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Feb. 10th, 2002
I try to stay away from evil deeds but succumb to temptation every once in a while. I'm not quite on my way to hell but I certainly have some explaining to do.
Are you evil? find out at Hilowitz.com
A duck that says "Not so innocent." Is this a sign?
Pensive-ness
Feb. 10th, 2002 07:02 pmI think I need to go away for a little while. I've been in this funk lately, for lack of any other word, and I think I need to go away to straighten myself out. I was looking at convents, and that's still one of my number-one choices, but maybe I can get a temp job doing something... alone? Preferably in New Zealand? I'd watch LOTR over and over again only for the landscape. Maybe doing something with horses. The point is I need some time to straighten my head out. Not a long time, just a couple of months or so. Just to get my head clear enough to be okay in everyday life.
I came to this conclusion at dinner tonight. Aunt Sean is here, but I'm not happy. I have trouble being anything but indifferent lately, and the more I try to be enthusiastic and get into things the worse it gets. I don't want to have to force myself to smile anymore. It's been like this for a while. Aunt Sean noticed when I was down for New Year's, and she was like, "You're not having a good time, are you?" And it wasn't that I wasn't having a good time, it was that I didn't care whether I was or not. And that is starting to scare me. I've stopped feeling things. Life just barely scratches the surface of my mind, and that's not healthy. So maybe if I go away for a while, I can re-connect with myself. We'll see.
I came to this conclusion at dinner tonight. Aunt Sean is here, but I'm not happy. I have trouble being anything but indifferent lately, and the more I try to be enthusiastic and get into things the worse it gets. I don't want to have to force myself to smile anymore. It's been like this for a while. Aunt Sean noticed when I was down for New Year's, and she was like, "You're not having a good time, are you?" And it wasn't that I wasn't having a good time, it was that I didn't care whether I was or not. And that is starting to scare me. I've stopped feeling things. Life just barely scratches the surface of my mind, and that's not healthy. So maybe if I go away for a while, I can re-connect with myself. We'll see.
Pensive-ness
Feb. 10th, 2002 07:02 pmI think I need to go away for a little while. I've been in this funk lately, for lack of any other word, and I think I need to go away to straighten myself out. I was looking at convents, and that's still one of my number-one choices, but maybe I can get a temp job doing something... alone? Preferably in New Zealand? I'd watch LOTR over and over again only for the landscape. Maybe doing something with horses. The point is I need some time to straighten my head out. Not a long time, just a couple of months or so. Just to get my head clear enough to be okay in everyday life.
I came to this conclusion at dinner tonight. Aunt Sean is here, but I'm not happy. I have trouble being anything but indifferent lately, and the more I try to be enthusiastic and get into things the worse it gets. I don't want to have to force myself to smile anymore. It's been like this for a while. Aunt Sean noticed when I was down for New Year's, and she was like, "You're not having a good time, are you?" And it wasn't that I wasn't having a good time, it was that I didn't care whether I was or not. And that is starting to scare me. I've stopped feeling things. Life just barely scratches the surface of my mind, and that's not healthy. So maybe if I go away for a while, I can re-connect with myself. We'll see.
I came to this conclusion at dinner tonight. Aunt Sean is here, but I'm not happy. I have trouble being anything but indifferent lately, and the more I try to be enthusiastic and get into things the worse it gets. I don't want to have to force myself to smile anymore. It's been like this for a while. Aunt Sean noticed when I was down for New Year's, and she was like, "You're not having a good time, are you?" And it wasn't that I wasn't having a good time, it was that I didn't care whether I was or not. And that is starting to scare me. I've stopped feeling things. Life just barely scratches the surface of my mind, and that's not healthy. So maybe if I go away for a while, I can re-connect with myself. We'll see.
My Short Story (set to "Play" by J.Lo)
Feb. 10th, 2002 08:23 pmPlay
She’s throwing off the covers now. Wool and polyester puddle around her feet on the cold cement floor. With a derisive motion she kicks them aside, listening to the
Drip drop drip drop
(I just wanna dance- is that a crime? Alright then.)
of the water from the heating pipes.
Like Aphrodite born of the sea foam, so she is born of blankets: there is no metamorphosis, from ugly morning duckling to beautiful star girl. Like Athena she awakes fully clothed: odd looking distressed jeans from Dolce & Gabbana, covered in rhinestones and gold paint spelling out the word “chrysalis,” an iridescent one shouldered halter top, opulently beaded, strappy three inch high black sandals, all the required jewelry: hoop earrings, rings, toe rings, bracelets, choker, all the gaudy beauty that is so treasured by her peers
(I could wait all night and day
Go to a party sit down and wait)
her makeup painted onto an already stunning face, as overdone as the rest of her ensemble
her tawny hair, an odd color of golden brown, is piled onto her head in a most beguiling manner, with only a few carefully placed tendrils framing her face, other strands braided and beaded and tucked up into the mass.
(Give my request to the dj
Cause my song he’s gotta play)
drip drop drip drop
she looks up as if noticing for the first time that she is in the electrical closet of the Southwest Community Center. An eloquent shrug of her shoulders acknowledges this fact and similarly disregards it as she walks through the door and into the bowels of a building she has never seen before. Machines she doesn’t recognize or know the function of surround her, effortlessly she wends her way through the forest of metal, guided by an unseen hand.
(And when I hear that beat
I get my body up out my seat)
a door now. One perfectly manicured hand pushes it open, onto a deserted corridor, the only occupants being some hand traced Thanksgiving turkeys on the far wall. She turns right, following the sound of the beat in her head down the hall and out the main door of the building
drip drip drop drip drop
it’s raining outside but not a single droplet of water touches her
maybe it’s because both she and the rain know that if she gets wet she’ll melt
(Grab a guy and move my feet
He’s playin’ my song)
heads turn on the street but she doesn’t seem to notice. The building she’s heading to is a plain brick warehouse, a diamond in the rough, but only if you know where to look.
The bouncer lets her in with no objection other than an admiring glance
For she is certainly one of the chosen ones, destined for the VIP booth in the back, where all the stars hang out and drink fancy drinks, thinking they’re all that. Which, just between you and me, can be a total misconception.
* wink *
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
just like outside, now, heads are turning to follow her as if she’s the sun and they are merely flowers. Even the women and girls with fake ID’s are too impressed to be jealous
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
there was once a story of a girl who could dance like no other, although she felt with each step she took the tread of a thousand knives. This goddess on the dance floor is the personification of this fairy tale. Her adoring spectators watch her avidly, knowing that this is a once in a lifetime deal. She approaches the dj and puts in a request, which he acknowledges with a nod
(I don’t care if everybody’s gone
Turn it up cause it turns me on
Keep dancin’ all night long
It feels so good
That it can’t be wrong)
three songs later
(I get the chills up and down my spine
Whenever I hear that song of mine
When it stops better press rewind
Let me hear it one more time)
there’s barely any room to move on the dance floor, it’s so packed. All the people move together, to the heady rhythm of the bass beat, moving as one, something that the Communists of old dreamed of but never achieved.
Boom boom boom boom
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
What a dope beat!
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
and they still haven’t spun her song and she is starting to get pissed off…
fire in her chocolate colored eyes, as she approaches the dj…..
(Now mister dj
I’ve asked you 3 times…)
he looks up, startled, to meet her ferocious gaze, unable to look away as terror, awe, and joy swirl through his head
(“PLAY MY MUTHA FUCKIN SONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!”)
a crack of thunder sounds over the pulsating music, and she steps back, triumphant as a goddess of war. he picks out her song and plays it and they all begin to dance again.
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
no one knows what happened to her or where she went. They never found out her name… after she melted into the dawn and took her glitter and her hoop earrings and her duendé with her, they never saw her again.
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
But you have to wonder, will you see her in the dance club this weekend when you go? But more importantly, will you fall under her spell if you do?
… I’m not telling…
* wink *
She’s throwing off the covers now. Wool and polyester puddle around her feet on the cold cement floor. With a derisive motion she kicks them aside, listening to the
Drip drop drip drop
(I just wanna dance- is that a crime? Alright then.)
of the water from the heating pipes.
Like Aphrodite born of the sea foam, so she is born of blankets: there is no metamorphosis, from ugly morning duckling to beautiful star girl. Like Athena she awakes fully clothed: odd looking distressed jeans from Dolce & Gabbana, covered in rhinestones and gold paint spelling out the word “chrysalis,” an iridescent one shouldered halter top, opulently beaded, strappy three inch high black sandals, all the required jewelry: hoop earrings, rings, toe rings, bracelets, choker, all the gaudy beauty that is so treasured by her peers
(I could wait all night and day
Go to a party sit down and wait)
her makeup painted onto an already stunning face, as overdone as the rest of her ensemble
her tawny hair, an odd color of golden brown, is piled onto her head in a most beguiling manner, with only a few carefully placed tendrils framing her face, other strands braided and beaded and tucked up into the mass.
(Give my request to the dj
Cause my song he’s gotta play)
drip drop drip drop
she looks up as if noticing for the first time that she is in the electrical closet of the Southwest Community Center. An eloquent shrug of her shoulders acknowledges this fact and similarly disregards it as she walks through the door and into the bowels of a building she has never seen before. Machines she doesn’t recognize or know the function of surround her, effortlessly she wends her way through the forest of metal, guided by an unseen hand.
(And when I hear that beat
I get my body up out my seat)
a door now. One perfectly manicured hand pushes it open, onto a deserted corridor, the only occupants being some hand traced Thanksgiving turkeys on the far wall. She turns right, following the sound of the beat in her head down the hall and out the main door of the building
drip drip drop drip drop
it’s raining outside but not a single droplet of water touches her
maybe it’s because both she and the rain know that if she gets wet she’ll melt
(Grab a guy and move my feet
He’s playin’ my song)
heads turn on the street but she doesn’t seem to notice. The building she’s heading to is a plain brick warehouse, a diamond in the rough, but only if you know where to look.
The bouncer lets her in with no objection other than an admiring glance
For she is certainly one of the chosen ones, destined for the VIP booth in the back, where all the stars hang out and drink fancy drinks, thinking they’re all that. Which, just between you and me, can be a total misconception.
* wink *
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
just like outside, now, heads are turning to follow her as if she’s the sun and they are merely flowers. Even the women and girls with fake ID’s are too impressed to be jealous
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
there was once a story of a girl who could dance like no other, although she felt with each step she took the tread of a thousand knives. This goddess on the dance floor is the personification of this fairy tale. Her adoring spectators watch her avidly, knowing that this is a once in a lifetime deal. She approaches the dj and puts in a request, which he acknowledges with a nod
(I don’t care if everybody’s gone
Turn it up cause it turns me on
Keep dancin’ all night long
It feels so good
That it can’t be wrong)
three songs later
(I get the chills up and down my spine
Whenever I hear that song of mine
When it stops better press rewind
Let me hear it one more time)
there’s barely any room to move on the dance floor, it’s so packed. All the people move together, to the heady rhythm of the bass beat, moving as one, something that the Communists of old dreamed of but never achieved.
Boom boom boom boom
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
What a dope beat!
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
and they still haven’t spun her song and she is starting to get pissed off…
fire in her chocolate colored eyes, as she approaches the dj…..
(Now mister dj
I’ve asked you 3 times…)
he looks up, startled, to meet her ferocious gaze, unable to look away as terror, awe, and joy swirl through his head
(“PLAY MY MUTHA FUCKIN SONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!”)
a crack of thunder sounds over the pulsating music, and she steps back, triumphant as a goddess of war. he picks out her song and plays it and they all begin to dance again.
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
no one knows what happened to her or where she went. They never found out her name… after she melted into the dawn and took her glitter and her hoop earrings and her duendé with her, they never saw her again.
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
But you have to wonder, will you see her in the dance club this weekend when you go? But more importantly, will you fall under her spell if you do?
… I’m not telling…
* wink *
My Short Story (set to "Play" by J.Lo)
Feb. 10th, 2002 08:23 pmPlay
She’s throwing off the covers now. Wool and polyester puddle around her feet on the cold cement floor. With a derisive motion she kicks them aside, listening to the
Drip drop drip drop
(I just wanna dance- is that a crime? Alright then.)
of the water from the heating pipes.
Like Aphrodite born of the sea foam, so she is born of blankets: there is no metamorphosis, from ugly morning duckling to beautiful star girl. Like Athena she awakes fully clothed: odd looking distressed jeans from Dolce & Gabbana, covered in rhinestones and gold paint spelling out the word “chrysalis,” an iridescent one shouldered halter top, opulently beaded, strappy three inch high black sandals, all the required jewelry: hoop earrings, rings, toe rings, bracelets, choker, all the gaudy beauty that is so treasured by her peers
(I could wait all night and day
Go to a party sit down and wait)
her makeup painted onto an already stunning face, as overdone as the rest of her ensemble
her tawny hair, an odd color of golden brown, is piled onto her head in a most beguiling manner, with only a few carefully placed tendrils framing her face, other strands braided and beaded and tucked up into the mass.
(Give my request to the dj
Cause my song he’s gotta play)
drip drop drip drop
she looks up as if noticing for the first time that she is in the electrical closet of the Southwest Community Center. An eloquent shrug of her shoulders acknowledges this fact and similarly disregards it as she walks through the door and into the bowels of a building she has never seen before. Machines she doesn’t recognize or know the function of surround her, effortlessly she wends her way through the forest of metal, guided by an unseen hand.
(And when I hear that beat
I get my body up out my seat)
a door now. One perfectly manicured hand pushes it open, onto a deserted corridor, the only occupants being some hand traced Thanksgiving turkeys on the far wall. She turns right, following the sound of the beat in her head down the hall and out the main door of the building
drip drip drop drip drop
it’s raining outside but not a single droplet of water touches her
maybe it’s because both she and the rain know that if she gets wet she’ll melt
(Grab a guy and move my feet
He’s playin’ my song)
heads turn on the street but she doesn’t seem to notice. The building she’s heading to is a plain brick warehouse, a diamond in the rough, but only if you know where to look.
The bouncer lets her in with no objection other than an admiring glance
For she is certainly one of the chosen ones, destined for the VIP booth in the back, where all the stars hang out and drink fancy drinks, thinking they’re all that. Which, just between you and me, can be a total misconception.
* wink *
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
just like outside, now, heads are turning to follow her as if she’s the sun and they are merely flowers. Even the women and girls with fake ID’s are too impressed to be jealous
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
there was once a story of a girl who could dance like no other, although she felt with each step she took the tread of a thousand knives. This goddess on the dance floor is the personification of this fairy tale. Her adoring spectators watch her avidly, knowing that this is a once in a lifetime deal. She approaches the dj and puts in a request, which he acknowledges with a nod
(I don’t care if everybody’s gone
Turn it up cause it turns me on
Keep dancin’ all night long
It feels so good
That it can’t be wrong)
three songs later
(I get the chills up and down my spine
Whenever I hear that song of mine
When it stops better press rewind
Let me hear it one more time)
there’s barely any room to move on the dance floor, it’s so packed. All the people move together, to the heady rhythm of the bass beat, moving as one, something that the Communists of old dreamed of but never achieved.
Boom boom boom boom
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
What a dope beat!
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
and they still haven’t spun her song and she is starting to get pissed off…
fire in her chocolate colored eyes, as she approaches the dj…..
(Now mister dj
I’ve asked you 3 times…)
he looks up, startled, to meet her ferocious gaze, unable to look away as terror, awe, and joy swirl through his head
(“PLAY MY MUTHA FUCKIN SONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!”)
a crack of thunder sounds over the pulsating music, and she steps back, triumphant as a goddess of war. he picks out her song and plays it and they all begin to dance again.
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
no one knows what happened to her or where she went. They never found out her name… after she melted into the dawn and took her glitter and her hoop earrings and her duendé with her, they never saw her again.
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
But you have to wonder, will you see her in the dance club this weekend when you go? But more importantly, will you fall under her spell if you do?
… I’m not telling…
* wink *
She’s throwing off the covers now. Wool and polyester puddle around her feet on the cold cement floor. With a derisive motion she kicks them aside, listening to the
Drip drop drip drop
(I just wanna dance- is that a crime? Alright then.)
of the water from the heating pipes.
Like Aphrodite born of the sea foam, so she is born of blankets: there is no metamorphosis, from ugly morning duckling to beautiful star girl. Like Athena she awakes fully clothed: odd looking distressed jeans from Dolce & Gabbana, covered in rhinestones and gold paint spelling out the word “chrysalis,” an iridescent one shouldered halter top, opulently beaded, strappy three inch high black sandals, all the required jewelry: hoop earrings, rings, toe rings, bracelets, choker, all the gaudy beauty that is so treasured by her peers
(I could wait all night and day
Go to a party sit down and wait)
her makeup painted onto an already stunning face, as overdone as the rest of her ensemble
her tawny hair, an odd color of golden brown, is piled onto her head in a most beguiling manner, with only a few carefully placed tendrils framing her face, other strands braided and beaded and tucked up into the mass.
(Give my request to the dj
Cause my song he’s gotta play)
drip drop drip drop
she looks up as if noticing for the first time that she is in the electrical closet of the Southwest Community Center. An eloquent shrug of her shoulders acknowledges this fact and similarly disregards it as she walks through the door and into the bowels of a building she has never seen before. Machines she doesn’t recognize or know the function of surround her, effortlessly she wends her way through the forest of metal, guided by an unseen hand.
(And when I hear that beat
I get my body up out my seat)
a door now. One perfectly manicured hand pushes it open, onto a deserted corridor, the only occupants being some hand traced Thanksgiving turkeys on the far wall. She turns right, following the sound of the beat in her head down the hall and out the main door of the building
drip drip drop drip drop
it’s raining outside but not a single droplet of water touches her
maybe it’s because both she and the rain know that if she gets wet she’ll melt
(Grab a guy and move my feet
He’s playin’ my song)
heads turn on the street but she doesn’t seem to notice. The building she’s heading to is a plain brick warehouse, a diamond in the rough, but only if you know where to look.
The bouncer lets her in with no objection other than an admiring glance
For she is certainly one of the chosen ones, destined for the VIP booth in the back, where all the stars hang out and drink fancy drinks, thinking they’re all that. Which, just between you and me, can be a total misconception.
* wink *
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
just like outside, now, heads are turning to follow her as if she’s the sun and they are merely flowers. Even the women and girls with fake ID’s are too impressed to be jealous
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
there was once a story of a girl who could dance like no other, although she felt with each step she took the tread of a thousand knives. This goddess on the dance floor is the personification of this fairy tale. Her adoring spectators watch her avidly, knowing that this is a once in a lifetime deal. She approaches the dj and puts in a request, which he acknowledges with a nod
(I don’t care if everybody’s gone
Turn it up cause it turns me on
Keep dancin’ all night long
It feels so good
That it can’t be wrong)
three songs later
(I get the chills up and down my spine
Whenever I hear that song of mine
When it stops better press rewind
Let me hear it one more time)
there’s barely any room to move on the dance floor, it’s so packed. All the people move together, to the heady rhythm of the bass beat, moving as one, something that the Communists of old dreamed of but never achieved.
Boom boom boom boom
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
What a dope beat!
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
and they still haven’t spun her song and she is starting to get pissed off…
fire in her chocolate colored eyes, as she approaches the dj…..
(Now mister dj
I’ve asked you 3 times…)
he looks up, startled, to meet her ferocious gaze, unable to look away as terror, awe, and joy swirl through his head
(“PLAY MY MUTHA FUCKIN SONG!!!!!!!!!!!!!”)
a crack of thunder sounds over the pulsating music, and she steps back, triumphant as a goddess of war. he picks out her song and plays it and they all begin to dance again.
(Play, come on
Play that song
Play it all night long
Just turn it up and turn me on)
no one knows what happened to her or where she went. They never found out her name… after she melted into the dawn and took her glitter and her hoop earrings and her duendé with her, they never saw her again.
(Play, come on
Dj play that song
You know that it turns me on
Just turn it up and turn me on)
But you have to wonder, will you see her in the dance club this weekend when you go? But more importantly, will you fall under her spell if you do?
… I’m not telling…
* wink *