The first order of the morning is to comment on the negative atmosphere in which I have chosen to write. My mother and father argue constantly and consistently with voices which rip apart any concentration on the beings around them. Well, I assume their bickering affects everyone in the same way it affects me, but I can, of course, not be sure. I fell asleep sorely disappointed in myself. I had a list of things I wished to accomplish and only one even came close. Still, it was also not completed. I wake up...
Porcupine Tree - The Incident Disc 2. The Porc Tree gurgles and jams from the tiny speakers of the Blackberry I have named *FRENATA* after the creature *Mustela Frenata* that is probably better known as a long tailed weasel. I need to tape a tail onto *Frenata* so she appears to most to more resemble a small, cute, furry animal. The construction of this tail would be a chore! I could just lop off *Chico*'s tail and tape it to *Frenata*. Or I could purchase a length of string and begin collecting stray hair...
Hah! The bleariness has not yet overtaken me! My success at warding it off is the result of it not being there in the first place. THAT, my persistent reader, is the epitome of effort. Yes! So, what shall I do today?
- Scheme for 1 1/2 hours.
- Ecology for 1 hour.
- Radiant & Lakife for 2 hours.
I just watched part one of "Until the End of the World". It is cheesy, backwards looking, thin but very enjoyable. Something about Wim Wender's work appeals to me. The three negatives leading my description were purposeful, I am sure. True, however - the sheer length of the film is daunting. The weariness clasped to me still makes my mind stagger. This clattering wreck of a paragraph shows it well. ...
Perhaps it is the fact that I have been fed constantly since returning. I feel the weight press in my hara. I clumsily wander the house. Now I sit up in bed. It is 19.35 and I am considering remaining in the same place for the remainder of the evening. I think to myself that soon I'll have the experience of actually missing the feeling of hunger. It never occurs here. I am perpetually sated. Unhealthiness shall follow, for there is no opportunity to exercise. I need escape. Soon. So, as my mind is muddle...
I sit up in bed in Seminole, Texas. I'm on the wrong side of the bed. Were I back in Praha, this is where the Smaller One would be whilst the other 'half' would belong to me. I scurried not unlike a rodent from the aeroplane bound for Houston (in which i was misfortunately seated at the back) to a shuttle bus which whisked me, a southern lady muttering obscenities under her breath, and several others to Terminal B. The route it took did not seem to me to be very direct. I had about fifteen minutes to catch...
My buttocks ache against the padded seat whilst Eliza, or at least the curved part of her, presses to the dingy wall. Shittypie, my only constant friend, sucks power from the socket in the wall like a parasite. It is needed energy for us both. Boredom on the two and a half hour flight from Atlanta to Houston is the enemy. Depending on delays that have so far plagued my journey incessantly, I may have something sucked from ME after my arrival. That thing being money. I shall have to stay the night in that d...
The film was fantastic. It is one I'll see many times in my life, finding arousing details each subsequent watch. I'm not sure how far we have progressed on our flight. Static in a chair, I feel as if I never left Praha at all. I am not sure how I'll feel when I reach ground zero. I want to be in transit forever. Perhaps I am the happiest when I am on the move, when the ending is uncertain, or when the ending is so far away that I'll never see it in my lifetime. I am talking about a personal ending, of co...
There is no difference between men and women. They are all the same - so long as they carry a light deep inside them. ...
I shall not begin the film yet, but instead watch the most recent episode of Lost, saving Wim Wenders for after the meal. A glare threatens to wash out shittypie's contrast. ...
I sit on an aeroplane bound for Atlanta from Praha, sweet Praha. When shall I see Praha again? Well, I am banished for two years, so the minimum sentence of exile is at least obvious. My only connection is this small shittypie which accompanies me. The Smaller One was left dry eyed at the aeroport, receding as my footsteps took me towards gate B8. She worried for me. I was locked up as a result of my last attempt to fly from the country to my dreaded "homeland". As I listen to the voices (mostly the accent...
