"No, Amma. The sky isn't blue. There's just white light. White light has all the colors of the rainbow in it, and when it is scattered through the squillions of molecules in the sky, the shortwave colors - blue, violet - they are the ones you see. The sky isn't really blue. It just looks that way. It's called Rayleigh scattering."

A strange child with a cold intellect.

haha - good story in a comment on gakwer

I grew up all over the United States, but graduated high school from a little rinky dink bordertown in Texas. About 19 years ago, I was away at college, and when I got my absentee ballot, I saw no one was running for mayor, so I wrote my name in. And, yes, I was elected mayor. It was an almost entirely honorary title. The town was unincorporated, and didn't even have fire or police. It paid $300 a year, and I was mayor for 4 years. I came back after college and became a school teacher for a while, and around town, the people called me "Miss Mayor." And then I got the hell out of there and went to grad school and then law school in better, more exciting cities.

But I have to admit, even to this day, I still miss the status. Really. I miss being called "Miss Mayor." I miss everyone knowing my name (although the town had less than 700 people). I miss the slight deference people paid me, and I miss the small courtesies I was afforded. I got to go to a Texas mayors conference with the mayors of Dallas and Austin and Houston, and I was treated as an equal. It's odd. It was a joke at the time, but when it was over, I really missed it and I still do.

Anyway, I just mention this, because when I see someone who had a little bit of power or a little bit of status going sort of nuts as they enter their decline, I sympathize. I get this sick feeling in my belly sometimes because I used to be mayor of nowhere, and now I'm just a girl in the big city (well... Austin). And Jim Carrey used to be the BIGGEST MOVIE STAR IN THE WORLD. And now, I can't remember the last time he was in anything good. His moment has passed, and it's all downhill from here. And if this video is sincere and not just some Andy Kaufman-esque joke, then... I sort of know what it's like to have it all and then go slightly crazy.

I hope that didn't sound nuts. I'm feeling slightly maudlin, and I'm going to open this second bottle of wine. (Edit comment)

Good diss to an ex who is with someone else: "Oh. Don't worry. I would never be jealous of someone who is seeing you."

Yea I used that the other day. I didn't even mean it to be funny, I was just being honest and a tad mean I guess. But then we both laughed.

Thinking you used to be smarter and more talented than you are now is such a sad thought. It is one of the saddest actually. It's an anxiety I often entertain.

My thoughts go something like this:

I hope I'm not ruined. I hope adulthood hasn't sucked all the life and humor out of me and made me a human asshole, producing only shit. So many adults are human assholes, just brainless mutants of the wasteland, you know? Walking cliches whose personality has been defined for them by G-d knows what. TV? Their parents? Their job? The drugs they're on? Fuck. With age people become too concerned with what everyone else thinks, too wrapped up in the past, too anxious about the future, and as a result their current selves become completely deficient. What they could've been is so disparate from what they've become. It's sad to watch.

And what about me? What have I become and what am I becoming?

When I read my old journals I think, "Aw, Sophia, you were so funny, so honest, so smart, what happened?" Maybe (hopefully) this is just hindsight speaking. Maybe I haven't lost myself to that endless void called "adulthood," where nothing is new anymore, and you walk around yoked to "responsibility," as if that's the only thing that's important.

I mean, what I'm most concerned about is my ability to produce, to have valuable insight, to write well and interestingly. Insight comes easy to the young, because young eyes see things freshly. And as you get older, you either delicately maintain this ability, or you lose it. You abandon yourself and see the world through glazed over, jaded eyes. And before you know it you're just another cog in the wheel. Another part of the machine.

MORAL OF THE STORY: FUCK THE INDUSTRY, MAN!
Ugh, just kidding. Kind of. I don't know.

Three Coming

"But I cannot be worrying-worrying all the time about the truth. I have to worry about the truth that can be lived with. And that is the difference between losing your marbles drinking the salty sea, or swallowing the stuff from the streams. My Niece-Of-Shame believe in the talking cure, eh?" says Alsana, with something of a grin. "Talk, talk, talk and it will be better. Be honest, slice open your heart and spread the red stuff around. But the past is made of more than words, dearie. We married old men, you see? These bumps" - Alsana pats them both - "they will always have daddy-long-legs for fathers. One leg in the present, one in the past. No talking will change this. Their roots will always be tangled. And roots get dug up. Just look in my garden - birds at the coriander every bloody day..."

"Bad luck isn't brought by broken mirrors, but by broken minds."

"I would take a bullet for you."
"You always say that. Let's go to a shooting range and you can prove it."
"Ok, but aim for my shoulder."

One thing leads to another thing, leads to another thing, leads to another thing and pretty soon you're damned.

For some reason the phrase: "variety is the spice of life," keeps resonating in my head. I don't think anyone has said it to me recently, and I certainly don't use it, yet it keeps popping into my thoughts. It's really starting to piss me off.

Well well well

She told me her best friend sleeps amidst a sea of cockroaches, on a blanket on the floor of some shitty tenement apartment. This is a poor interpretation of asceticism, if you ask me.

Chew on this

So, this young guy from the south gets back home from the war in Iraq. He's so depressed and fucked up after everything he did/saw there that he's really horrible to be around. He's mean to everyone, he hardly does anything, and he just hates life. One day his dad (this old southern dude) gets fed up. He hands his son a loaded shotgun and tells him, "Here son, take this out into the woods, real far from here and... you know." He meant shoot himself. So the kid, surprised as fuck, takes the gun into the woods that night. He walks into the middle of the forest, where it was so dark he could barely see his own hands. He couldn't believe what his dad had asked him to do, but considering the recent state of things it kind of made sense. The kid sat alone, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere holding the shotgun all night, thinking about the life he was about to end. He made sure he was really far from home. He thought about who would find his body, what his family would do, if his dad would admit to handing him the gun. He tried to wrap his head around the whole situation; tried to make sure he was ready.

Finally he takes a deep breath, puts the gun to his mouth and shoots. He realizes his dad had purposely loaded the shotgun wrong. The kid goes back home that morning, tired and confused. He hadn't slept all night. His dad is at the kitchen table drinking a cup of coffee. He looks at his haggard son and asks, "You get it now?"

I remember when

I remember when you showed up at my bedroom door with a sesame bagel (scooped out) and a small hot chocolate. You let yourself in because one of my roommates left the apartment unlocked. It was very cold that morning. Fresh snow covered the streets and the sky was a dark white. It seemed like no one was going outside; there were very few footprints on the sidewalk.

(Later that morning I looked for the imprint of your sneakers in the snow. I wanted to know: had you been pacing outside my window the night before? Had you been looking inside my bedroom from the street?)

That morning, when you opened my bedroom door, you found:

I was asleep in bed with some guy. What you saw was a scene of intimacy. My head, his shoulder, no clothes, full REM. But really, (and later I tried to explain this to you) I was asleep in bed with some guy who was kind of repulsive to me.

Anyway.

You left the apartment without making a sound.

When I woke up I found the hot chocolate and (scooped out) sesame bagel on the kitchen table. Next to them was every letter I had ever written you (every post card, picture, note, magazine clipping - everything) torn up in a pile. The hot chocolate was still warm.

The guy I had been asleep next to stumbled into the kitchen. I imagine myself saying something very ominous to him, like, "It's not safe here, you must go." I imagine that he was confused, and I know he left.

I put all the food in the trash, and put the torn up letters on my bed. I cried and spread the pieces out on the sheets. I tried to put one back together and then gave up after a few seconds because I felt like an idiot.

You must've known that morning what you'd find when you showed up at my door. You must've planned it that way. Me, seeming like the bad one. You, the hapless victim. Bringing me food was too out of character for you. Too saccharine.

The fact that the bagel was scooped out did seem thoughtful for a moment. A moment.

A few hours later I went to the deli and got my usual order. I had been ignoring your mean texts all morning "I hate you, you're awful, blah blah blah," but suddenly I couldn't resist.

I got out my phone and texted you: "Was the hot chocolate with skim milk or whole?"

I don't think I've ever hated someone more.

Oy

I must remember to be thankful. It's just the loneliness that gets to me.

Below post

That was taken from 2005. I had that mood indigo then. Just like now. I wonder what my boss thinks of me sitting at my desk listening to all this depressing old music. Nothing is funnier than unhappiness, eh?

October 24th 2005

:( i'm trying to remember a time when i felt more worthless. it was probably a couple years back. i know being negative just makes things 1000x worse, but i don't know what else to do. i feel like that girl on truelife: i want to be a wakeboarder. puts up a facade for everyone, can pretend things are fine for a while, but goes home and finds that kids had spray painted her lamb. attacked something that never provoked attack or ridicule in the first place. that's the worst. when you dont know why. i seriously feel like i haven't done anything that horrible to anyone. and yet there's all this shit i get. and there's everything i don't get. i mean the only thing i can think of is it all elludes down to who i am.
there's something i do that really makes people hate me. talk tons of shit about me. do what they can to get to me. it's a pattern in my life. it keeps me really caged in, i don't trust anyone. everything i say is misinterpreted. i appoligize and i even do that the wrong way. i wonder what it is about me. i feel like i can't even have a conversation. i feel like there's something they know that i dont know. my life is some ironic joke that is constantly being shit on. nothing is straight forward. nothing goes right. i'm starting to feel that feeling you get when you walk down the street and you think everyone hates you.

i'm starting to feel like i want to live inside my covers and never leave. more things go right with my eyes closed than open.

Ah Summer

Summer, you bring the allure of sun, fun and romance. I write this as I sit at my desk at work with the blinds closed. I've been running a fever for the past week. I'm just not in the mood for you, summer. I'm fucking pissed and disappointed. Could it be winter already? Thanks.