Funny Sort of Weather Patterns

It's raining and I'm writing, listening to the new and old favorites I've found:

Needtobreathe (Something Beautiful; Streets of Gold)
Neverending White Lights (Dove Coloured Sky; Always)
Ludo (Love Me Dead; The Horror of Our Love)
The Hush Sound (Eileen; You Are the Moon)

Someday I would like to deejay my own radio show. I lack the radio voice, but perhaps I can at least write out the playlist and enlist a smooth- voiced, witty friend to crack jokes between songs.

Something to add to my Bucket List, alongside Sing in the Opera and Learn Ballet.

Outside, the trees are kneeling, locked in an insane tango with the wind and rain.

Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros (Home)
Mika (Love Today; Big Girl)
Dan Black (Symphony)

More Midnight Ruminations

Trying to write a story...it's hard. I don't have time to really work on it to the degree I'd like because I just want to put it out there quickly while the idea is in my head, and I have learned that if I write an outline, it will never get written.

But the form and the style is not what I want or like. It feels...dry. Technical, like my journal instead of a story of two best friends and their varied lives. Ha...and my journal tends to be very technical. I leave my emotions alone for the most part and tend to my thoughts (they are separate entities, usually).

I think I blog better after midnight.

AND I JUST WANT TO FINISH THIS STORY, for once in my life. Characterization is just so freaking hard, especially when I'm patterning the story after real people. At least my grammar is impeccable.

For the most part.
Perhaps.
Indeed.

I have become somewhat of an ornithologist, a cursory one. Right now I am reading Hope Is the Thing with Feathers, a book about extinct birds such as the Auk and the North Carolina Parakeet.

And now I am going back to my story. Adieu.

Blowin' in the Wind

No new posts for a while because I started to live.
I started to branch out: in reading, in friendship, in music, in art.
Year 17 of my life is something else.

Also I discovered the healing balm of Gilead - journaling. It's what I've been doing every day, and I am working up to making it an art. I quote, I think through my pen, I doodle. I let the deepest thoughts, the ones I'm afraid to say out loud, flow onto the paper like riverwater through a dam.

Life is weird, you know. I think I'm going to delete this blog eventually, because I am new.

I started a new one on Livejournal, but I don't like it. Maybe I'll just re-archive this one..or something.

How many roads must a man walk down
Before you call him a man?
How many seas must a white dove sail
Before she sleeps in the sand?
Yes, how many times must the cannon balls fly
Before they're forever banned?
The answer my friend in blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Yes, how many years can a mountain exist
Before it's washed to the sea?
Yes, how many years can some people exist
Before they're allowed to be free?
Yes, how many times can a man turn his head
Pretending he just doesn't see?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.


Yes, how many times must a man look up
Before he can see the sky?
Yes, how many ears must one man have
Before he can hear people cry?
Yes, how many deaths will it take till he knows
That too many people have died?
The answer my friend is blowin' in the wind
The answer is blowin' in the wind.

Things I think about during the Midnight Hour.

It's late, and I'm waiting for the parents I'm babysitting for to come home. The kids were in bed two hours ago. I've read a few pages of Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, cleaned up the house as much as I could, checked most of my Internet hang-outs, and typed a little bit to clear my head.

Then I sat in front of the computer feeling like the most bored individual on earth.

The computer screen laughed at my bland face and shone onto my hand.

Startled, I stared at the hand.

It looked leathery, highlighted in all the creases by the screen-glow, the middle finger ring glinting like old dwarvish gold. Hey, I think, that's unearthly.

Look at how photographic the hand looks--like an old sepia album thing...except they didn't have computers back in the old days. The pinky finger is severed by a shadow. When it curves into a hook, it looks almost zombie-like. Better not look out the open window.

Weird, really weird, what happens to your mind when its working on eight-hour-old caffeine and greasy pizza. Dog tired. Cat in the basement. Bird at home, my home.

Aw, home.

I really miss my bed, and I saw it only half a day ago. Poor thing's probably wondering where I am. I think about this alot, what I want my room--my room--to be like someday. Not just the colors and decorations and layout, but the honest-to-goodness feel of the room.

A lush, purple feel, I think one hour.
And another adjective/color the next.

(This is another rambling, semi-stream-of-consciousness post. I rather like them.)

Do you know what? I am going to be the semi-adult that I am. Why keep up the serious/adult pretense when this is, after all, an anonymous blog (kind of)?

This is what I want for Christmas:

~Julia Child's cookbooks.
~Julie and Julia: book and movie.
~Shoes. I'm on a shoe kick (the puns are always intended).
~A mini-robot.
~Real paint brushes and canvases.
~Art classes.
~A-grade ink pens. The good stuff, sir.
~Silver hair. Wig form or no.
~New curtains for my room.
~Coldplay CDs.
~BITE ME comic and all accessories.
~A magnifying glass.
~A boycott for the new Sherlock Holmes movie/blasphemy.

FIN.

The Good Things

Greatest Inventions of the World:

- the radio
- ice cream
- faux fur
- jeans
- iPods
- paper
- ballpoint pens
- Christmas lights
- embroidery
- Middle Earth