you find something to rhyme with ana.

rebecca haden's brother's video which i am using in part for my vertical work. this is just simply amazing to me.

oh the sweet jazz infusions of santana.

ive gotten on a new kick of inspiration.

and i havent cried in nearly a week and a half. something is afoot.

my dad always loved a glass of tropicana.

my title is a lie. my dad preferred five a-live.

happy fourteen years to my dearest father. i miss you too very much.
i am so thankful for the beautiful memories of you and your life.


and he was quite hot if i do say so myself [and i do].

just go be a dancer. . .in havana.

how you know i have test tomorrow.

naturally, my house is the cleanest it has ever been in quite sometime. clean sheets. laundry done, hung, and folded. vaccumed carpet. freshly seasoned iron skillets.

i made new candle holders out of old wine glasses and made a lovely arrangement for it on my kitchen island. i did finally take down my dead christmas tree. what a hysterical mess.

i've rearranged my bedroom to angle my bed in the corner. ive relocated large piles of books. sheesh. i should honestly invest in about 3 more bookcases. or shelves. or both. yes, certainly both. but my piles certainly do look quite pretty right now.

i took a small paint brush to my coffee table at around 2 36 am. with intent to just paint a few simple strokes, i halted the painting at 3 24am after sanding and priming the entire table.
perhaps ill paint it light grey this weekend. and then print leaves on it. again. maybe. or maybe not.

geeeez. i should be studying african countries. botswana. angola. democratic republic of the congo. not havana though. i should definitely not know that one. 54 countries. and their capitals.

dear me. keep me away from my sewing machine. i could make you an entirely new three-piece suit complete with contrasting lining.

oh, and then i blog about. schooool. oh eight!

the dearest, frequently angry. . .adriana

oh carol, of course ill meet you at 3 pm. do you know?

yes my friends, shakespeare is quite hard to tackle.


and then you learn how to read him.



and then hot dog.
'tis but a peevish boy...yet he talks well.

mrs. white, your first name? oh right...vanna.

8 30 am tuesday morning yoga.

obama's inauguration proceedings on the television [tube].
olafur arnalds and sigur ros playing in the background of my living room.
two million people in washington dc.

and i found out that i am far more patient with the left side of my body than the right side.

"for those who are appropriately humbled by this day..."

an unmarried woman cannot fish alone in montana.

my routine in the morning.

so as a general rule of thumb for myself [very recently acquired], i really enjoy getting up in the morning [about 2 to 3 hours before i have to be somewhere] to just be around the house.

eat english muffins.
drink chocolate soy milk.
listen to sigur ros and explosions and simon and garfunkel. and ryan adams.

then pending the day, ill shower. and days when i shower are just far better in general and not for the obvious reason one may think. oh contrare! showering mornings are better for me because they serve as the salvation of the roof of my mouth.



you see, when i do shower in the morning, i brush my teeth when i get out of the shower. and i really brush my teeth...normally for about a good 5-7 minutes. perhaps even 10. but i dont just sit around and brush my teeth during this allotted time, i do other things...things that further my 'getting ready' process.
so on these showering days, im normally in a robe or a towel...something that does not hinder my tooth-brushing experience.

well today. on this glorious wednesday.

i did not shower.
i just woke up [with only an hour to spare before i had to leave] and ate my english muffin. drank my soy milk. then i went to get ready. i had on jeans and a tanktop and went to brush my teeth.
[insert toothbrush into mouth].


i then decide "im going to finish getting dressed now."
and i do. i choose to wear an argyle sweater.
i pull it out of my closet and attempt to put it on. [toothbrush in mouth].

really heather?
no.no heather. you should not.
but i did. and the toothbrush of course got stuck on the sweater and pushed into my mouth.

toothpaste and spit everywhere. and a cut on the roof of me mouth...
i remember the good, safe times when my mother still dressed me in bed in the morning when i refused to get up...

the muted string of skinner's dulciana.

for those who slightly understand freud.

so, as freud states in his interpretation of dreams, dreams are the royal road to the unconscious. they are a subconscious key to our unconscious desires. they are distorted and loaded visions of what we truly want in life. we get into the latent and manifestation of dreams and such and blah, blah blah, bottom line is, frankly i don't understand my dreams and most certainly the one i had last night.

so to begin with my literal manifestation of the dream, here is what i recall.

it began in a movie theatre. very much like a movie. except i dont recall any of the movie but for its end. it was themed in a jurassic park-esk tone. except on a ride. ride-like form, if you will. so in the end of this dream movie, there was a tyrannasaurus rex. a fairly large one [abiding by my freudian manifestation], and we were moving along a set path.
only in our frontal plane [being it a ride] and myself and another person [i have no idea who] were stuck on a riding cart with this tyrannasaurus rex. think of joseph mazzello and ariana richards in the car with the glass in jurassic park.


then, this undisclosed partner of mine and myself began to remove the outer skin of the t-rex's skull [as such can be seen in hannibal]. thus, we expose his brain.

all the while, i am thinking that the second cart, full of my rescue party, is not arriving fast enough to help us de-scalp the kicking and screaming t-rex we have in our mine cart.
finally, the second cart arrives [mostly out of no where] and with our forces combined, we throw the t-rex onto the african soil surrounding us and cover him in dead grass.

following this, the camera angle [now my view of the dream] pans over city tops in new york city where there are album covers and cds piled on top of the buildings and i think "in tennessee, people would certainly steal those off the building tops."


as the camera continues to pan out, my point of view comes into seeing this on a television in front of me. i am surrounded by my friends who i assume to be amanda, audrey, andrea, adam, beth, ben, will rucker and will hooper. i am certain that will hooper is there because as the television screen goes off and the 'video' is over, we are all silent. . . . .

then the silence is broken as will hooper states, "alright. let's go and process this. i suggest we all start with a ballad."


fin.

i am really, truly intrigued to find out the latent meaning of this dream.

where, my dearest freud, does your [or my rather] id, ego, and super ego fit into such.

you say 'piˈænoʊ,' i say 'piˈæna.'

i'm an only child, but i have one sister.

dearest jessica.
you are absolutely stunning. you are beautiful and radiant. a beacon of hope in my life and in those around you. you are amazingly strong and courageous. you are ambitious and your smile is captivating. thank you for infecting my life with joy. you are one of the key components of the happiness that runs through me. you are a cornerstone of hope.
a thousand times thank you.

i remember mulan. and mushu. and dancing to spider webs. and squishing your tigger and her one ear sticking out. and boosh kitty. and ridiculously good chocolate milk. and lots of cereal. tons of cereal. and that crazy mcdonalds swingset in your yard that later became my yard.

and attempting to play horse with you. and losing. and not being able to dribble and run. and driving golf carts with you.

my gracious girl, you are wonderful. words are utterly failing me. but you are...my sister.
my dearest jess, i love you.

what? jersey is no where close to louisana.

inspired by ryan adams "the shadowlands."

until recently, i have never been capable of feeling. i existed, but i never felt. i never felt with intent or passion. i used to pray constantly for feeling. for a lack of the numbness which i never felt.

until recently, i have been capable of love. of love full and reckless. [i have loved recklessly.] i have been able to love without abandonment. without boundaries.

however. i cannot fuse the two.

i can now feel. and i can now not love.

i feel fully. i feel deeply and intensely. i feel wholly. and i love nothing. no one.





oh how i can feel! god what i could feel with this! what i can feel...what i do feel!

yet i cannot love now.
god please bring the rain.
please let me love now.
yah bring it soon.
i feel now!
let it flood right through the houses.
please god let me love with this.
into judy's room.
i can love with this.


most people never find the love.

i'm getting better at opening a banana.

a strangely beautiful morning in knoxville.

i couldnt sleep well last night. the last time i looked at the clock was 3:11. i dont remember exactly falling asleep [which i suppose is how it works] and when my alarm went off this morning [informing me of the crimes committed when and where during the night], i resorted into beckett mode.

i finally got up at 9:17. i pulled on my cardigan and walked in the kitchen. lit my tea candle. turned on itunes. poured my soy milk. put the tea kettle on. toasted my english muffins. fried an egg. fried. fried. buttered it all and sat down to eat.

starir a mig litill alfur
hleypur að mér en hreyfist ekki
ustað - sjalfur
staralfur

my tea kettle whistled on and on until it ran out of water.

silence is pouring into my life like water into a sinking ship.
nothing.