I really hope I don't get seasick...
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Bleargh. Got a whole lot of nothing done today, at least so far. I'm going to write something- I just don't know what yet- and post it in the next hour or so. I hope. I've gotten all my distracting stuff out of the way (no new kimono on Ichiroya) and Oliver has finally relenquished my headphones.

I really need to get a computer at home. I always forget the stuff I mean to put in this journal. Like Jeannette sending my tiara back (I'm going to post the letter she sent me with it on Monday- my tiara saw action!!!) and Mr. Christopher dying. Mom's going to send a mass card and Nana's probably going to go to the funeral on Monday. It's really, really sad. I love the Christophers, although I didn't know the boys as well as Allison. I still miss them, sometimes.

Mr. Christopher's Obituary )

I hope when I die they have my funeral at Harmon's. They probably will. That's where everyone has their funerals.

Don't let Manhattan decieve you. The rest of New York is just like one big small town. Everyone knows everyone else, and everybody goes to Harmon's. Aunt Doris did.

I should really write out the story of Aunt Doris's funeral one of these days. I still think about that whole fiasco and crack up laughing. I found the pictures of it again the other day. I find it horribly ironic that one of the best pictures I've ever had taken of me when my hair was really long has a dead woman in a casket in it. Shame- it looks all pretty and shiny and stuff. Anyway...

Found some random crap floating around a notebook of mine from over the summer. Here it is.

“If you open the door, Romania will eat you alive.”
~ Gymnastics commentator

“I only get nervous when someone ties me to a chair and sticks a hand grenade between my legs. The rest is pretty much irrelevant after that.”

Commentator: “As the captain of this team, can you tell me their emotional state?”
Mom: “Yeah, we’re all freaked out, you stupid old bitch!”

“I don’t know what kind of kid you were, or your brains are so old that you’ve forgotten what it’s like to be young.”
“WHAT?!?! I work my fingers to the bone all day for you, woman…”
“Yes, yes. …Do you want some teddy grahams?”
~ Mom and Dad

Hysterical rant written while canvassing for CCE )

The most spectacular piece of poetry you will ever read, written while waiting to be called up in traffic court a year and a half ago, when my mother and I were being Regency fangirls. We almost got kicked out of court for giggling so much... )

America is:
~ Jenna and Barbara Bush trying to be witty, failing miserably, and all of the Republicans laughing anyway.

~ reading the personal ads and not answering them.

~ people who are American telling everyone they’re something else and people who were born elsewhere telling everyone that they’re American.

~ possessed of an army of people who just joined up to get money for college.

~ porn. In other countries it’s sex, but in America it’s porn.

~ canvassing door to door without shame.

~ a giant crime scene, complete with angsty G/S, C/W, AND N/G overtones.
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To Mabel, so that when life is somewhat more dusty than it is now she may remember the wood-lilies…and how we hid above Salt Creek when it was all dappled sun-gold and leaf shadow. And having remembered that far she will think kindly of Glitter Wing, the blue dragonfly so generous that he allowed his dinner to escape alive…probably because its taste was singularly unedifying! Remember Glitter Wing, like us betrayed by summer, his destiny to forsake the sun-paths and shiver to a pinch of jeweled dust at the first touch of frost. Remember Glitter Wing… his dust was jeweled!

Inscription in a book, 1939
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"I can't help it if my mind is going nine hundred miles per hour in every direction. I have to mentally encumber myself with cinder blocks and slag metal just to slow down to your mental level; meanwhile these two idiots are arguing about something that's hypothetically impossible. I can't stand it anymore- so go ahead and snurf if you want to. I don't care anymore."
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"If you are four you are four," she said severely to Lavinia on occasion of her having- it must be confessed- slapped Lottie and called her a 'brat'; "but you will be five next year, and six the year after that. And," opening large, convicting eyes, "it only takes sixteen years to make you twenty."

"Dear me," said Lavinia; "How we can calculate!"

In fact, it was not to be denied that sixteen and four made twenty- and twenty was an age the most daring were scarcely bold enough to dream of.

~from "A Little Princess"
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I should probably write something profound, or patriotic, or something about bravery or heroes.

Unfortunately, I have nothing to say along those lines. My mind is incredibly (blissfully) blank right now. But since I'm here I may as well write down something.


“The young miss and her swan done canteloped,” said Jayga to the desk sergeant. “I knew he weren’t no quality. Bezooks, he hangs around all night, he does. Lend me your ears! Four score and twenty-nine years ago, I did remember from the prick of tails what when he was loft to give and crovet with sateen robes and silken duvets. Hath thee no grime?”

“What was that?” The sergeant wanted to know. “Are you here to report a crime?”

“Bezooks I am! Damn your face, piebald strumpet!”

My sister just started singing "Amazing Grace" in the shower. REALLY LOUD. It's really funny, in a very pathetic sort of way.

And here is my "this-is-a-time-of-healing-and-remembering-blah-blah-woof-woof" contribution:

Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred moments so dear
Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure - measure a year?

In daylights - In sunsets
In midnights - In cups of coffee
In inches - In miles
In laughter - In strife

In - Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure a year in the life

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love

Seasons of love
Seasons of love
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“Beware the leader who bangs the drums of war in order to whip the citizenry into a patriotic fervor, for patriotism is indeed a double-edged sword. It both emboldens the blood, just as it narrows the mind. And when the drums of war have reached a fever pitch and the blood boils with hate and the mind has closed, the leader will have no need in seizing the rights of the citizenry. Rather, the citizenry, infused with fear and blinded with patriotism, will offer up all of their rights unto the leader, and gladly so. How do I know? For this is what I have done. And I am Caesar."

-- Julius Caesar on Patriotism
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Nothing is random, nor will anything ever be, whether a long string of perfectly blue days that begin and end in golden dimness, the most seemingly chaotic political acts, the rise of a great city, the crystalline structure of a gem that has never seen the light, the distributions of fortune, what time the milkman gets up, the position of the electron, or the occurrence of one astonishingly frigid winter after another. Even electrons, supposedly the paragons of unpredictability, are tame and obsequious little creatures that rush around at the speed of light, going precisely where they are supposed to go. They make faint whistling sounds that when apprehended in varying combinations are as pleasant as the wind flying through a forest, and they do exactly as they are told. Of this, one can be certain.

And yet there is a wonderful anarchy, in that the milkman chooses when to arise, the rat picks the tunnel into which he will dive when the subway domes rushing down the track from Borough Hall, and the snowflake will fall as it will. How can this be? If nothing is random, and everything is predetermined, how can there be free will? The answer to that is simple. Nothing is predetermined; it is determined, or was determined, or will be determined. No matter, it all happened at once, in less than an instant, and time was invented because we cannot comprehend in one glance the enormous and detailed canvas that we have been given- so we track it, in linear fashion, piece by piece. Time, however, can be easily overcome, not by chasing the light, but by standing back far enough to see it all at once. The universe is still and complete. Everything that ever was, is; everything that will ever be, is- and so on, in all possible combinations. Though in perceiving it we imagine that it is in motion, and unfinished, it is quite finished and quite astonishingly beautiful. In the end, or rather, as things really are, any event, no matter how small, is intimately and sensibly tied to all others. All rivers run full to the sea; those who are apart are brought together; the lost ones are redeemed; the dead come back to life; the perfectly blue days that have begun and ended in golden dimness continue, immobile and accessible; and, when all is perceived in such as way as to obviate time, justice becomes apparent not as something that will be, but as something that is.

From A Winter's Tale by Mark Helprin
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“I knew it. Diamonds!” Her laugh is unattractive, a high beauty parlor giggle. “Diamonds are merely glorified coal. In heaven the angels will throw diamonds on the fire. And colored jewels are all vulgar. Baubles. They are all stones, and why would I want to wear stones? Do I look like I need to be weighed down? Am I going to float away? When I die, I will have enough stones on my chest, thank you. But pearls-”


“Pearls, yes. They have such a subtle beauty, so elegant. They grow. Little lives. They are a function of pain.”


“Pain? Yes, pain. The oyster has delicate flesh. Easily hurt. When grit becomes lodged there, it wraps up the pain in pearl. It smoothes away the hurt. The pearl is a function of pain. But that must be part of it’s beauty, don’t you think?”

From The Love Of Stones, by Tobias Hill
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Strangers no more, but stranger still
The one who mocks me
In the bronze mirror.
So unlike that frail shadow
I thought myself.
Long exiled,
Home at last.


Feb. 17th, 2002 12:42 am
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It's almost one in the morning, and I don't feel sleepy.

Tired, yes, but I don't want to go to bed yet.

In all honesty I'm lonely again. It comes and it goes, but sometimes it's killer and I'm not sure whether or not I can handle it. I always do though, so... I guess there's nothing more to say about it.

What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, they say, and I for one believe it. Or, I keep telling myself I do. One day at a time, I guess. Who knows what tomorrow'll bring?

I wish, for the millionth time, that it was summer again. The second the leaves come out, I'll go lose myself in the woods and never come out again.

"And my dark soul is happy again, because it doesn not know how to be anything else for very long, and because the pain is a deep dark sea in which I would drown if I did not sail my little craft steadily over the surface, steadily towards a sun which will never rise."

~ Tale of the Body Thief
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To quote Zoi-chan: "Today has... ceased to be interesting."

Woke up at the crack of ten. I know I should go to church on Sundays or something now, and I feel kind of guilty about it, but I still hate going. Must work on this.

We finished watching The Prophecy. Viggo Mortensen makes a good Lucifer. Also had some Entenmanns’s coffee cake, which is a sin in and of itself, though I'm not sure which one. Which in turn prompted a conversation concerning eating breakfast with the devil.

Now Kate's hanging out with her friend Heather. They went to go see a movie or something, because it's Heather's last day here before she's got to go back to school or something. Then Kate's spending the night here again and we're dropping her off at SU in the morning on the way to work.

Hey, isn't the Superbowl today? :: shrugs :: I think I'll read some fanfics and go take a walk.

Cool quote of the day:

"All literature is a footnote to Faust. I have no idea what I mean by that."

~Woody Allen
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" 'The manifestation of the universe as a complex idea unto itself as opposed to being in or outside the true Being of itself in inherently a conceptual nothingness or Nothingness in relation to any abstract form of existing or to exist or having existed in perpetuity and not subject to laws of physicality or motion or ideas relating to non-matter or the lack of objective Being or subjective otherness.'

It was a subtle concept but I think she understood it before she died."

~From "Getting Even" by Woody Allen


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