(My parents went and saw The Grates live (goodness, I hate them. My parents, that is. Not The Grates. I love The Grates). Anyway, they got me a tshirt. That's the exciting news of my life.
You should get their album, "Gravity won't get you high."
This whole thing is in brackets, because I'm not sure how important it is... But there was the word 'gravity' in this paragraph, so I figured it should immedietely follow the previous, you know? Like, order due to shared words.)
Gravity is a really weird word.
1. the attraction due to gravitation that the Earth or another celestial body exerts on an object on or near its surface
2. solemnity and seriousness in somebody’s attitude or behavior
Though I guess those two things can kind of go together. I wonder if it has some latin origin. I bet it does - all space words do.
Have you ever lightly-warmed milk and then thought it tasted kind of like caramel?
Because I wonder if that’s a psychological thing, or a scientific thing.
I’ve wanted to go running recently.
Not in a “I’m so full of life and free like a bird - I need to move like the wind” kind of way.
And not in a “my life is so bad, oh woe is me, I need to run to get away from it all, I want to be emancipated from my family” kind of way.
Not even because “I need to push myself to feel alive again, I need to feel my calves ache and my blood boil because I am so unfeeling because I am a teenager.”
Just because I kind of feel like running, you know? Maybe because I romanticise the idea and I want to run in a “look at me leap across the grass like a startled deer through the early morning fog, flying like some kind of pale, pink and gangly butterfly” kind of way.
But then, I don’t really want to run. Because that would involve effort. Let’s just not, and say I did. That way I get the best of both worlds: no effort AND I get to be a startled deer.
Last night there was a spider in my bathroom, and it was a really big and scary one. But I didn’t want to leave the room to get the bug spray in case it ran onto one of the bath towels and laid it’s scary-spider-eggs there. And I couldn’t find any jar to take it outside in, either.
So instead I did one of the least logical things possible.
I got the cheapo plastic liquid-soap dispenser (which is concaved on the base), and put it on top of the spider, and vowed to release it into the wild in the morning.
The next morning, the soap dispenser was still there… But when I lifted it up, the spider was gone.
I am very, very worried. I think I may have made an enemy.
I should really make myself a ‘reading blog’ just where I can list every book I read and my general comments about it, etc. Not because I think anyone would be interested, but because then when I’m old and purple-haired I could look back on it and say to myself “Check it, bitches! Did I read a lot or what?”
Though why I would be referring to myself as “bitches” (plural, note) is completely beyond me.
I just read the weirdest book called ‘Sister Kate,’ and it’s about the sister of Ned Kelly.
First of all she’s normal, and then Ned Kelly and co die, and then suddenly she’s an alchoholic and addicted to opium, and then she starts making out with trees. Seriously. (And then she dies.)
It’s all very strange. Good read, but.
"I walk. I talk. I shop. I sneeze. I'm gonna be a fireman when the floods roll back. There's trees in the desert since you moved out, and I don't sleep on a bed of bones."
Buffy, in "Restless." (Man, that episode killed me.)
|Belstaff Blouson Jacket |
April 21, 2012 01:36 AM PDT
Venice resident Rhonda DeVictor said she noticed the empty lot when she first moved into the neighborhood 12 years ago,654029,http://miss-midge.blogdrive.com/archive/86.html
December 9, 2006 03:22 AM PST
i like your blog. that is all
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