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A Rough Draft of Donne [Jul. 14th, 2012|06:01 pm]
The used to and have to of my life
Heavy and cumbersome
When my capacity
Was exceeded
I may never be able to remember
Those thirteen days
Are hidden deep in
My brains sulci and gyri
Grow as though in Spring
Winter has lasted
Seasons will not change
A need for antihistamine
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Dark side of my orbit [May. 30th, 2012|09:47 am]
Long time, no communication.

I don't know for sure this is the right blog for me, but I know that I am finally learning the good traits of being a perpetual orbiter.

I have tried landing a few times, and it is fucking painful.
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Music and Me [Jul. 23rd, 2009|09:15 pm]
Music has always had a special place in my heart. I fell in love with musicians, and was ready to take them to my grave with me. Meat Loaf, for example, still has my heart, even though Bat out of Hell III was less fantastic to my ears. Doesn't matter, the man's voice will always send me to a warm and fuzzy place, even if the song is about promiscuity and/or disappointment.

But these days, I'm finding it easier to branch out of my CD collection, and have picked up a long list of artists I am interested in. Should I thank Pandora, or should I curse it for the impending debits to my bank account?
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Writer's Block: Le Quatorze Juillet [Jul. 14th, 2009|04:03 pm]

Happy Bastille Day! Today the French celebrate the event that sparked the French revolution. In honor of our Francophone friends, what is your favorite French thing? Bonus points for answers en français.

My favorite french thing is the french kiss. I don't know for sure that the french can be applauded for making this act a common occurrence between lovers, but as a society, we've given them credit. Much like the french fry, french toast, or the french horn, the word french itself gives a superior meaning to the noun.

Also, I'm sure that's hardly a unique answer to this writer's prompt, but I can't help it. So I'm a trend follower, rather than maker. I'll learn to deal with it.

I'm not a probing or forceful kisser most of the time, but I do love to feel the tip of my lover's tongue touch mine, to feel the whisper of a tongue on my lips.

I love that a french kiss can be both gentle and demanding at the same time; I love how the urgency of the kiss can be expressed with the sound of the breath behind it.

Much like a snowflake, each french kiss is unique. While there are likely similarities between kisses with a partner over time, a french kiss becomes an incredibly personalized part of a relationship. You will likely never have a similar kiss with a different partner.
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Been awhile, life is chaotic [Jul. 12th, 2009|02:22 pm]
I don't blog much anymore now that I use twitter to do micro-blogging and waste my time.

But there are times I find I need a verbal outlet for everything going on inside my head. Unfortunately, the things going on inside my head are either:
a) of no interest to the general public OR
b) too personal/controversial to be attached to my name in any sort of public sphere OR
c) both

Take your pick of my excuses. :)

I have found that LiveJournal isn't quite as dead as I thought it was, though, which is nice.
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Metaphorically Speaking [Apr. 19th, 2009|09:10 pm]
[mood |confusedconfused]

I'm lost right now.

There are some very important people in my life going through some crazy shit, and I feel as though I am worthless to help them.

Perhaps this is why I tend to stay as unattached as possible. I hate feeling like people need things I can't provide.
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Week 2 - Write Club 02 [Mar. 12th, 2009|08:58 pm]

02. you have a plane ticket to anywhere. where would you go? what will you pack? what will you do? what will you buy? what will you have forgotten to bring? how long will you stay? what is the hotel like? or will you stay at a hostel, a lodge, a bed and breakfast? when you go on an imaginary trip, the details are endless.

My plane ticket would likely be to a place I've never before, like Ireland. It has to be somewhere not to tropical (I burn and am not happy with my body), where sweaters are more accepted than bikinis.

I would pack nothing but jeans and comfy shirts. If I want a nice meal, I'll ask for recommendations on either somewhere that will let me in wearing clean jeans or for a place offering take out. While I love nice restaurant food, I tend to dislike stuffy atmospheres.

I will likely forget something important, but easily replaceable, like my contacts case or sun screen (because even if I'm wearing a sweater, I'll likely still need it). I don't tend to have a lot of things that I need on an emotional level, though I am not typically a light packer, so I always forget something.

The few things that I do have an emotional connection to, though, tend to be my purchases on special trips or at special times of my life. I have jewelry from most of these trips, and if I were in Ireland, I would want something in the celtic knot family. Something from a small place on a street corner lot, the sign swinging in the wind, the old man leaning on the counter, flipping through a magazine when I walk in. He wouldn't be one to pressure me into a purchase, but when I asked him to show me what he had of the sterling silver pendants, he would bring out a display that would take my breath away. I would want them all, would try to rationalize the expense, but would likely walk away with a knot that meant something significant to me.

I think I would stay until my money ran out, be it three days or three months (this is my dream vacation, remember... there are no strings pulling me back to the real world). I would start with a nice hotel, but I would soon get bored with it, and probably head off to the outskirts of whatever town I was in to find a bed and breakfast, perhaps even a hostel.

And since this is my imaginary vacation, I would also change my often cloistered personality. I would be outgoing, passionate, charismatic. I would experience everything that came my way, be it new foods, new drinks, new music, new loves.
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Write Club Week 2 - 01. [Mar. 7th, 2009|07:57 pm]

01. describe your childhood home. give it life on the page. tell about the sugary cereals lined up in the cupboard and the red cans of coke in the fridge. the map wallpaper in the office and the van gogh posters in your room. the trampoline in the backyard and the card games around the kitchen table.

The adolescent tree in the backyard, coupled with the trash storage shed was my favorite part of my childhood home. I climbed that tree, many scraped knees, a few small falls, but never any broken bones inflicted upon myself in the process. It was an easy tree to climb, a trunk split low enough for my 6 year old self to be able to pull myself up. The top of the garbage shelter was concrete, and while not the most comfortable spot ever, I did feel like it was mine, which for a small child can mean make the most awkward spot a paradise.

I used that area for a lot of my childhood play, most of which meant mixing mud and the red berries from the bushes into a culinary masterpiece. Not that I ever ate it, but I liked to pretend that I was one of the guest stars on the Saturday morning talk shows, showing all the viewers how to make this easy, cheap, and delicious casserole, from things almost everyone has in their pantry... or you know, the backyard.

Perhaps what I loved most about the tree was that there were also branches available to create a pulley system, so that I could get my bowls (buckets), my spoons (sticks), herbs (miscellaneous leaves from the various shrubbery) and my cookbook (generally a Strawberry Shortcake coloring book) to my platform with ease. I don't remember where I originally got the rope, but I have a feeling it was pulled off of my sleeping bag (also Strawberry Shortcake) and connected with some frayed shoelaces in order to achieve the length necessary.

There were times though, that my paradise was also my hell. I remember a neighborhood boy figured out that it was my haven, and he decided to have fun with me (or rather, at my expense). He put on a cheap Halloween mask and a cloak and proceeded to be the monster roaming outside my castle, reaching his hands up to try to graze my feet. He snarled ferociously, and at six, I remember being terrified. I believe I cried as I climbed down the tree, he still circling the shelter. I don't remember ever climbing up there again.

Instead, I moved to the front yard, where the divider between the two units of the duplex made a wonderful play window. I could be a bank teller, a fast food clerk at a drive-through, a mother setting the mud pies on the windowsill, the world was open to me again.

When the weather would not cooperate with outside play, our unit of the duplex was small and cozy, with its own beauty. The stairwell leading to the two bedrooms on the second floor was separated from the living room by an open shelving system. I remember the dust with fondness, as it was often a pallet that my mother didn't discover for months.

The closet in my bedroom is very large in my memory. I would get in and play, and feel like even though the rain might be beating down on my cooking school stage, and my drive through window might have to be closed, I still had my own area. I have to wonder how small that closet actually was, though I am afraid of returning to my childhood home, afraid that my memories will be tarnished with the reality.
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Write Club 03. [Feb. 23rd, 2009|08:02 pm]

03. pick a year from your life. past or future. describe who you were, what you wore, what your problems were, what your biggest concern was, who you spent time with, who you dreamt of becoming, what you watched on tv, what type of shoes you wore, what you ate for lunch. dig deep and rediscover who you were then and who you are now.

If it has to be a specific year, rather than a time frame, 1996 will work.

You may not want to read this. Please proceed with caution.Collapse )
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Write Club 02. [Feb. 23rd, 2009|08:02 pm]

02. list your obsessions. what do you think about, obsess over, what types of things, ideas, ideals, plans, dreams, and hopes consume your mind? what are you known for? wearing red lipstick? write about that.

One of my obsessions in the morning is that I decide on which underwear and bra to wear first. This determines the color scheme I will be wearing that day. It isn't as though I have to match the bra color to the shirt color (that would be too expensive for my cheapskate personality), but it has to belong to the same laundry family. For example, if I'm wearing a black bra, I have to wear a shirt that could be washed with blacks (reds, oranges, blacks). I will occasionally allow an off-white bra to be worn with very light blue sweater, but that is as far from the scheme as I allow myself to stray.

Granted, I assume this is not a highly unusual behavior, to match the undergarments with the outergarments. Remember, though, I choose the underwear first. And then I have to stick with it.

I might cycle through three or more outfits before finalizing what I wear for the day, but once the underwear and bra are out of the dresser drawers, my color scheme choices are limited. These choices consume my mind for the first 20 minutes of the day, and they are the most peaceful minutes I have.

I don't have time to obsess over much through the rest of the day, though I certainly have my share of addictions. Coffee, everything bagels, the internet and all of its social facets, excel spreadsheets, books, food, radio, mixed CDs... each addiction shares my energy. Though, books consume most of my personal budget on a weekly basis.

I love Half Price Books, a used book store chain. I'm also a cheapskate (see above) and so I spend most of my browsing time in the clearance section of a used book store. I've found a few wonderful books, plenty of horrid ones, and more unsavored ones as of yet. I cannot release books from my ownership once I have them, and I currently have over 1,000 books catalogued in my personal library.

I try to read at least 50 full length books in a year. For the past two years, I've written at least a short review of every young adult novel, fiction, or non-fiction that I've read.

My hope is that someday, I will have record of reading and reviewing 1,000 books, and by that time, I hope to have over 2,000 catalogued. If I have ever read everything that I own, I will be a very sad Brianna.

All in all, I am sure very few people notice my clothing. I am far from chic, but I think I look mostly presentable a fair amount of the time. I hope I am known for my personal library, though. And I hope to share my love of books with each and every person I have a close relationship with.
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