Busy Busy Busy

is what we Bokononists whisper whenever we think of how complicated and unpredictable the machinery of life really is.

-Kurt Vonnegut

I could have blogged about how power corrupts, using the example of how I was picked on by three prefects for half a centimeter of white, but I didn't. I could have done a long blog all about my feelings about parades, but I didn't. I could have blogged about shunning the paths laid out for me, but, you know. I might.

I have a well of passion deep within me that no one sees, and that even I manage to ignore most of the time.

Another reason why my father is awesome

This is funnier if I've already told you about his bizarre practice of giving me an extra twenty dollars all the time.

Me: 'So I'm off to buy Ariel's birthday gift. I shouldn't be too long...see you later.'
Dad: 'Well, I should probably give you some extra money.'
Me: 'Uh...why?'
Dad: 'Well, in case you need to take a cab home.'
Me: 'I...I've got some quarters. I'll, uh, make a phone call. If I need a cab from the mall.'

He did this that time I hung out with ministers too.

It went by so quickly I could barely see it.

Guy on cell phone in street: "I'm at home."

I've been thinking about those visions again...the blackboard and the piano keyboard ...and I've realized that there's something else I do without thinking, but it isn't related to sight. I call it involuntary playback. I believe we all have the ability to some extent (how else could you have a song stuck in your head?)

On a completely different note (argh), I walked into a rescheduled piano lesson once not too long ago to the sound, unsurprisingly, of the kid before me. I sat down to wait until he was finished, but my teacher, upon noticing me, decided to use me as an audience.

Earl (to student): 'Why don't you play your theme song for her?'

What he began to play was, well, eerily familiar. I just couldn't fathom why...it didn't seem like the sort of piece I would listen to for pleasure. Yet although it resounded in the depths of my memory and was clearly a well-known tune, it didn't seem like it was music of twinkle twinkle little star immortality. I identified it only moments before the end...it was Sousa's Liberty Bell march.

If you aren't sure what I'm talking about or why, congratulations on being less of a loser than I am. And then go watch some Flying Circus.

My writing's deteriorating, and it's time for me to close up again.

Well, that worked.

Even cold November rain.

"BANANANA."

-Marisa

Empty mind of all pain and pleasure, until nothing remains.

Impossible.

They say nothing lasts forever.

Half-post from the depths of the drafts.

"You sell more bananas, you get more money."

-Mr. Zigby on capitalism

Here's to my latest musical interest. His name is Jeremy Fisher, and he's a not-very-underground Canadian artist. I'm surprised I hadn't heard of him before. I discovered his concert on the wonderful CBC radio 2 the night before halloween, and I had the privilege of carving pumpkins while listening to him talk and sing (We're just friends who sometimes happen to kiss, ain't that right). I think that his youtube video Scar that Never Heals is great.

Although perhaps not as great as this one.

My sister was the most elegant dark-haired vampire on Halloween night, with her curls slicked back and wearing a long dark cape.

This is from a year ago.

It is a world of slate and silver, a world governed by silence and illuminated by the fading gleam of ancient gas lamps. It is a world of mist and of whirlpools of emotions -- fear, sorrow, fury, love. Sun and moon coexist, each singing counter-harmony to the rhythm of life, the world and the everlasting. Crows perch on the upturned limbs of the shadows encircling the lake. A whisper of wind, the sigh of the leaves fluttering over the ground as you pass, making your way down the path.

Welcome to November. Welcome home.

As much fun as I have delving into old notebooks, I will try and post soon.

But we knew the truth, deep down. And the truth was that we never fit in, not once.