Fate and the New Year

Here's hoping your new years isn't completely catastrophic and you mildly miss whatever fate has hurled in your direction.

Avoiding fate as well,

M

Plush Terror

Currently waiting in the queue for a shower (who isn't?), sitting in a very familiar yet extremely disconcerting room (crashing in my immaculately organized younger sister's room) accompanied by an unsettling sock monkey, and tackling whatever dignity I have left.

On that note. 

I have a bone to pick with whoever thought of the design for sock monkeys.

They're completely off. 

Maybe it's the fact that wherever you sit in the room, whether the monkey is facing you or out, it seems as if it's aware of your presence. Not paranoid here, folks. Well, hardly.

Or the fact that their smiles take up approximately two thirds of their faces, and at that, they're just really big red lips. The color of that ridiculous shade of red they always use to represent blood in movies like 300 where the audience is going "well that's not right, is it" but we all just accept it anyways and continue to enjoy watching nearly naked men rip each other apart. It's a good thing we're all such historical buffs in this country, or else that film wouldn't have made it with the general audience. 

And don't even get me started on the limbs. Or the tail. Completely disproportionate. Or the fact that its butt has the same pattern as its face. I could elaborate, but we'll leave it at that.

Am I the only one observant here, or just the only one to rant about it?

In any case, I wish you all the best, as tonight, a well-guarded sect of the order of the sock monkeys will find me in this immaculate room and do something rather terrible to me while you are all sleeping and dreaming madly. Be comforted by that thought as you snuggle up with your Elmo doll. And remember--don't be alarmed when Tickle Me Elmo suddenly decides to launch an assault on your assets. And topples the government. You won't think his giggles are adorable then.

Constructing fortifications around my bed,

M

Befuddlement

Avoiding the situation,

M

Last Night I Dreamt I Went To Manderley

Nope. Last night I dreamt I was eating a can of Scottish Heinz beans. And it was utterly tragic and beautiful. Beautiful, because I was eating a filled roll with beans inside, tragic, because I deigned to wake up at a most inopportune time in my dream.

Bloody Hell.

Still dreaming of Scottish beans,

M

PS. Now I need to dig up an old copy of Rebecca as well. Feeling extremely stretched in two unsatisfying directions. Bothered.

Knight Dreams

There's just something about S. Carey's "All We Grow" album that makes me want to dream. Makes me want to stop whatever I'm doing and draft an endless supply of futures and cross my fingers. Makes me want to twirl my hair around my fingers and never stop until one of them comes true. Of course if I spent my whole day doing that, the only outcome would be a very sore hand and ridiculously curly hair.

Well, yesterday I was entirely tired and not exactly interested in writing anything of interest on here, finding it difficult to even hack something out. And then it came to me. I realized today that although I started this blog to be honest, I've instead come across as nebulous, and not altogether forthwith. See, when I started it, I didn't realize that entirely destructive nature putting personal information out would have on a person. It's quite like slapping a piece of your own soul onto paper and then asking for it. 

Baring your soul. That's the tough part, isn't it?

Maybe not. I think it's the judgement we associate with baring our souls, well at least for me. What are they thinking right now?, how do they really feel about it? and so on and so forth. [Now that was a prime example of rubbish punctuation. Although, I am an ex-literature major so I feel entirely entitled to do whatever the hell I feel like doing with punctuation.]

So. Back to the baring my soul bit.

I don't like it one bit, but that doesn't matter at the moment. Because discomfort moves people. Changes people. Challenges the existence of the cosmos and reorders galaxies. And so I'll let you in on a good portion of my dreaming yesterday: it was spent dreaming of Scotland. No surprise there, really. At all. I intend to live there someday, and hopefully within the next four years. The next four years, you say? Well, it seems a bit of an arbitrary number to the untrained eye [and a bit of an arbitrary number to the trained eye as well I might add] but I figure by then I'll have finally finished university and have been afloat for at least two years consolidating everything and putting two and two together. Which is completely exciting to me and just around the corner. 

But then I stop myself and think about what I'd be leaving. 

Family. Friends. Let's be honest. Everything. 

Those little winks and nudges, that feeling of the fall breeze sweeping through the concrete alleyway, that bitter cold smell of winter, the ringing laughter of so many memories quietly falling at my feet and swirling through my head. The fact of the matter is, I'm going to miss you. At the same time, I have to ask myself when and if it will really happen, have to keep my cards close to my chest and play them in a poker game with destiny.

On that light note. 

The thing is: Scotland's a dream. Like so many others I keep locked inside and hidden away until I want to take them out and really look at them. Really realize what they mean. Sometimes I feel like there's a knight poking me in the side, threatening my dreams with a claymore and cutting them to bits. But then I realized something. This knight doesn't have a claymore. He doesn't have arms. Or legs. What's he going to do? Shout at my dreams? Bite the legs off my dreams? I don't think so. See, that's the thing about dreams. 

If you keep them in a place silly enough, nothing can hurt them.

Getting bled on,
M

Melodies and Prose: Gungor

I can not get over this song right now, just brilliant prose, brilliant melodies, and extremely haunting. Written from the point of view of God to his bride. Gah, man this makes me burn.

Is This Day Over Yet?

I've just started and restarted this post several times. At least one of them ended up being a That's What She Said conundrum of cosmic profundity, and as I don't wish to shove that one on you (quite yet) so I've backspaced again. And again.

And again.

Well. It's been a long day. Too long. Almost as long as--

Scratch that.

Let's try this again. The length of the twenty four hour period which delineates a set period of qualifications in time and space has been uncommonly high for any set period of twenty hours.

 Well. 

I spent far too much time riding in a car home from Christmas which caused me to spend far too much time reflecting and thinking on things that don't really require my time of reflection or thinking, causing even more reflection and thinking on those very things, spiraling into a never ending infinity of inward thought that should not have occurred in the first place. Needless to say, I fretted about things that were not to be fretted about and dreamed about things which were not to be dreamed about (but I say to hell with whoever thinks I'm going to stop dreaming about things that shouldn't be dreamed about after all they are my dreams anyways and they can shove it). 

I did manage to catch a terrific dusk in the midst of it, so that pretty much balanced out whatever hole I'd dug myself into concerning life, the universe, and everything. 

So. It's just been long. Okay guys? 

Demarcating the space between today and tomorrow,

M