I was just looking back through my old Elowel posts for some of the more interesting bits to use in part of a monologue that Glynis assigned.
"Write a monologue about yourself."
Easy, eh? A person can talk about themself for hours, and can no doubt write about themselves. That's what this whole generation I supposedly belong to is supposed to be about now, according to the news.
No. This is so difficult.
I want this monologue to be phenomenal.
But... its just me.
Nothing exciting or interesting. Believe me, I wish it was too, but it isn't.
This might be a tad easier, the monologue simpler on the poor brain if I could possibly organize my comments about myself into a pattern, or at least a followable stream, that fits with a monologue.
(I'm going to hell.)
First at school for a demonstration that was all too real.
Second, I found out that a few people in my theater group could have a run in with the police. Don't do stupid things, kids. (Today was a good day in theater, too. Tom is a god!)
And now, here they are, in my house, to break up my demented grandmother and my paranoid hyper-reactive mother.
They serve a good purpose, I'm sure. But I don't like them and they need to GET OUT OF MY HOUSE.
Take your patronizing voice away from my ears and let me get some sleep!
Ah, my life. Someday I will be far from the reaches of mentally disturbed people and won't have to try so hard to keep them as an example of what not to be like and what not to do in life. It's difficult to truly keep them in that position and not let my instinct to look to my family for guidance take over. I want nothing more than to have what so many of my friends have and take for granted: a functional family that they can learn from. Because I'm tired of reverse learning from mine. It takes so very much energy.
I think Mr. Authority is gone. I heard a lot of things about counseling.
Sorry, man. That advice came a few generations too late.
Time to sleep and go to my fucking Photo class I hate so very much in the morning.
Digital point-and-shoot has it's uses, I'm sure. But when teaching photography as an art form and a commercial tool, and building an entire program focused about how not to take snap shots with a camera made for that very purpose?!
That's like learning chemistry by watching a series about it on PBS. You think you know chem b/c you can spell hydrochloric acid and know that it resides in your stomach? No!
Then why is photography being taught without the slightest hint as to why light behaves as it does, the effect on dimension that a single lens has, and the students have no idea what an F-stop is or why things are under- or over-exposed when they are. All we're being taught to do is this stupid class is how to take a bajillion pictures and take the ones that are good by chance and photoshop them.
This is not what I signed up for, and I'll fight for a good grade, but if I end up with a bad one because I turned it in too late for his point and shoot digital due dates, then so be it. I'm using my manual Nikon and teaching myself the secrets of lighting and the darkroom. I'm making art and learning to refine it while the rest of them wonder why flash makes everything look flat. It's dead-on light! What else is it supposed to do?!
I'm sure I have a C b/c of my tardies on assignments and his annoying habit of taking points off for the littlest things, even though I know for a fact that my work is superior to the over-flashed snapshots that he considers "A" work. He just doesn't like defiance. I'm not normally defiant, but I signed up for a photography class, not a Lame Contemporary Technology class.
I love the Internet.
This is so very true. I love my bebe birdie. Even though she is psychotically afraid of carrots and all other vegetables.
The REAL Beginning:
In the beginning, there was The Bird. And The Bird was in darkness, for the Cage was covered, and there was naught to see.
And The Bird was pissed about this situation, and demanded that the Cage be Uncovered, and that there should be light.
And The Bird sayeth “BBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAWWKK!”
And, lo, this cry did shatter the morning silence, and the Ears of The Owner were rent asunder, and the sleep of The Owner did dissipate.
And it came to pass, that The Cage was Uncovered by the Owner, and thus light did flood in, and The Bird saw that all was Good.
For in the light of the Uncovered Cage, The Bird beheld that the Food Dish was forsaken of food... there was naught within.
And boy, The Bird was wroth with perturbment, and thus sayeth the bird:
“Oh, mere mortal Owner, ist thou so stupid as to forget my morning repast, as is my right to demand of you?”
But the Owner knew not the divine language, and it only sounded like “BBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAWWKK!” to her (mostly because her ears had been rent asunder earlier).
And as it was the will of The Bird, the food and the water dishes were taken away, and ritually washed and dried. The divine repast of Pesticide-Free Organic Produce, Dried Fruit, Berries, Nuts and Expensive Pellets was duly prepared, and thus presented before The Bird.
And the Bird looked upon the great feast with one round, dark eye, and decided to become mortally afraid of Carrots, even though The Bird had eaten Carrots since time unending. And thus, were the Carrots flung down from the Cage, to roll under the sofa, to go unnoticed by The Owner and decay there. This action much pleased The Bird, and henceforth, The Bird took great Joy in flinging All Manner Of Objects out of The Cage and Onto The Floor. The Bird saw that this was good and proclaimed, “BBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAWWKK!” So that The Owner and All The World would know. (Maybe not the *whole* world, but everyone on the next three blocks sure as hell knew about it.)
And The Bird knew by Divine Avian Logic that if he did not care for the prepared morning repast, he was entitled to feast upon books, heirloom furniture and Small Children (not necessarily in that order). But today, having flung away all the Carrots, the bird deemed the repast edible, and lo, did make a gourmand of itself, and ate the whole thing, and was done.
But with the morning repast finished, and nothing left to fling, The Bird soon became bored. It was time to go Beyond The Cage, as this was also the divine right of The Bird, to wander the living area of The Owner,and Poop Upon All He Observed, floor, furniture, man, woman, or child. For The Bird possessed The Owner, and by all Avian Logic, The Bird did possess anything that The Owner possessed, even if The Owner had A Big Mac, and was eating it, The Bird was in all rights able to take the Big Mac from the owner, and of course, Fling It Down Onto The Floor, and even better, Poop Upon It.
And so sayeth the bird “BBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAWWKK!” and hence, the owner came running, and made the door of The Cage to be Open. And The Owner said unto The Bird, “UP!” and The Bird did, in all it’s sublime glory, step upon The Hand of The Owner. And the bird was much pleased, and did happily make a noise of contentment, and all was good, and quiet and peaceful (for the next three seconds).
But, as The Bird sat upon The Hand of The Owner, The Bird beheld that there was, abiding in the Living Room, upon the sofa, The Significant Other of The Owner. And The Heart of The Bird was filled with a great and dour jealously, and The Bird did henceforth swear to try to Devour The Significant Other At Every Opportunity and would forever see that The Significant Other suffered Pain from the Beak of The Bird, and Poop from the Other End. And the Bird looked upon the Significant Other, and said: “BBBBBRRRRRRAAAAAWWKK!” in an exceeding loud voice, which caused the Significant Other to spill his soda all over. And The Bird Saw That This Was Not Only Good, But Pretty Damn Funny, Too. And henceforth, The Bird would Scream whenever The Significant Other would dare to be in the same area as The Bird (within a 10 mile radius).
And then it came to pass, that The Bird was removed from the Hand of The Owner, and The Feet of The Bird came to rest upon the perch of the playpen that was solely The Bird’s. And such were the delights in the Eyes of The Bird. A swing, a chain, wood to chew, and many things to fling. And there came upon the land, A Miracle, and that Miracle was named Silence, and Silence ensued for the next two hours, whilst The Bird did Amuse Itself and Play quietly.
And while this was, the owner did carefully clean The Cage and remove the Poop from therein, and made the cage to be most immaculate.
As time passed, The Bird was made weary from all the difficulties involved in the job of being a Divine Creature. And so The Bird, going quietly unobserved, did clamber down from It’s pen, and make to It’s cage, where It took a nap.
And The Owner looked upon the playpen, and saw that The Bird did not abide within or upon, and The Owner was fraught with fear, thinking that The Bird had either devoured itself whole or that The Significant Other Had Indeed, Meted Out A Terrible Punishment Upon The Bird, And The Bird Was Now A Fancy-Coloured Featherduster. And The Owner did set up such a great and Sorrowful keening, that it caused The Bird to awake, and Screech loudly for being disturbed during such an important job as a nap. And, lo, the Owner was soothed, and The Bird returned to It’s nap.
And when the time for the nap had passed, and The Bird was now Awake, Refreshed, and Hell-Bent For Leather, The Bird did cleverly let itself out of The Cage (for no implement of any mere mortal could hold it) and sought out something for to destroy.
And it came to pass that The Bird ate a $100 dollar Technics Stereo Speaker, and lo, a miracle it was that The Bird was not electrocuted into something resembling Kentucky Fried Chicken.
And the Owner was sore annoyed by The Bird’s action, and Cursed and Decried the Bird, and The Bird was returned to The Cage, where It did Sulk for an Hour unmitigated.
So the rays of sunlight coming through the window, did grow long, and Orange in colour, and The Bird saw that it was time for the evening repast, and was given a divine meal in the bowl.
But The Bird soon became sore displeased, when it noted that The Owner was possessed of a Golden Dragon dinner... Chinese Take-Out, and The Bird did upset the dish into the Bottom of The Cage, and thereupon did fling All out from The Cage, and Scream until it was soothed with a large piece of Family-Style Bean Curd.
And then The Bird did go along with The Owner to Watch X-Files, and soon became Weary and demanded to go to bed.
The Bird retired to The Cage, which was covered, and The Bird saw that this Darkness was warm, and comfortable, and was Good in the eyes of The Bird (which were getting heavy, and sleepy), and The Bird did drift off to sleep.
And in the end, there a Puffy, Sleeping Bird, with It’s Head Tucked Under It’s Wing, and all was quiet until the next morning... when everything started all over again...
<3 the Jess
So, I had this dream where I was doing the lights for a play. Mark Twain, who was a young 20something was directing. The whole night I was doing the lighting I was all kinds of freaked out b/c MT himself was just meters away.
So at the end of the show I find him outside the sound booth and struggle to tell him that I loved Tom Sawyer. I lose my words and embrace him, despite him not wearing pants. He then gets a call on his cell phone from his son, Michael Twain.
I go into the theater to strike the set, and find it empty and immaculate. I turn to the house and see that it is very small, and the seats are littered with moldy LPs and cobwebs. Mark Twain speaks to me via an old phonograph and tells me to turn on a television set in the back of the house. I feel slightly panicky but have a need to do what he tells me (hey, if one of the greatest writers told you to switch on the tube, would you?). I climb up the rows of crumbling seats (everything seems old and crumbly) and select a record to put on the record player that is hooked up to the tv screen, then turn it on.
It's Albert Einstein delivering a lecture on relativity, in the nude. I watch, rapt, and towards the end the camera zooms in on Al's genitals, which were androgynous, before zooming up to his face and refocusing on the lecture.
At least it's better than my evolution dreams. Dreaming in chemistry I can understand. In French, alright. But in evolutionary biology?
In other news, as Monday, it is the last day of spring break. I can't decide if I'm relieved b/c it was such crap, or if I'm going to lobby for a retake or at least a refund.
In further, more irrelevant news that panders to my apparent need to procrastinate and disappoint the ones I love, I just got done watching some foreign films I rented from The Flicks, which is perhaps the greatest establishment to have graced the face of ID since the Egyptian. Screening all the left of center films you could want in any language, serving alcohol and real food that doesn't cost a fortune, and featuring a rental room in the back with all the campy, cult, old, foreign, or just plain random films you could want, it is my slice of heaven. And I rented The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and Farinelli. Both were amazing in their own way. It is hard to believe that The Cabinet is nearly a century old.
In still further removed news, WTF?
I call my best friend and tell him that I'm depressed and in need of distraction. He gives me five amines of find structure drawings of, solubility research, and a load of questions about the chemistry of lidocaine. All this he needs for his OrgChem test by the end of break, which is Tuesday.
What an ironic sound.
I think I need one.
I haven't been this depressed in a long time.
I hate it.
I wish I hadn't just deleted an entire post up to here. It was getting long and descriptive and it's disappearance is frustrating and not helping my mood.
I want someone to be angry at besides myself. But I'm to blame for every bit of nausea I'm experiencing.
Self loathing is truly disgusting and non-productive. Like a parasite.
I'm in a filthy pit of hopelessness and I want to let it out, but every time I get close to putting it in words a wave of nausea and shame rises up and trebles into a typhoon of highly concentrated HCl.
Between the heat and the headache and the empty churning stomach, I feel ready to hit the sack. Hard. And stay there for a very long time.
I would almost trade my need for companionship for comfort in misery. Maybe then I would not feel this vast emptiness.
I'm seventeen. Have been since March 11th. What an awful day that was (except for you, Cathie and Charly! And everyone else who participated.)
There's this part of me that thought it would never arrive.
Now that part is dead and I'm going, WTF! I'm going to be 18 practically tomorrow!
I feel ill. And stressed. I need someone to do my homework and make decisions for me.
If I could cancel my birthday,
I love my
And if love is measured in the little deposits she leaves me all over the place, I'm sure she loves me too.