Tags: the now book

hair syrup curl

More insights that arent mine.


"I can’t think of a more tempting — and more disastrous — reason to begin any love affair than “curiosity.”"

"Flirtation, particularly when we are married or in committed relationship, brings us dangerously close to one of the most pernicious sins of all. No, I don’t mean adultery. I mean the sin of using another human being to soothe our own anxiety, to feed our ravenous ego. Sending out “mixed messages” that arouse interest, deliberately fishing about to see if we can get a little “stroking” — this is toxic, manipulative, adolescent."

Hmm. My sexual identiy needs my anylitical, critical attention.
hair syrup curl

relevant... You should read it.


"First off, before this starts to sound like a narcissistic rant about how "crushable" a teacher I am, let me be very clear that I’ve rarely met a genuinely talented prof of either sex who wasn’t the object of desire from at least a few students. A truly effective teacher will often be the object of desire, regardless of what he or she looks like. Student crushes, I am convinced, are less about the physical attractiveness of the professor and more about that professor’s passion, certainty, and competence. Those three attributes are, for lack of a better word, intensely sexy for many people!"

My opinion exactly. Its even more prominant in watching young male conducturs. Don't even get me started, I might go poetic on you.

" He had passion for his subject, he was a gifted lecturer, he had a sense of humor, and he struck the perfect balance between self-deprecation and arrogance. (I’ve always thought that’s a tough needle to thread, and I find myself striving for it often.) Tiffany was in love with Professor P, and I eventually admitted I could see why. I asked her one day what she wanted from him, and she told me:

It’s not about sex, really. It’s that I want to be inside his head. I want to be near him, I want him to talk to me for hours, I want him to focus just on me and I want to sit next to him and soak up everything about him."
hair syrup curl

My fingers race against the sound of words swooshing about in my head

Trying to find the right one but the go by so fast, jumping to get out. How can I catch them. They are trickily little buggers, but so beautiful; and full of life and color that I can't bear to let them go. They are black and word shaped and yet 3 de and fluid an the most inmportant thing, ink slipping through my mind, out the tips of the fingers to the keys, click clack, the race. I'm running, running, my fingers can't keep up.
And the worst of it is, in the effort to write down my thoughts before they get away, I lose my inspiration, it jumps out the door, noticing I am distracted, not giving it my full attention. But how can I when I have this barrier of skin and bone and muscle to get through.
I'm trying my best I tell it but tis out the door.
And on those few second that Inspiration stays and I keep up, my body quakes with joy. As if I am being huged and loved and kissed. It is now.

Words are the most present thing I have. I love them because they are real and true. Thoughts are elequoent and brilliant and beatiful and detailed, and unless they are written down, amble off scornfully, forgotten or neglected.
But when you allow yourself to think, your thoughts get so exited and nourished and happy that they run away, leaving only a convedluded impression on your paper of where they'd been. Water color foot prints. That anyone manages to get more than that down astonishes me.
Its like a lie. You take the foot prints and work from memory, trying to agonizingly rereate the pictures, and sounds, and what was said.
How can any one hope to finish elaborating and eternalizing one thought, let alone a story, when there are so so so many thoughts to be had, and they are beatiful and coming at you all the time.
What am I to do? I simply dont want to ignore the here and now. After all, there here and now is why I write.

Thoughts are like improvisational music, excepting that an improv is easier to recreate, you know why you were playing, and that all the notes exist, there are a limited number of them.
But the woes of composing are essentially the same no matter the medium- The effort to get it down on paper is more tedious and time consuming that the wonderful idea itself.
hair syrup curl

The Job Market

I just realized that I'll really have to focus on one thing. I've always thought it was great that I have so many different interests nto pursue, and if one doesn't work out, I'll have all these others to fall back on, but the fact of the matter is, if I don't choose one (or a couple) of them to focus on, I will only be ok or proficient at any of them, and not amazing. And so, I might have a hard time getting a job, because if they need a such and such, there will always be a better such and such out there that wants the job. (this seems to be an issue related to over population- people having to be over qualified...)
However, I shouldn't have to worry too much because its one thing to be looking for jobs at the mercy of whether other people need you, and its another entirely to be the one needing people.
Though the question remains- how do I pay the bills. Because I'm going to be doing the stuff that needs other peoples skills, but... Unless I am taking advantage of people with some profit making corporation, I dont see any income.
This, is also silly. There are plenty of non profits that manage to be doing something or another. And good meaning organizations. I should study these.
hair syrup curl

Last night at 2, I had a revelation.

So when you give a talk about the birds and the bees, what could you possible be talking about? I just could never see how both birds and bees related that way. So I came up with the answer.

BIrds and Bees

First the bee flys from one flower to another, spreading pollon. This is like your penis.

Then the bird comes along and eats the bee. This is like how your father and I will cut off your penis if you stick it in you'r sister again.

obviously this is what is meant by the birds and the bees, and oh god, my cat just climbed onto my shoulders.
hair syrup curl

Aha. Revelation!

I recently haven'yt read much, under the beleif that it was a waste of my time only slightly less bad than T.V, and i shjhould be doing something productive.

My realization is that production is no good if no one uses what you produce. Also, one should generally do whatever one wants to do, if the time is granted. I wanted to read, and books are meant to be read. So what if I spend my day reading at home. If I enjoy it, it is time well spent.
hair syrup curl

If Hitler was a Heroine addict, none of this shit would have happened.

So, Basically, you've got to face it. Hitler wasn't a great artist, and he had some deep set issues that art school wouldn't have solved. There is no garuntee that an attempt at an art carrer would have made him happy enough to not kill off most of the Jews. So if you are willing to beleive that without Hitler the haulocaust wouldn't have happened, then you can agree with me on this:
If hitler was a heroine addict, none of that shit would have happened.

On a different note, wearing bright red lipstick enourages me to be facetious.
I was going to talk about something else here. I don't know what, but I'll tell you what: It was fucking epic, (whatever it was).

Signing out with a bow,
Mackenzie the Great and Awesome
hair syrup curl

I hate irrational emotions.

You know its the fault of an emotion when you feel sick and jittery for no reason. And there is no reasoning with it when its become physical. Because you've reasoned with your brain. Already. But your body doesn't care, it has spoken with your fears and emotions and shit, however illogical, and is trying to force your attention.
I hate irrationality.
I feel kind of sick, perhaps for my sister leaving, or going out of the house today, but most likely because I keep leaving the house to do fun things, when I ought to figure out where I want to go to college, and be applying for scholarships, and even cleaning my room. But it is college that makes me feel anxious and sick. All too soon I'll have to be applying. It'll work out, I'm sure, but I am scared that I'll run out of time and not do a good job of it. And'll have loans to pay off for a not perfect education. I'm afraid that I'll screw my future up, because it is in my hands and no one is helping me. All three years of high school so far I have been told to put it off, and now, its crunch time. Well fuck them all. Fuck every one who has ever said I'm to young to worry about it. Whatever it is, even if it has nothing to do with college. Fuck adults, I never should have let them convince me that they know better, what with their fuck ups, and encouraging me to put things off. I have good judgment.... Except for going out today when I could be dealing with my future. fuck fuckity fuck fuck. Huh. I;m feeling just a bit hypo-manic right now. *deep breath*
I hate irrational emotions.
hair syrup curl

the way to spend two A.M. on July 31st, 20 oh seven

I was alarmed to realize that something has been done with the charming, dysfunctional toilet in my cement back yard. It had been simply picturesque nestled between two lemon trees. I had been meaning to clean it off, to make it shiny again.
However, it is heartbreakingly inconspicuous. I wonder what was done with it and am making a mental note to complain if I remember during a reasonable hour. Feel free to remind me.

At two in the morning, I discovered a wish to sweep my portion of the outside. Meaning my cement backyard and walkway. Eventually I found my self, through the innocent fault of the walk way, sweeping in the front of my house. Upon further thought, it occured to me that there is no frint of my house, on the side walk of cedar street.
I looked up from my pale-gray, hard, sandpaper-like substance and took in the look of my street. No surprises. Every major object had refrained from drastic change. However it ocured to me this. I was standing in the middle of the side walk in west Berkeley, a block above SanPablo ave, in a short skirt. This seemed to remind me of the sort of situations I generally avoid. Then a man in an electric weel chair slowly zoomed by. In the middle of the (usually busy) road, no less. That general fact held back its amused absurdity from my consiousness until now. However, seeing the man brought my mind to the thought of myself from my outsiders persepective. Were I to be walking to down the road, and was to happen upon myself- young pretty barefoot woman in short orange and gold and black dress (shades of colored grey for it's night), sweeping the sidewalk, at 2 in the morning, I would smile, perhaps even laugh, but I would certainly have an amused bounce in my step for quite a ways after. Ah the absurdity of it.

And on the subject of Mental Notes, something to say:

"I don't anticipate ever wanting to lose you as a friend, and as scary as I have decided that I find the concept that one would decide they want to spend the rest of their life with someone ahead of time (alternate text: and although I find permanence frightening), Life is short; I want to spend the rest of my life in your emotional vicinity."

Roughly an accurate and good thing for me to say, though strictly only in person, I have decided. Under few and irrelevant circumstances should that ever be addressed to an online recipient. It is something you ought to be physically present for, holding the persons hand perhaps; brushing a wayward strand of hair slowly from their cheek, of partaking softly and breathlessly in their eyes.