Friday, April 25, 2008

Office Politics

Okay, a) this is nothing at all like my current work situation, b) but it does remind me of my first boss--kinda spot on, actually, c) except for the "I AM THIS CLOSE TO RAPING YOU" part, d) which is not to say that the trident incident never happened...because it did, only I was stabbed 15 times instead of Tarkanian's 33.

Wednesday, April 23, 2008

Stream of Consciousness V.2

because my Yahoo 360 blog is dead...

Thursday October 12, 2006 - 09:51pm

It's never gonna happen for us. For some reason, we totally missed the window of opportunity there. The timing's never right, or maybe I'm never ever right. Either way, I need something more to hold onto, and you need something, something that's not me. I'm hardly ever self-sacrificing, but we've been at it for years. We hint at possibilities and we toy at the idea of the idea of a relationship, but somehow I doubt if I'm ever gonna be on the same page as you are. I'm essentially damaged, tragically flawed. And you tell me you wanna take that on, but how can I in good conscience, let you. It's just never gonna happen for us and I'm really, really sorry.

Saturday October 28, 2006 - 12:38pm

This is the guy I wanna marry:
He's lazy, he's a brilliant tactician and I never thought I'll use those words in the same sentence. Nara shikamaru is 60 points more brilliant than me and the only way I can get him interested in me is if I reincarnate as a logic problem. He's not motivated at all to do anything. I'd be content just to watch the clouds roll by with him. I heart Shikamaru.

Wednesday December 20, 2006 - 02:53pm

I realize that gratitude is a process, not complicated, sure, but it can never be formulaic--doing so will only negate its significance. These days, I'm learning that being thankful requires effort, patience and grace--three things that can only be sourced from above. One thing I know today is that acceptance is more than the end stage in the grieving process, it is actually a subset of gratefulness...

*toying with the idea of resurrecting the dead*

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

20/20 Vision

"Men seldom make passes at girls who wear glasses," so said Dorothy Parker because...

well, frankly I have no freaking clue. Maybe she got so traumatized by an encounter with a meganekko. Who the hell knows? Still, if her wikistub is to be believed (, and that really is her with the ridiculously ginormous hat, then I would have to assume that a) the stupid thing is impairing her sense of humor or b) her sense of humor is fully intact and the statement above was uttered satirically. In which case, I would seriously urge all the girls who wear glasses to march or simply burn said glasses. Of course, that wouldn't help our case at all, but the point is...

long lost, which can be said for all my random randomosities and inane musings. I don't really care, after all Holden (Caulfield) "prefers digression."

Friday, April 11, 2008


If people knew how much I constantly watch them, they'd make sure I was locked in a padded cell...

Thursday, April 3, 2008

Preference Versus Possibilities

I prefer Wislawa to Sylvia and believe in all the possibilities implied by that preference...

By W. Szymborska

Nothing has changed.
The body is susceptible to pain,
it must eat and breathe air and sleep,
it has thin skin and blood right underneath,
an adequate stock of teeth and nails,
its bones are breakable, its joints are stretchable.
In tortures all this is taken into account.

Nothing has changed.
The body shudders as it shuddered
before the founding of Rome and after,
in the twentieth century before and after Christ.
Tortures are as they were, it's just the earth that's grown smaller,
and whatever happens seems right on the other side of the wall.

Nothing has changed. It's just that there are more people,
besides the old offenses new ones have appeared,
real, imaginary, temporary, and none,
but the howl with which the body responds to them,
was, is and ever will be a howl of innocence
according to the time-honored scale and tonality.

Nothing has changed. Maybe just the manners, ceremonies, dances.
Yet the movement of the hands in protecting the head is the same.
The body writhes, jerks and tries to pull away,
its legs give out, it falls, the knees fly up,
it turns blue, swells, salivates and bleeds.

Nothing has changed. Except for the course of boundaries,
the line of forests, coasts, deserts and glaciers.
Amid these landscapes traipses the soul,
disappears, comes back, draws nearer, moves away,
alien to itself, elusive, at times certain, at others uncertain of its own existence,
while the body is and is and is
and has no place of its own.