tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-272592282024-03-06T23:34:51.763-08:00deranged gemcreative what have yous and barbed notions on everyday events.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.comBlogger33125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-58609764063626647382010-08-23T04:39:00.000-07:002010-08-23T04:42:58.375-07:00enamoured<meta equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=utf-8"><meta name="ProgId" content="Word.Document"><meta name="Generator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><meta name="Originator" content="Microsoft Word 12"><link rel="File-List" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCarly%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_filelist.xml"><link rel="themeData" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCarly%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_themedata.thmx"><link rel="colorSchemeMapping" href="file:///C:%5CUsers%5CCarly%5CAppData%5CLocal%5CTemp%5Cmsohtmlclip1%5C01%5Cclip_colorschememapping.xml"><!--[if gte mso 9]><xml> <w:worddocument> 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mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} </style> <![endif]--> <p class="MsoNormal">On the second day, on that lucky Friday off, on her way to the market, she saw him through the window of the cafe on the water; she had known this was a possibility. Had it in her mind when she dressed that morning. Saw how that green tee with the rip on the left sleeve made her eyes pop. In this shirt, she appeared, interrupting the writing he had just sat down to do. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">It thrilled her that he drove a motorcycle; they ripped around the ocean side, through the steep cliffs and dense forests that sandwiched the many houses. She could smell summer with more strength, perched behind him, hands lingering on his back longer than necessary as he leaned into corners. The gamut of richness. A mouth filled with dark chocolate. A snapping dog. An exhilarating yelp of relief as they got away, unscathed.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">There was the reading of each other's work that day. An unexpected kiss on her back patio; the fierce desire with which he approached her when they stood in the cool shadows of his living room. She lured him to a river, under the pretense of watching the sunset, but instead her passion came through her words, shocking her even, as she realized that she was doing everything she wanted to do to thrive in life. And that she was; that she <i style="">really </i>was. And that no one had given her the patience, or the care, or the clean ears, or the open eyes to allow her to spell it all out to herself, to spill it all out to herself, to reach in to her chambers and pull out the immaculate rainbow of possibilities that are her opportunities in this world.
<br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">All he did was listen.</p> .deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-92160313667544746062007-06-17T01:28:00.000-07:002007-06-17T01:30:07.844-07:00swimming shorts (i)12 y.o. girls<br />wear board shorts<br />at the public pool<br />to cover errant hairs<br />that don't appear<br />on the inner thighs<br />of the women on t.v.<br /><br />let the self<br />consciousness begin..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-21050156720792282772007-06-10T21:58:00.000-07:002007-06-10T22:05:50.142-07:00the jaded optimist<em></em><br />subscribed to blue skies<br />but that didn't work out<br /><em></em><br /><em>pouring over a glass of wine he writes love letters </em><br /><em>that were never meant to be sent</em>.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-40994886327093673562007-06-01T13:41:00.000-07:002007-06-01T13:43:16.303-07:00patio philosophy<em>a collaboration w/ dw & brahma on their day off</em><br /><em></em><br />chairs and rules are meant to be broken<br />kissing and bedframes, superfluous..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-59253848593423788502007-06-01T13:36:00.000-07:002007-06-01T13:41:08.164-07:00bruschettain a lineup w/ a<br />lover at the supermarket<br />we realize that<br />angry white men are tiresome<br />arguing over the price of<br />tomatoes--inflation his<br />only interaction of his day<br /> he blows it<br /> and she smiles at me<br />grips my hand real tight<br />pats my lower back and calls me her baby.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-83960828875517585362007-05-25T00:41:00.000-07:002007-05-25T00:46:05.161-07:00the secret life of ms. prismyou are drenched in it<br />commensurable beauty<br />a haunting, an apparition<br />each time you come by to tuck me in<br />i awake w/ the same<br />confusion empty empty sheets.<br /><br />you must exist—the seats displaced<br />the resting place of cadaver bottles—<br />my confusion settles, you are not<br />a spirit but a true man<br /> —an honourable man<br />amidst the confusion<br /> but ‘what is good’ <span style="font-size:78%;">and what is bad<br /></span>and how long will we ask<br />each other this—<br />knowing monogamy doesn’t really<br />exist, knowing that the<br />nice nice individuals we appreciate<br /> (but could never be)<br /> tuck their<br />gently laid perspectives<br />between comforters<br /> at night..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-40688121685964162912007-03-13T20:38:00.000-07:002007-03-13T20:46:58.293-07:00thursday night brigadesun stretches longer now<br />begging to be kissed back<br /><br />setting a little before 8<br />lingering in fine folds of skin<br /><br />contact points draw further<br /><br />melt into that not always stark box<br />neat square ‘single’<br /><br />before leaving the house<br />personas’ are drawn<br />sorts that wear too short<br />skirts, alleviate boredom.<br /><br />avoiding eye contact, fundamental.<br />fabricating his/story, fundamental.<br />laughing off compliments, delightfully fundamental.<br /><br />peripheral listening and dry humour<br />float the evening further<br />when singles turn to doubles<br />nothing but the dance floor gets<br />attn<br /><br /><em>attn: straddling dirties in dark corners then purging in the bathroom is not recommended</em><br /><br />if only someone had a megaphone or a business card to spread the warning. a place like this ought to communicate this prayer by osmosis.<br /><br />incessant dance pyramids w/ beautiful women<br />laughing, touching, indifferent to gazes<br /><br />tracks from three years ago, t.o., repeat. poorly mixed, just as the drinks. but who cares?<br />it’s 3 and there’s no going back. recycled convos circle<br />i’m cared out, a sack of potatoes<br />at least my feet won’t get snowy.<br /><br />mornings culminate w/ cabbies that are never<br />remembered<br />who paid?.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-77426481719072508272007-03-10T03:06:00.000-08:002007-03-10T03:08:56.862-08:00save the day light<div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTNE0S6mxbnMWjGASNGcqJGIkYoAdbVBNHuHIrFeo2wX-4tcPXF35_JUxf0rcj0h8RXx70BOYjWTnt29jrVY-9JGXCWUofpkXVGF5WRglMoqTQCZWwzfSkwjLCPMoC-dHqoV6p/s1600-h/fortG1.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5040250911588912146" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 211px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 320px" height="320" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTNE0S6mxbnMWjGASNGcqJGIkYoAdbVBNHuHIrFeo2wX-4tcPXF35_JUxf0rcj0h8RXx70BOYjWTnt29jrVY-9JGXCWUofpkXVGF5WRglMoqTQCZWwzfSkwjLCPMoC-dHqoV6p/s320/fortG1.JPG" width="328" border="0" /></a></div>.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-62642444494423369552007-02-20T01:26:00.000-08:002007-02-20T01:29:25.561-08:00modern day tinkerbellshe goes to bars<br />alone not looking<br />for anything if that’s possible<br /><br />more than once ridiculous men<br />have told her she looks<br />like an elf fairy nymph (0)<br /><br />she does wear a lot of green<br /><br />she’s learnt to laugh about it no not laugh<br />but giggle she giggles<br />and envisions:<br /><br /> disneyland tinkerbell saving<br /> her peter pan<br /><br />a woman w/ that kinda power’s much easier<br />to swallow(?)<br />b/c she’s able to save<br />him from sticky situations <br /> w/ other women<br /><br />talk about a one way street of monogamy<br /><br />she appeases these conversations hints that there will be<br />resolutions implies <em>i’ll save<br /> you. i’ll be<br />loyal, no matter<br />what/who you do.<br /></em><br />she curbs it when<br />she’s coming when she’s<br />directed someone to let<br />her come<br /> and repeats<br />the prayer, to herself:<br /><br /> <em>i’ll save you. i’ll be<br /> loyal, no matter what/who<br /> you do.<br /><br /></em>.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-52413991411909837562007-02-06T00:23:00.000-08:002007-02-06T01:09:10.633-08:00to the odd woman inside me that wants to further pursue academiashe is poised. perfect at the front of the lecture hall. got there w/ ease, elegance. stilted sound of heels w/ each step. everything has gone as planned for the day. the reality, if i were a professor, would be more alone the lines of:<br /><br />leave the house 10 mins late, to put on pantyhose at stop lights. brush my hair quickly after parking. run into school to make it to my 1st class, only to realize that if i don't get some caffeine in me, i'll be sleeping w/ the students. when hurrying back i scold my chest, while wearing a white blouse w/ a huge coffee stain on my breasts. try to button a sweater too small, one i keep in my office in hope that my torso might shrink--it sits atop my mini-fridge stocked w/ bread and 4 kinds of cheese--it looks awkward, unkempt.<br /><br />forget the notes for my lecture. let's coax them into talking about the text instead. i can tell no one's done the reading. they are waiting for plot summary. i bring up theorists and ask why it might be relevant to the larger themes of the text? for instance, in linking this passage from the novel to the handout last week... would someone be so kind as to lend me these things? thanks. ok.<br /><br />as i read outloud there are several whispering students at the back of the class. i break off. you two! please! others are trying to focus.<br /><br />getting back, so who can add analysis to this? a 1st year student who acts like she knows everything rambles on about the significance of the biblical allusions. it's a reach, tho i feign encouragement. well, what could be the implications of this?<br /><br />i stare at a few dozen faces, most of whom are staring at blank pages, some are nodding off at the back. the whispering continues.<br /><br />would someone like to choose a single passage from the beginning of the book that we might do a close reading of? it is as if i'm talking to myself. i cross my arms across my chest. lean on the podium. then, give a great grin. come on guys! it's my final plea. and half hearted at that. i keep smiling, hoping i might comfort someone into speaking. the same whispering students snicker. discouraged but not ready to quit, i read the 1st paragraph, only to be distracted by mummers.<br /><br />that's it! clearly, there is somewhere else you'd like to be, and frankly i don't give a shit if that's where you are! you seem to have forgotten that you're paying to be here!<br /><br />they leave. the final minutes are painful. a few students i know speak up to be kind. the rest who aren't sleeping, look scared. i wind up quickly, quietly. when i reach the bathroom in the hall, i cradle the sink, then look up at my sweaty face and give that ridiculous grin, only to see that a large piece of spinach is lodged between my two front teeth..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1170226212580635862007-01-30T22:44:00.000-08:002007-01-30T22:50:12.593-08:00a season behind<a href="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6564/2864/1600/70102/CAN6YPB3.jpg"><img style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/x/blogger/6564/2864/320/464392/CAN6YPB3.jpg" border="0" /></a>.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1170067949810154102007-01-29T02:44:00.001-08:002007-01-29T02:52:29.823-08:00shoppers under 30the sides of my thighs are drying up and i’m reminded of the many creams the helpful worker at shoppers told me about. her commission was significantly lessoned as she said, well you’re not over thirty these can’t help you. but really i just want to be rid of these semi-permanant goosebumps on the sides of my thighs & they really have nothing to do w/ weight gain or laughing too much or, god forbide ageing. it’s not as tho, i’m an unmarketable audience. i was looking for face cream, under $20, which seems unrealistic to most ppl, but too me, all i could say was... i rarely get pimples. just need something to ease the bumps on my thighs and hopefully smooth the flakes of winter on my forehead... immediately after she showed me a jar the size of my big toe, for $40 only, to clear up this abomination. i opted for one half the price when she told me i wouldn’t have to worry about any of it till i was in the over thirty range/ over $60 for a container the size of my big toe, so that my laugh lines will be semi-reduced to wavering crevices along my face..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1170065037724332752007-01-29T01:54:00.000-08:002007-01-29T02:03:57.733-08:00who has a foto of me in an apron?according to numerous sources on the meanings of names, carly means: "little and womanly" and stewart means: "caretaker." seems like i'm screwed.<br /><br />i wish the folks that make up this shit could at least explain what womanly means..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1168452005785457602007-01-10T09:58:00.000-08:002007-01-10T10:00:05.796-08:00january blizzardsher life in the north is<br />comfort of an explorer<br />w/ all season tires<br />and no 4 X 4.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1168250200759502072007-01-08T01:53:00.000-08:002007-01-08T01:56:40.770-08:00tautand taut bellies recede into the<br />darkness producing nothing<br />but a shrunken skeleton<br />of memories.<br /><br />the floor, an empty floor<br />directed<br />knows to be silent<br />in the face<br />of no/any/thing.<br /><br />can’t find the body, the body.<br />the radio journalist reports.<br />he is homegrown northern<br />knows nothing of his effect<br />on the audience.<br /><br />a few weeks later, they find it.<br />the body, the body.<br />he saved the lives of his passengers<br />--in flight turbulence gone terribly terribly wrong--<br />before his boots weighed him<br />down.<br />all at the ripe age of 19.<br /><br />eight years later, the poignancy<br />has faded for acquaintances<br />--dozens of teenage faces in pews can’t believe<br />they actually met a person, at a party, who died--<br />the fact, not a daily remainder.<br />his mother still wonders why.<br />prays to his photo over the<br />faucet as she does the dishes.<br /><br />her. oh, <em>her</em> taut belly heaves, tightens just a bit more<br />as she makes love to yet another reincarnation<br />of her 1st/only.<br /><br />the floor, an empty floor<br />breathes traces of water<br />as she slips into slumber,<br />his face, the only one<br />to tell her that disco’s shit<br />while ripping out her rhythms<br />and replacing them w/ beck.<br /><br />taut belly manoevers to photo sessions<br />in nyc and limousines, then back to reality<br />where she marries a local dj<br />at the country station.<br />she imagines that his ownership of her body<br />is actually <em>his</em> swollen frame<br />pressing against<br />her taut belly..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1168233365210283662007-01-07T21:15:00.000-08:002007-01-07T21:18:19.076-08:00i) bitter waitresshe derived a sick sort of pleasure out of collecting lunch cards. so much so that he would often opt to purchase six companions steak lunches. he always went for the bbq ribs on fridays. a wide toothed grin spread across his sauce smeared face when i firmly placed stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp, stamp onto his card. for a $70 tab, he gets $8.5 off..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1168233302361193862007-01-07T21:14:00.000-08:002007-01-07T21:17:46.256-08:00(h) bitter waitressi had a pretty fucked up day. the thing w/ training a new waitress is that you can't really be bitter. or at all. i gave fair warning tho. "you need to prepare yourself for... uncomfortable situations. and if someone touches you, and you don't want to be touched... you say something, like don't touch the waitress. and try not to cry, really, it won't help anything." she was terrified. they keep hiring girls w/ no serving experience, girls that are so fucking innocent and nice... i looked at this alix today and thot, my god you're gonna be broken. poor girl. most of the regulars were laughing at me, b/c i was finally forced to be nice and kinda accommodating... they all loved it. i guess i'm not the only person that sees myself as a bitter waitress. the funniest thing was after my little speech about what she had to prepare herself for, she asked me how long i've worked there... i told her. then -'you must have fun here, or else you wouldn't be here anymore' to which i replied, hesitantly, the moneys really great. then! i thot to myself, it really was one of those days, that i was so tempted to just quit. and the reality is, i'm sitting on a little money right now so i could totally do it and secure something else later. as if i will but it's so comforting. week 3 of full time is on the better side of grim. really. i must have fortitude! in any case i'll be cushioned for when i go postal..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1168233247257371572007-01-07T21:13:00.000-08:002007-01-07T21:17:07.296-08:00f) bitter waitressher name’s adrian. she’s five foot even maybe 100 pounds. her hair is an perpetual coif, you know it i’m sure, frozen in the eighties, pouffed in the front in quasi-bangs. the style you usually see blowing in the wind behind the wheel of a trans-am complete w/ a t-roof. today she had the audacity to comment that if i spent a little more time on my do, then maybe i’d have a boyfriend. or several. “really girl” a voice that has been blessed with thirty plus years of smoking “we should do something about it.” granted, i again rolled out of bed, dragged myself into the shower then bundled my ass long locks into a bun on the top of my head. fine. i’m just being sensitive. the bartender laughs at me, saying “don’t take it too personally, i’m sure she just had too many bottles of chardonnay for breakfast.”.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1167720273316946522007-01-01T22:43:00.000-08:002007-01-07T21:17:28.726-08:00(g) bitter waittresshad to serve busiest section a u.f.c fight tonight. i’ve no clue what that stands for, but it was some paid-per-view wrestling extravaganza that garnered too much rye, and too much testosterone. it was awkward, b/c in the throes of its most intimate moments—strangle holds and strutting—i basically had to duck down so that the fifty people watching the thing could still see/scream at the tv. it wasn’t mayhem. i’ve served worse. definitely interesting. from a purely passivist’s perspective, i prepared myself before hand, i ought to accept that w/o such an occasion, i wouldn’t be able to make loads of money. [spain here i come.] i had this realization tho, that took me beyond it.<br />having many, many men, screaming and pounding their fists on the table actually turned me on. we walk around in society as tho we aren’t apes, as tho primal behaviour is extinct. but herein lies the beauty of any wrestling match. stagey, fine. barbaric, definitely. but perhaps, it's the one occasion when men finally let their emotions go. well maybe that’s an over generalization. tho, i can’t deny, it makes me feel like this little woman when i witnessed it all. not belittled, or w/o power, but rather, accepting of this dominant emotional repression of men, and that they need to get it out in some form, which more often than not is concretated in some sporting event. i’ve never condoned fighting or have ever really wanted to see it, but i must admit, that when a fight did break out at the end of the night, i was soooo intrigued and half way in it, that my most rational thots were more directed in watching it. sure, it’s primal. uncivilized, awful. but goddamn. seeing men displaying such intense emotions and wanting to play them out. well that’s just hot..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1165310138974099612006-12-05T01:09:00.000-08:002006-12-05T01:15:38.986-08:00(e) bitter waitresssunday dinner bore. after i wowed them all w/ wit/charm, stephenwolf’s magic carpet ride came on when i was cleaning up my last table. was lifting an empty plate at the time when those first rifts played. it stood frozen in my hand. i imagined breaking out into an uncontrollable dance sequence. flailed my arms, legs--rocked out to that oldie. i couldn’t help but go to the other end of the pub, sarah’s section. grabbed someone’s wrist just as they were about to put fork to mouth. his perogy flying, i sang into his hand w/ all the passion i could muster. dropped it, and continued to perform for my sparse audience, mainly couples. wait wait wait i said to myself. dancing wildy on a slow sunday night is no recompense for this pathetic place. the lyrics finally broke in:<br /><br /><em>I like to dream yes, yes, right between my sound machine On a cloud of sound I drift in the night Any place it goes is right Goes far, flies near, to the stars away from here.<br /></em><br />My inward dancer flicked the glass plate onto the ground. I picked up the left over sides of salad dressing and whipped the congealed liquid all over the place. I grabbed the ketchup bottle, sang into that as a mic, walked towards sarah’s section, swung the bottle to move to the music, and finally, triumphantly, threw it to the ground. the regular smash and burn of that fucking thing had no effect on me–there’s really nothing more irritating than cleaning up a broken ketchup bottle—till i went up to a random couple, with their one glass of wine each, swilled two in one go, stood up on the last table, and let my hips go wild. then walked outta that fucking place. i looked thro the window of the door, half filled with regret, as sarah stood clapping..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1164195105175227912006-11-22T03:30:00.000-08:002006-11-22T03:31:45.186-08:00there was a fetus oncebut that was taken care of<br /><br />blushing bride<br />night before night before<br />marriage<br /><br />she burnt her journals<br /><br />before rose petals<br />escaped from her<br />wrists.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1163706861232631862006-11-16T11:52:00.000-08:002006-11-16T11:54:21.246-08:00(d) bitter waitresswas thinkin today in the aft. how lovely it is to just serve men. the day’s so different from the night. most tend to have this unwritten rule for a three beer maximum. many sit alone at a table. some order lunch. almost all stare blankly at a television. but there are no complaints. minimum requirements and maximum tips. i’ve had an ungodly slew of horrible women lately. lookin round at the dozen tables solely occupied by men, i wish i were back in the day when women weren’t allowed in pubs. no stupid questions. no wondering about a cocktail menu, no enquiries about impossible maritinis. “this one tastes too boozy.” no fish & chips w/ an overdressed ceaser salad and a diet coke. like the diet cola’s gonna even out the calories of the deep fried dish. all these no's equal many complaints. so as i'm smiling and probably over appreciating these men—i realize. if i were in the old school times, i’d be a ‘fallen’ woman, slingin' beers. a blasphemy. a whore. and if i didn't work here, i surely wouldn't be allowed in. i rethink the whole serving men only thing cuz i’m a woman w/ few complaints that enjoys having a plain old beer, not a martini, at a pub..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1163538736444058042006-11-14T13:08:00.000-08:002006-11-14T13:12:16.446-08:00to dothe party ends when the music stops<br />and i remind myself to remind myself of writing<br />by leaving notes on the fridge.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1163474748009837452006-11-13T19:23:00.000-08:002006-11-13T19:25:48.020-08:00you hooked<br />a black dove<br /><br />while<br /><br />insipid yellow<br />wallpaper<br />grew over<br />my wings.deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27259228.post-1161758339238426922006-10-24T23:36:00.000-07:002006-10-24T23:38:59.256-07:00---if i were a victorian lady, i would do nothing.seems as though november squirrel brains arrived prematurely this year. i find myself procrastinating procrastinating. this usually entails doing work that’s due way later than the rest. or, doing the least painful assignment in order to avoid the most painful one. of course it’s the dread that’s the worst. and the thing about dread is it’s all in your head.<br /><br />was drifting in and out of florence nightengale’s cassandra this morning/afternoon. kept considering how i really just want to do nothing. day dream. read trifles. learn snippets of a new language, as a conversation piece. zero intellectual expectations.<br /><br />wait a minute. what an ungrateful wench i am. i could have been that victorian lady. caged by my dress. unable to freely entertain imagination. would have no time of my own. anyone could interrupt at any moment to call on me. the call would include a glorious 15 minute conversation about nothing. i could sew. i could embroider. read aloud sometimes. that could be my life. all this entails being of the victorian upper crust, would that be the case?<br /><br />if last names mean anything...<br /><br /> <a name="50237398-m1.a"></a>stewart: 1. a. An official who controls the domestic affairs of a household, supervising the service of his master's table, directing the domestics, and regulating household expenditure; a major-domo. Obs. exc. Hist.<br /><br />i’d be of a working class family. <br /><br />which means i’d probably be spending my days cleaning out chamber pots, or trying to get industrial grit off the cobblestone driveway.<br /><br />better get back to my reading..deranged gem.http://www.blogger.com/profile/07278171304499062141noreply@blogger.com2