jormundbrood's Xanga

What I reall need is...

Mon, 17 Mar 2008 23:29:58 GMT

...to do Script Frenzy. But more later because I have to write a fucking precis and finish chemistry homework.

It's times like these I can't wait to become king of the hobo club.

Friday, December 14, 2007

Fri, 14 Dec 2007 22:33:25 GMT

Well, one thing is for sure....

I am so terrified of finals.

On the happy side of things, I got my hair cut today and read Kerouac.

Brilliant idea # 23948

Sat, 17 Nov 2007 04:23:37 GMT

Someone once told me that getting an education is like putting furniture in your brain. This Thanksgiving break, I'm gonna be a mental minimalist.

Oh, aside from the fact that I'm writing Subjective Delights.

SD isn't as spectacular as 'exodus of the menagerie' but then again, what is? I feel like one of those washed up fifty-year-old ex-cheerleaders.

Except, Subject Delights is terrifying. I like being a man named Vivian more than an uneducated girl named Chantel who has severe depth perception problems. I can't help but remember that conversation Joe, Sarah and I had at that hotel in Dayton. Ethan had a robotics competition. The question was: if your life was a novel, what kind of character would you be? Which evolved into something more problematic: if everyone you knew was a character, what kind of character would you be in the story? What kind of character would you want to be? And of course, how can you become that character you want to be. The amusing thing was that we applied all that to our friendship. I'm a foil. No brainer. In fact, I am a foil to both of them. They're both main characters in their life. Maybe it's an oldest child thing.

Okay, so, this novel sucks because I have a group of people called the Righteous Snobs and they all have inner conflicts. And ever since Chantel got her glasses her perception of reality has gotten all ambiguous, yet her perception of depth worsens.....What does that mean? Should I be worried? I was going to write a novel about other people's denials, but in writing this damn thing, I'm suddenly realizing my own denial. That's why it's so horrible to write.

But I also realized that writing about someone who is pure is boring. That is why I am making Chantel fall in love with a priest. (Yeah, I wasn't lying when I said my characters were embodiments of my problems.) Plus, there's this character, the Organ Donor, who is an Ambiancist. He creates the perfect ambiance for people. And when I created him I realized I would totally hire him. But does the vibe of a place exist in the place itself, or in the mind of the person in the given place? This is the tricky question. I don't think I'm fit to continue writing Subjective Delights because I can't even differentiate paintings from the physical world. And I have horrible depth perception. I have binocular dysfunction. And the ironic thing is, the more I write, the worse it gets because it's bad for your eyes to stare at pages for extended periods. On the other hand though, I'm convinced that the only thing that keeps me sane is writing.

So...if you become an artist, do you become an extrovert by necessity? But is art a form of mental masturbation? (So THAT is what Vivian's movie is about!) Gah, I feel like I'm on the verge of a revelation. This whole dilemma is like the problem of comedy vs. tragedy. Why do things seem so much more real when they're shown as an impression or caricature? Comedy and impressionistic art involve some kind of leap of faith, correct? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? DAMNIT. MY BRAIN CAN'T PROCESS THESE THOUGHTS. Does this mean that if we see life through some sort of allegory, than we are more aware of reality? If this is true, than why can't we just take life for what it is?

This is why Subjective Delights is troubling me. This is why I'm not fit to write it. I swear, this is why last year Aislinn and I ate hot wings so we could become aware of our bodies.

I need hot wings.

Damn, if I just became a Buckeye fan I wouldn't have to deal with all these delusions that are frequently associated with intellectualism.

Man, I should totally become a monk. But I look bad in orange.

Tuesday, November 13, 2007

Tue, 13 Nov 2007 23:04:58 GMT

Damn, I only write in this thing occasionally now! HOW COULD I ABANDON YOU, MY SACRED SHRINE?

You all know what time of year it is again? Yep, November. Except this year isn't so-fine. It's only...fine.

Because, you see, Louisville doesn't have Bobbies. They have hippies. But on the up side of things, THE DREAM TEAM IS LIFE. And Nero is our Hero because he's a Zero. We listen to the Beatles and eat Fig Newmans and study chemistry...sometimes.

VIVA LA DREAM TEAM.

Something I've realized is how spectacularly bummish I was last year. But how can it be bummish when I felt so accomplished? Good lord I don't know. I miss those days when I'd go belly dancing with Melody and then write at Harvest Moon for several hours. Plus Harvest Moon is the shit. I wonder if that Jim Croce fan guy still works there and the tall dark haired guy who I had a coffee house relationship with......

Chances are, I'll be in NH at Thomas More College next year.

Grahhh....

Thu, 20 Sep 2007 03:58:17 GMT

Man, nostalgia is a bitch to deal with. I'm sitting here in the apartment doing history homework and writing a precis about obesity when all of a sudden I felt this emotion. It's nostalgic, but like I know something really good is about to happen, but with a twist of repression because I'm living in a goddamn river town surrounded by hippies.

First of all, I don't care that I'm writing this and not a precis. Seriously. I haven't written in my xanga in two months and I can pull an all-nighter because I took a nap and am tanked up on several cups of coffee. I'm not really sure what I want out of life anymore. It doesn't help because Louisville feels like limbo with the river flowing past it, and trains passing through it. I don't know. It's a weird place and I can't wait until this year is over and I can get the hell out.

Okay, I am fully aware that way worse things could happen. But why do I have to move my senior year? And on top of that, go to school for the first time my senior year? I just don't think it's really worth it. I mean, I've barely touched my cello this summer, my writing has gone to hell, I miss Taos and Columbus and select people who actually keep me moderately sane. Even though I'm learning a lot at school, I feel like I'm accomplishing absolutely nothing. What the fuck is up with that?

See, my original plan was: 1) get job 2) finish second draft of 'Exodus' 3) read David Copperfield, and 4) learn the rest of the D minor suit.

BUT OF COURSE NONE OF THAT IS HAPPENING. Graaaaaghrughalk. And ya know why? Because I dun gots ter be educated!!!! I feel so...common. But at the same time I've never felt snobbier. Or more paranoid. And I haven't had a really good goat moment in a long time.

WELL, GODDAMNIT.

I'm a Wonderlust...Queen?

Thu, 26 Jul 2007 02:50:50 GMT

Could this past week have been any more weird? Reading and finishing Harry Potter, spiritual revelations, new CD's, and odd encounters with rodents. I saw the a the silhouette of a rat in the branches of a tree. And you know something else? The last H.P. book was truly amazing. J.K. Rowling has a beautiful outlook on life and death.

I have this feeling that two massive mental walls I've had up for years are going to come crumbling down. I'm scared. Lately I've been thinking about time and eighty years seem like such a long time. I should pretend that I'm going to die around forty like all my writerly homies. Sometimes I have this thread of thought ricocheting off my lungs, telling me that I "only have so much time." But that never phases me because I'm like, "Oh, that's BS." Spiritually though, I feel very connected to the world and to God. Life is starting to make so much more sense. I'm not afraid of everything that makes up MY life; I can justify what I now know to be true. But at the same time, I can't stop thinking about what Aristophanes said about romantic love. I don't feel like there is a part missing from me. Maybe my Muse is abusive and clingy. But isn't that the nature of male-kinds? Jacky-Boy, one of these days I'll kick your ass.

Right now I feel like the only thing worth having a love affair with is the air around me. All that space. Even though I can break it by extending my arm, there's still more air and space than me. It protects me from volcanos, plagues and high security prisons, but it doesn't stop me from walking into a tidal wave. I breath the air and take up the free space--I guess you could say air is my bitch and I own it. But it's the kind of bitch that raises its thin curved eyebrows and says, "Get real. Seriously." Oooh, air. It's delicious. Like peeling the white wrapper off an ice cream sandwich. The kind where you have to lick the cookie residue off your fingers when you're finished. Ice cream sandwiches would suck if you only had the cheap vanilla ice cream or only had the dark brown cookies. Kind of like Air and myself, or Yin and Yang. It makes sense, right?

Eyebrows

Mon, 16 Jul 2007 03:12:07 GMT

I don't even know where to begin with this entry.

I just got back from Taos yesterday. It was so much more beautiful than I ever imagined it to be and I didn't want to leave just yet. Oh, fuck. I'm not supposed to say the "B" word. Taos is high and dry--almost the polar opposite of Louisville, a good ol' river town--and so it took my midwestern body awhile to adjust to the altitude and zero humidity. My hair was disturbingly straight.

But who cares, right? Mabel Dodge Luhan House, Caffe Tazza, a Petroglyph, meditation in the morning, driving to the Rio Grande while listening - and singing along - to Simply Red, going to Taos Outback Pizza with Karen and feeling my pen turn into a pair of ice skates.

Working with Natalie last week was such a life changing experience. Suddenly I stopped bickering with my Muse and trying to conduct my train of thought. I don't really know how to describe it, so I'll be Eva J for a second:

For three of the mornings we were to be silent from wake-up until our first class, which was about an hour after breakfast. It was Wednesday. I was in the sitting room in the house doing writing practice after a delicious breakfast of fat bacon and buttery croissants. Sometime during that writing session my brain because uncaulked and grew as a part of my skull, spine and skin. Suddenly I didn't have to furrow my brows to activate my brain. Suddenly my train of thought derailed and fell into a river. And then that's where my mind stayed. And then when when we were floating down the icy Rio Grande (which was seriously a little thinner than the river that goes through Hocking Hills) and I couldn't help but think, "Holy. Shit." You know, partially because it was so damn cold and partially because you couldn't swim up stream. It completely surprised me because if you looked at the Rio Grande, the current didn't look strong at all. And then suddenly the river in my mind made sense. I don't feel like a person trapped inside a brain. My brain used to sit on top of my head and eyebrows. Now I feel it in my belly and hands and finger tips and toes.

Jesus. Now I sound like Edward tripping. "SKY HIKING!" I was close to the sun though--seven thousand feet up in the air and the most grounded I've ever been.

....Oh, God, I hope it doesn't wear off. No, how can it wear off? That train is under water. I hope it doesn't turn into a ghost train. It won't turn into a ghost train - those aren't real. It won't turn into a ghost train - remember how strong the invisible current of the Rio Grande was? Yes.

I had some really fucked up dreams in Taos. Some of them were good but there were some I don't even want to analyze. I'll blame the melatonin, altitude and CMT.

I met so many amazing people there too. Even the people I didn't meet were amazing too. I miss being around writers and mountains.

Damn it feels good to be a gangsta. I mean writer. MIND...YOU ARE MY BITCH. I OWN YOU. Wait, no, it could be worse. Watch me insult my mind even more for shits: MIND...YOU ARE ME. WE ARE THE SAME PERSON....BEE-OTCH.

Just kidding. That wasn't for shits - that was for real.

Well, I'm super sleepy. I'll write more about the Classical institute later.

Peace.
-Meg

P.S. I ended up really liking "Banana Rose" even though I cried all through the last part. I do that with all good literature, you know.

Tuesday, June 26, 2007

Tue, 26 Jun 2007 03:47:20 GMT

RIDDLE ME THIS....

If you had to have sex with one [1] merry man which one would you choose? Because I'd pick Alan-a-Dale.

Why the hell can't I just GO down to Kentuck already?

Graaghghsakdjflaskjd.

The South will rise again.

Fri, 15 Jun 2007 14:54:34 GMT

Amazing news:

I DOWNLOADED KING'S QUEST I-III ONLINE.

HALLELUJAH.

I'm in the middle of reading "Banana Rose" and don't know what to think of it yet.

I know a lot of annoying ass holes. Grraaaahhhh. SOMEONE KILL ME NOW. There's nothing more annoying than people who think they're "enlightened." Sweet Jesus, why are so many people petty? Oh and why do so many women I know see themselves as such victems? Let us go...kill these people.

My current hit list:

Second Wave "Masculinists"
The Intelligence Agencies
The Society of Scholars
~~Alexander the Great~~
Hot guys who date stupid girls
Esoteric Philosophers
The RCC (fuck you)
John Mayer
That kid who pulled my glasses off at the mall
Evil Wizards
All shitty tympani players

Well, I watched "The Illustionist" last night. If you haven't seen it, do so. Now. Or else you too will be on my hit list. Oh and by hit list I really mean people I want to bitch slap. Just thought I'd clear that up.

Later today I will go to Harvest Moon and listen to French cafe music and write and be all cool. There's nothing sexier than French cafe music and coffee. It makes me feel all ernest, you know? Except secretly I hate writing. Music is a better form of art. Writing is such a snobby thing to do. Maybe prostitution is my calling.

Oh just to warn ye all, I'm going through a quart-life-crisis right now.

And I need to figure out what the hell I need to do with my life. Antioch closed. Real pisser, I tell ya. That place looked like a cool college. No matter. I just need to get smart so I can have a white collar job because I get bored haulin boxes....hah ha...lawdy. I also don't want to sit around and ponder over useless shit like oh-so many people see admirable these days *has coughing fit* Ahag, yeah. If I did that I'd completely forget how play cello and scoff at, well, anyone who calls retarded things "totally gay" and people who are too poor to buy organic food.

I also do not want my eyes to bulge disapprovingly at anyone who doesn't have a photograph of Jesus on their wall.

I think the shrink biz is my calling.

Blegh.

Sun, 10 Jun 2007 21:28:07 GMT

I'm back from the beach. I MISS AISLINN SO MUCH. And I'm confused because the ocean is so far away. I keep expecting to hear it, but it's gone.

GONE, DAMN YOU ALL.

I'm claustrophobic.