inside closed eyes, you close your eyes again.

neologist@mail.com — Sun, 24 May 2009 20:45:19 GMT

you guys. I've been uploading new icons, and I was all content and whatnot, and then. I came across this one. and realized. i have no idea what the shit is going on in it. uhh seriously WHAT THE COCKING SHIT AM I LOOKING AT. SOMEBODY HALP.

EDIT: I HEREBY DECREE THIS FLIST THE GREATEST FLIST OF ALL TIME. And I hereby decree the comments to this post The Rorschach Circus. y'all are hilarious, tysm for all your enlightening interpretations.

no one's laughing at god in a hospital, no one's laughing at god in a war

neologist@mail.com — Thu, 14 May 2009 01:38:13 GMT

you guys, I've been really ill for the past couple days and have thusly (yes, being nearly DELIRIOUS with FEVAH gives me permission to use "thusly" in the vernac. deal.) been unintentionally ignoring all comments and posts and the whole damn computer. kinda hoping it's swine flu, I feel like taking part in an epidemic might be exciting. I'm disabling comments to avoid a pity party, not because I'm dying or anything, promise. just wanted to drop you all a quick line/explanation if I was just all like "OOH HI LET'S BE FRIENDS!!!" and then promptly fell off the face of the earth.

And if you felt compelled to leave a "feel better!" comment, I'll tell you what you can do instead. PLANT ME A GODDAMN TREE, MOTHERFUCKER. I realize that does not exactly promote the idea that I am not dying, but I have been wasting so much paper on tissues and math catch-up work that I feel as if I am solely responsible for mass deforestation. go do something productive and oxygen-making and springy. *salutes*

ETA: unless your name is cool_rain_kiss. Then you have to hand-write me a letter of epic, elegiac, "de profundus" proportions. only it has to be in iambic fuckin' pentameter. in your own BLOOD. because you love me that much.

and you think you can solve all your problems by yourself

neologist@mail.com — Sat, 09 May 2009 16:58:27 GMT

♫ music friending meme ♫

YOU GUYS, KYP MALONE IS HERE! By which I do not mean the dude from TV on the Radio, but the wandering kitty I named after him. Although it must be said that the man is also unduly fluffy.

...This is the second time I've had occasion to use my "Kyp Malone's Motherfucking Beard" tag. I hereby decree that it is my favorite tag ever.

Kyp the Kitty is befuddled and frightened by the strange phenomenon of TOES. I do not know what to make of this, except that I wish he'd stop trying to gnaw the little fuckers clean off. DO I LOOK LIKE MEOW MIX TO YOU? :O

the post about nothing!

neologist@mail.com — Sat, 09 May 2009 01:32:19 GMT

I...just felt compelled to add myself as a livejournal friend, for reasons I am finding difficult to articulate. Uhm. Some possible explanations I am entertaining in the face of a TOTAL VOID OF LOGIC:

1. This course of action clearly promotes the illusion of self-confidence. I am even considering someday finding it a place on a shiny, shiny college resume.

2. OR MAYBE it is of a profane nature and doesn't belong in such an overwhelmingly scrupulous environment: maybe I have actually just answered the eternal question would I do me? (I WOULD, AND I DO, IN CASE YOU MISSED THAT.)

2. OR MAYBE it is actually a masochistic Cave of Solitude. HOW WILL I EVER FRIEND ME BACK? WHAT IF I DRIVE ME TO FLOUNCIFICATION? I DON'T THINK I AM BUILT TO SURVIVE THIS KINDA ANGST. D: D: D:

3. ...and now I'm too busy weeping piteously to think of any more reasons. *BASKS IN LONELY LIVEJOURNAL DESPERADO-DOM* (I am totally badass enough to be a desperado okay. I am at least an outlaw in the face of LOGIC, and no one can deny that.)

View Poll: the eternal question, con't.

...my brain, sometimes ze is inane as all hell. And I mean the doctor's-waiting-room level of hell reserved for procrastinators, I guess, because otherwise the phrase "inane as all hell" doesn't actually make any SENSE, does it. Because fire and brimstone are much more terrifying and smelly than they are inane. In other, much more pressing news, tea is delicious. Do you know who is even more delicious than tea? BETH MOTHERFUCKING DITTO, THAT'S WHO. THE GOSSIP HAS A NEW SINGLE OUT, YOU GUYS \o/ \o/ \o/. If you are unacquainted with Beth Ditto, she is all you ever need to know about awesomeness, pretty much. If you need any convincing, I would like to introduce you to ishyface's kick-ass picspam from forevers ago. I would also like to advertise the fact that an earbud has just found its way nearly up my left nostril, for reasons I am not sure enough of to report (read: I AM SO UNCOORDINATED THAT SOMETIMES THINGS WOT DON'T BELONG IN IMPOSSIBLE ORIFICES END UP THERE. that sounds horrifically double entendre-y, doesn't it ;__;). LET IT BE KNOWN THAT EVEN MY BOOGERS ARE RIOT GRRRLS. Also, this entry lacks any cohesive narrative. In case you hadn't noticed already. BRAIN, DO YOU THINK YOU COULD MANAGE TO SIT STILL FOR AWHILE? I WOULD BE VERY APPRECIATIVE, JUST SAYIN.

(ALSO, IT IS FRIDAY. I NO DO THE THINKY TOO WELL TONIGHT, BUT HEY! I LIKE THIS. DOUBLEPLUSGOOOOOD.)

get out of the city and into the sunshine!

neologist@mail.com — Sat, 25 Apr 2009 17:09:28 GMT

Do you know what game I think we should play? The Let's Make Life Decisions for Our Flist Game! That is indisputably one of the most fabulous things you can do with a livejournal. You see, kids, there's this summer program type of shindig (and I say "shindig" because it promises to be full of bacchanalian things. at least, the course selection looks. amazing. better than any amount of bacchanalian shenanigans you can think of, all right). Only after all the day's shenanigans have been sufficiently shenanigated, there's the option of either taking an afternoon SAT review course or mini-courses. THE MINI-COURSES, THEY LOOK LIKE JOLLY GOOD FUN. While they're evidently subject to change, some of the options from last year comprise of shit like the Evolution of Punk Rock, Running of a Coffee Shop, Cartoon + Satire, and THESE ARE SO FUCKING AWESOME WHAT ARE YOU DOING EVEN CONSIDERING PRACTICALITY (presumably taught by this guy). HOWEVER, that whole college thing I have to get my ass into? Yeah, my test-taking skills are...apocalyptically awful, at best. Nearly as bad as my decision-making skills. IPSO ERGO: YOU DECIDE! Shall I gain insight into doing something wot would spare me from being confined to city-street cardboard boxes forever more, or shall I be a hobo with an encyclopedic knowledge of punk rock? (because obviously this one decision will determine THE ENTIRE COURSE OF MY LIFE. MY FATE RESTS IN YOUR CAPABLE HANDS, FLIST. DON'T LET ME DOWN.)

View Poll: ellie's life as a democracy, pt. 2/∞

EDIT: ALSO I HAVE BEEN SHIT AT FLISTING AGAIN LATELY, I KNOW. HI, EVERYBODY! QUE PASA?

Tunde Adebimpe is the only lyricist badass enough to rhyme "individuated" with "congratulations."

neologist@mail.com — Fri, 10 Apr 2009 01:01:54 GMT

♥__________♥

edited for auxiliary inanity: this morning I observed exactly two blackbirds flying around in my yard and got really really irrationally excited.

chopped off the tops of the trees: the living rooms are pleased with the results

neologist@mail.com — Wed, 25 Mar 2009 01:52:20 GMT

FUCK YEAH, COLBERT NATION.

And this is why Stephen Colbert is the mack daddy of our country. Goodnight, America, and all of you citizens of other countries who desperately wish they had a Colbert but aren't quite cool enough.

but now we have to grapple with our man-made world backfiring

neologist@mail.com — Sun, 22 Mar 2009 05:29:14 GMT

I KNOW this is pretty obnoxious on account of how I just posted about two seconds ago. But. Vonnegut was such a fantastic human being whose words needs to be shared at every available interstice, I swear. Here's the full quote, because I am evidently in a sort of typing-up-other-people's-words mood tonight:

No matter how corrupt, greedy, and heartless our government, our corporations, our media, and our religious and charitable institutions may become, the music will still be wonderful.

If I should ever die, God forbid, let this be my epitaph:

THE ONLY PROOF HE NEEDED
FOR THE EXISTENCE OF GOD
WAS MUSIC

Now, during our catastrophically idiotic war in Vietnam, the music kept getting better and better and better. We lost that war, by the way. Order couldn't be restored in Indochina until the people kicked us out.

That war only made billionaires out of millionaires. Today's war is making trillionaires out of billionaires. Now I call that progress.

And how come the people in countries we invade can't fight like ladies and gentlemen, in uniform and with tanks and helicopter gunships?

Back to music. It makes practically everybody fonder of life than he or she would be without it. Even military bands, although I am a pacifist, always cheer me up. And I really like Strauss and Mozart and all that, but the priceless gift that African Americans gave the whole world when they were still in slavery was a gift so great that it is now almost the only reason many foreigners still like us at least a little bit. That specific remedy for the worldwide epidemic of depression is a gift called the blues. All pop music today--jazz, swing, be-bop, Elvis Presley, the Beatles, the Stones, rock-and-roll, hip-hop, and on and on--is derived from the blues.

A gift to the world? One of the best rhythm-and-blues combos I ever heard was three guys and a girl from Finland playing in a club in Krakow, Poland.

The wonderful writer Albert Murray, who is a jazz historian and a friend of mine among other things, told me that during the era of slavery in this country--an atrocity from which we can never fully recover--the suicide rate per capita among slave owners was much higher than the suicide rate among slaves.

Murray says he thinks this was because slaves had a way of dealing with depression, which their white owners did not: They could shoo away Old Man Suicide by playing and singing the Blues. He says something else which also sounds right to me. He says the blues can't drive depression clear out of a house, but can drive it in the corners of any room where it's being played. So please remember that.

And--of course--here is "Blues from Down Here," and, as is my wont, there are the lyrics:

from the depths I called you, Ma
for your breath and breast so warm and fabled
your hands reached inside
grabbed my heart, enlarged, disabled

hailed for your mercy
an ear that cares

how the blues sound from up there?

with my wet hair, I wipe the blood off of your feet
carry me through these shark-infested waters
well you spared me from slaughter for sure,
but these sharks are equally in need of a martyr

oh kindness shared
undeserved purest gift, this life you've spared

how the blues sound from up there?

teeth gnashing, masticating this dumb tongue
quiet now, quiet now, hear that supplication
echo into the void
been received by no one

oh my sweet dear
cold alone poisoning ourselves
engulfed in our own tears

signed, blues from down here.

pull the pin, drop it in, let it wash away your

time for your favorite story
of how to achieve golden glory
wash yourself all squeaky clean
all in white, all Hallow's Eve

lessen your desire,
hold your breath so patiently
never inquire how to be free
just stay on your knees

you might doubt it
think there's nothing left for
to do but stomp my feet
and shout about it

from the depths I called you

now I'm waiting for an answer patiently
stuck here at the bottom of this well
it's not the last you've heard from me

In my quiet moments, I totally think Vonnegut woulda been a TV on the Radio fangirl. He would've liked that they freely admit they have no idea what they're doing and that "A lot of bands have something to say...[they] have something to ask." That seemed like a pretty bitchin'-ly Vonnegutian sentiment to me anyway. Here, let me continue this post's theme, and leave you all with another profoundly inspiring quote from the mouth of Mr. David Andrew Sitek:

"Most of the music that I like was made on dope. There is no way I could play a song back to myself 3,000 times unless I was stoned. I don't ever want to repeat myself, so I try to be not too conscious of the process...Sitting in my underwear doing bong hits is how I get a mix to gel."

motherfucking \o/!

i promise my forthcoming post will NOT contain another fuckin' meme.

neologist@mail.com — Tue, 03 Mar 2009 03:47:29 GMT

OKAY SO. I cannot find any way of changing the timezone on my lj, what the festering hell. Um, can anybody supply me with a link because I am either selectively blind or tragically inept. THANK YOU.

Oh yeah and have another MEEEEEME:

A quiet love meme.

One little compliment can make you feel amazing. So give me a compliment, anything in the entire world, even that my shoelaces are pretty. Put this in your journal. And once you get some comments, put that entry in a memory or tag and when you are feeling down, just go to that entry and this will remind you how great you are.

Comments are screened so only I will know if nobody feels like catering to my demands for coddling.

~~SHOW ME YOUR TITS~~ Say nice things about me because I am squishy and cuddly? :D?

your philosophy was built to fall apart (to make a new one, start from scratch)

neologist@mail.com — Mon, 02 Mar 2009 07:46:34 GMT

I am--inexplicably, all-encompassingly fucking giddy right now, and I wish to tell you all about it! Really, today has just been this great long procession of tiny little lovely things that have collectively made me absurdly happy. Also they seem to make me want to blather fulsome adjective abuse into my livejournal. For this I apologize.

Just. I dunno! I didn't actually get out of my pajamas all day. There's going to be a snow day tomorrow, if I can trust the weather reports promising a blizzard of apocalyptic proportions. (Even if I end up having to wake up at 6:00, right now the snow is a pretty fabulous sight to behold.) My best friend called me at, like, the exact moment I was thinking of calling her before I got anywhere near the phone ("THAT'S SO CREEPY. WERE YOU GOING TO CALL TO TALK ABOUT TV ON THE RADIO?" which obviously I was. because we're connected at the brain). We are seeing TV on the Radio in Central Park in June, and I am going to have an excitement-induced coronary. I just realized I'm actually really pleased with my schedule for next year instead of freaking the fuck out over it (probably this will last just until my furlough from school ends on Tuesday and I go back to wanting to go join the fucking circus instead).

Speaking of TV on the Radio, I spent half the day listening to Return to Cookie Mountain. This is pretty pitiful, I think, but dancing around your room like a freak is indisputably awesome.

This is a really boring update! (I thought maybe I could salvage it with some exciting punctuation. Did it work?) I guess it's always really retarded to talk about happiness, isn't it, unless you're Naomi Shihab Nye or some shit. I guess I just want to be able to find this again, in a public post, and go, what the fuck was I thinking? this post is drivel. but I remember being weirdly enthused about it.

on last.fm:
1. Regina Spektor: 864 plays
First song I heard: Oh god. "Samson."
How and when: noppenfest posted the beautiful video about three summers ago, and I've been enraptured ever since. Seriously, you guys? An Escher-inspired video starring a beautiful lady who re-wrote a Bible story to give it a happy ending on a piano. How could I not be totally slain?
Song that made me fall in love: Like totally not "Samson." IT WAS OBVIOUSLY "SEXYBACK." EVERYONE KNOWS REGINA RETRIEVES SEXY FROM WHEREVER IT WAS HIDING ~~in Gabe Saporta's basement~~ MORE EFFICIENTLY THAN JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE ANYWAY.
Current favorite: This list is too many and too amorphous. Ungh. "The Mustard Musketeers," "Human of the Year," "Genius Next Door," "Loveology," "Blue Lips," "Oedipus," "Consequence of Sounds," "Buildings," "Dulce et Decorum Est Pro Patria Mori," "Happy Hooker," "Open," "The Virgin Queen," "The Ghost of Corporate Future," "The Bronx," "I Cut off My Hair," "Lounge," "Prisoners," ad nauseam!
Some lyrics I am digging right now: don't ask for their permission/they'll never say that you're allowed/be like a cloud/'cause you're no worse than a cloud (from "Be Like a Cloud")
I wish she/he/ze/they: would marry me.

2. TV on the Radio: 762 plays
First song I heard: "Wolf Like Me." Didn't hear it with the video, but you all totally should because these guys are wondrous, hilarious DORKS.
How and when: Sami (aforementioned best friend to whose brain I am attached) was lounging on the grass outside the school after one of our finals last year like the useless bum she is. But she is a useless bum WITH A MISSION. "ELLIE GET THE FUCK OVER HERE YOU HAVE TO HEAR THIS SONG." "Oh!" sayeth Ellie the Unenlightened, "this is AWESOME. Eh, TV on the Radio, what? That Hugh Laurie's band?" And this is the story of how my best friend disowned my ass forever more. Alas. It's a tale with a bittersweet ending. Sami broke my heart forevers, but she introduced me to a song about werewolf sex, so I didn't care that much.
Song that made me fall in love: WHY DO YOU KEEP ASKING QUESTIONS WITH OVERWHELMINGLY OVERT ANSWERS?
Current favorite: Oh my god go away, your questions fucking suck. I am arrested absolutely at the idea of picking a favorite ALBUM, let alone a favorite song. Although I seem to have a definite affinity for Tunde Adebimpe's songs, come to think of it. (HE WROTE "WOLF LIKE ME." HE IS GOD. ENOUGH SAID.) (although he also wrote "Love Dog," "Tonight," "A Method," "Halfway Home," "Shout Me Out," and "Hours," for which he should be, idfk, KNIGHTED. He is a KNIGHT and a GOD. WHAT MORE COULD YOU ASK FOR?)
Some lyrics I am digging right now: beat the skins and let the/loose lips kiss you clean/quietly pour out like light/like light, like answering the sun (from "Staring at the Sun")
I wish she/he/ze/they: would fucking adopt me. We'd be the most badass family ever. I could tell everyone I'd been raised by WOLVES (WEREWOLF! SEX! WAHOO!). \o/
TUNDE ADEBIMPE IS IRREPRESSIBLY ENDLESSLY MOTHERFUCKING AWESOME: AND HAS THE GREATEST GIGGLE IN THE WHOLE WIDE WORLD.
two_grey_rooms: Evidently has something of a mancrush on Tunde.
THIS: Is rapidly becoming asinine, SO I AM MOVING ON. \o/ \o/ \o/

3. Joni Mitchell: 359 plays
First song I heard: Probably "The Circle Game." Anyway I remember somebody on the biography my parents were watching talking about the Painted Pony, so. I remember it as "The Circle Game."
How and when: Ahahahaha oh dude. If today has transported me into a state of kick-your-feet-in-the-air, little-kid-like glee, I aaaaam probably about to get a little cloying with nostalgia. I was eight years old, right? My mommy was watching a biography on this gorgeous lady with a really pretty name who looked like a priiiiiiiiiiiincess. I was supposed to go to bed but I wound up hanging off the banister and watching and not sleeping until I made my mom promise to buy me some of her CDs.
Song that made me fall in love: ...I am not even going to dignify this with a response anymore.
Current favorite: Can I just say that Joni fuckin' Mitchell is probably one of the absolute best artists to grow up with. Because when you start with "HER VOICE IS RLY RLY SUUUUNSHIIIINE-Y AND AND AND SHE SINGS SONGS ABOUT PRETTY GURLZ AND PRETTY FLOWURZ!!" and evolve to "oh hey I should go read some Tom Wolfe or Nietzsche or summat! thanks for the rec, gurlie" and move to "HOLY SHIT THESE LYRICS ARE SO FUCKING DEEP AND AMAZING AND JONI ILY HARDCORE"...I...was going to finish this sentence with "it gives you a fucking sense of ACCOMPLISHMENT," but this really reads more like "I AM EIGHT YEARS OLD FOREVER!" Erm.
Some lyrics I am digging right now: the guy at the gaspumps/he's got a lot of soul/he sings Merry Christmas for you/just like Nat King Cole/and he makes up his own tune/right on the spot/about whitewalls and windshields/and this job he's got/and you want to get moving/and you want to stay still/but lost in the moment/some longing gets filled (from "Barangrill")
I wish she/he/ze/they: were better known amongst my peers than Katy Perry. If Joni Mitchell kissed a girl, she didn't just fucking like it, she waxed fucking rapturous about Sappho and taboo and pining and probably bars and/or cafés to boot. IN SUMMATION: seriously, will someone bust a cap up Katy Perry's ass? and why has Joni Mitchell never kissed a girl in lyrical format?

4. The Ditty Bops: 337 plays
First song I heard: "Growing Upside Down!"
How and when: Off a Juno fan mix over the summer. I still have that playlist saved because it was one hell of a fan mix.
Song that made me fall in love: You're a stupid fucking clot of a meme, and I wish you grievous injury.
Current favorite: Uhhh all of them? Okay, so, this band takes these gorgeous harmonies; throws in some ragtime, blues, jazz, and vaudevillian shenanigans; adds a generous helping of lyrical whimsy; and just a dash of social satire. VOILA. FOOLPROOF RECIPE FOR BADASSERY RIGHT THERE ON. EVERY. FUCKING. SONG.
Some lyrics I am digging right now: don't mean to make you sick/it just works out that way/you say it's walnut bread/we know it's what I say (from "Short Stacks" because yes, when they are not occupied by saving the world, touring the country on bikes, or being fabulously hot drag kings, they sometimes write songs about unrequited girl love and pancakes. THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT THIS BAND I DO NOT ADORE AND LOVE AND WISH TO CUDDLE.)
I wish she/he/ze/they: ...would...marry...me? And stop inducing shameless tautology in my lj posts, goddammit.

5. Cobra Starship: 323 plays
First song I heard: Ahahaahaha. I think I vaguely recall making out a bit of "Guilty Pleasure" over my own wails of "OH GAWD NOT COBRA STARSHIP! ANYTHING BUT THAT!" Huh. Actually, taking into account the din of the chains Sami no doubt had to tie me down with a'clanking, it miiiight have been "Snakes on a Plane (Bring It)" after all. Hard to tell in hindsight.
How and when: I think exactly a year ago! Holy shit, I've been polluted by the seedy underbelly of bandom for THAT LONG? I actually don't think that's possible. Some of it, I am thinking, was a lot of hardcore denial and incredulous babbling and stroking my mother's Laura Nyro records and murmuring about The State of Our Nation's Youth as if I were a profoundly disturbed individual. Re: how: see also: Sami, that pitiless jive-ass motherfucker, chains, and non-con.
Song that made me fall in love: I think it was more an amalgamate of VickyT's fuckin' LEGS (I am shallow to my core), Gabe Saporta's hysterical antics, Ryland and Alex being an old squishy sweatervestclad fuckin' COUPLE (and This Is Ivy League! &heart;), Nate being...idk adorable?, and the siren song of bandom that brung me down. And then all their cracky joyous vaguely sketchy always vulgar songs grew on me.
Current favorite: "Damn, You Look Good and I'm Drunk (Scandalous)" because I am a nasty trashy ho. Also "Prostitution Is the World's Oldest Profession (And I, My Dear Madame, Am a Professional," "Guilty Pleasure," "One Day Robots Will Cry," "The Church of Hot Addiction," "The City Is at War," and "You Can't Be Missed If You Never Go Away." I thiiink that's about half their library of shit. Aw, Cobra, you old dog, where would I be without you?
Some lyrics I am digging right now: so last night, girl, saw you under the bleachers/giving head to a substitute teacher/perfect grades didn't make no sense/but now it's all cleared up (did I mention Gabe Saporta is vaguely sketchy yet?)
I wish she/he/ze/they: WOULD STOP HOGGING ALL THE AWESOME.

6. The National: 316 plays
First song I heard: Ah, "City Middle."
How and when: Sami burned me an epic mix two summers ago. And I think I described this song as "haunting" before I knew the National knocks the word "haunting" right out of the English language. "Bereft", "morose", and "a black void of DESPAAAAIR" are some passable descriptions, I think.
Song that made me fall in love: I was intrigued by "City Middle," but I don't think I really fell for them till I heard "Apartment Story." OH MY FUCKING GOD "APARTMENT STORY."
Current favorite: "The Geese of Beverly Road," oh my fucking god. This is the only band I listen to and have a really definitive favorite, but just--this is, like. A rare and divine Perfect Song for me okay. Am reduced to pitifully truncated sentences. After listening can manage only an eloquent "ungh" followed up by a hardy "gets me every time."
Some lyrics I am digging right now: take a bath and get high through an apple/wanted to cry but you can't when you're laughing/nobody knows where you are living/nobody knows where you are (from "So Far Around the Bend")
I wish she/he/ze/they: Really, I wish I knew why Matt Berninger has a manifest fixation with cherries. Also I wish I could steal his songwriting skillz and give the man a hug while I'm at it.

on associations, brought to you by ishyface:
(I'm pretty fucking tired by now actually. So I am going to be pithy and only answer to these in sum-y up-y life lesson-y aphorisms. K.)
1. KEVIN SMITH
If you can't go two minutes without saying "fuck" at least a dozen times, it is your calling in life to make a righteous fuckin' movie mocking religion and Alan Rickman's genitalia or lack thereof. You also get to co-star in said movie, but the catch is you can't say more than two words, or the death threats in your hate mail will start getting more dire.

2. HARRY POTTER
HEY, BABY. I WANNA SLITHER MY BASILISK INTO YOUR CHAMBER OF SECRETS.

3. LIFE THE UNIVERSE AND EVERYTHING
42. Q.E.D.

4. THE HOMOSEXUAL AGENDA
Never trust a lesbian who doesn't own a flannel shirt. Or who doesn't adore the living fuck out of Alison Bechdel.

5. VICKY-T
thinks Gizmo is a cute dog, and two_grey_rooms thinks Vicky-T is both really hot and generally kickass.

Just for the record:
1. HOLY SHIT IT'S STILL SNOWING! If I stand outside in it and just look up, I get impossibly dizzy, and if vertigo were that wonderful all the time, everyone would be fucking dying of inner ear disorders.
2. If I do have to wake up in three and a half hours, I'm gonna choke a bitch.
3. If you actually read all that, I AM SO SORRY. I will send you apologetic arrangements of fruit in the mail. OH BUT I CAN RAMBLE :D :D
4. Apologies for being horribly behind on flist. Will rectify tomorrow, amidst SNOOOOW YAYE.

on back porches with the torch of a firefly-lit tree

neologist@mail.com — Fri, 20 Feb 2009 05:52:25 GMT

So, I (finally!) saw Milk today and yeah, I may have cried. Just a little bit. I am feeling pretty inarticulate at the moment, but suffice it to say that this review rocks. If you haven't seen it yet, GO DO IT. If it's, um, still playing anywhere. I am always the last person ever to see movies, and this unfortunate fact is showing. /o\

(And dude, what is up with Josh Brolin, and why has he been playing so many terrifying Republicans lately?)

Apropos of nothing, my brother is on sabbatical from being an Internet Tyrant tonight! By which I mean my internet is impressively faily, by which I mean that whenever I download/upload music the internet (thereby affecting every other computer in the house) crawls along at the relative pace of a slug on weed, by which I mean that computer-addicted brother goes bonkers every time I want new music. WHICH MEANS THAT TONIGHT I HAVE THE INTERNET TO MYSELF AND HAVE BEEN DOWNLOADING LIKE A MAD THING WHICH MEANS THAT I AM ALSO WELCOMING YOUR REQUESTS WITH ALACRITY! Um, I have no formal pdf of my library, but here's my last.fm if you want to have a poke around.

Also: Y HALO THAR, NEW FRIENDS! *waves* Haven't checked my flist yet today (first impression for the ages, right), but SUP? I might write up an intro post tomorrow, but if I don't, I've got to update my user info so it says something other than "I like 'A Softer World' comics and stealing 'A Softer World' comics and putting them in my user info" pretty soon anyway, so you know. Whatever comes first.

YOUR EPIC FAIL OF THE EVE

neologist@mail.com — Wed, 18 Feb 2009 05:55:19 GMT

I just made what was going to be a silly but nonetheless indomitably BADASS playlist for when I am feeling silly but nonetheless indomitably BADASS. Only when I actually started to listen to it, I realized that not only was it the most un-badassiest thing I had ever heard, but that IT SOUNDED LIKE SHIT. I MADE SINGULARLY AWESOME SONGS SOUND LIKE SHIT! I am certain there is a rung in hell saved for people like me. K. I'm going to bed now, but I felt the need to confess so I could feel absolved and my dreams would not be haunted by ~~Kid Rock~~ Satan. Thanks for listening, Fathers.

sometimes I even post poems about boobies! (or: fuck me, I love Leonard Cohen)

neologist@mail.com — Sat, 14 Feb 2009 03:30:39 GMT

"Beneath My Hands"
by Leonard Cohen

Beneath my hands
your small breasts
are the upturned bellies
of breathing fallen sparrows.

Wherever you move
I hear the sounds of closing wings
of falling wings.

I am speechless
because you have fallen beside me
because your eyelashes
are the spines of tiny fragile animals.

I dread the time
when your mouth
begins to call me hunter.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want to summon
the eyes and hidden mouths
of stone and light and water
to testify against you.

I want them
to surrender before you
the trembling rhyme of your face
from their deep caskets.

When you call me close
to tell me
your body is not beautiful
I want my body and my hands
to be pools
for your looking and laughing.

1. If you were surprised that "Hallelujah" wasn't the only thing this dude ever wrote, I am de-friending you.

2. If you thought Jeff Buckley wrote "Hallelujah," I am on my way to your house RIGHT NOW with a fulsome supply of tar and feathers. Consider yourself warned.

3. This is something that has been vexing me for a long time, so I'm just gonna come out and say it. YOU GUYS. Is it just me, or does Leonard Cohen bear a terrifying resemblance to the Cigarette-Smoking Man from The X-Files?

Fig A.

Fig B.

OBVIOUS CONCLUSION: When poets age, they morph into hideous shadowy figures of '90s pop culture.
A COINCIDENCE THAT FURTHER VEXES ME: When I googled Leonard Cohen to supply adequate pictorial aids, a site showed up called "The Leonard Cohen Files." HA HA HA THE INTERNET AGREES WITH ME. AND THE INTERNET IS BINDING.

4. I...actually did have more blithesome inanity to share tonight, but evidently I've managed to knock the English language out of my head with STONE COLD FEAR. Erm. I really do hate when I can't remember what the hell I'm talking about.

5. IT IS MY FIRST NIGHT OF FREEDOM (oh sweet, sweet end-of-winter break ♥), AND IT IS ONLY 10:00, AND I AM ALREADY VAGUELY SLEEPY. WHAT IS THIS MADNESS? Even if I COULD manage to drag my ass to bed without feeling like a total loser (I'm already on livejournal on a Friday night, it's not like my social status is in any peril, is it?), THERE IS NO WAY I WOULD GET ANY SLEEP. I'D HAVE COHEN-DRIVEN NIGHTMARES D: D:

6. ESPECIALLY because recently I have been besieged by horrifying/wonderful dreams of fucking my favorite male rock stars. YOU GUYS. LEONARD COHEN IS FUCKING PRECAMBRIAN. AND DESSICATED. AND PROBABLY REDOLENT OF MOTH BALLS. DO NOT WANT DO NOT WANT DO NOT WANT. D: D: D: D:

7. Erm, disturbingly in the same vein of #6, here, have another amusing exchange with my father:
DAD: *makes attempt to communicate with child but is drowned out by an iPod*
ME: *singing along* AND WE'RE PSYCHED! SO PSYCHED, SO FUCKING PSYCHED!
DAD: ...my daughter is singing the f-word. ROCK MUSIC IS DESTROYING OUR YOUTH.
ME: Yessir, Tunde Adebimpe taught me the f-word. Ahar har har he taught me the meaning of the word "fuck" IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE.
DAD: WHAT?!? SEX AND ROCK 'N' ROLL? WHERE ARE YOU KEEPING YOUR DRUGS???
omfg, MY FATHER. Just. I really. Am. Fucking speechless.

aw, feel it quake with the joy resounding, palm to the palm, you can feel it pounding

neologist@mail.com — Tue, 10 Feb 2009 22:20:04 GMT

PERHAPS someday in the future I shall contribute meaningfully to your flist with a narrative that is at once resonant and trenchant! TODAY IS NOT THAT DAY.

STOP! IT'S MEME TIME!

It's inevitable that as we read each other's journals we create mental pictures of each other. Post this on your own journal to find out who your friends see when they read about your life.

Two Rules:
1) The person must be in the movies or on TV (but doesn't have to be an actor/actress). The person can be specific to a role or character or just the person.
2) Post a picture.

GO TEAM!

replace it with a UV light so I can be the beacon of hope that you've always expected

neologist@mail.com — Tue, 27 Jan 2009 21:45:40 GMT

I'VE ALWAYS WANTED TO TELL YOU....

I figure being perpetually caught up on my flist + occasionally piping in with posts ruminating on Marc Chagall's contribution to the zombie apocalypse TOTALLY means it's time for the anon memes to start kicking around this journal. Trufax, I have been admiring them from afar all throughout my LJ furlough. I'm not so sure what exactly is the allure of eye-burning html marshaling in comments promising to tell me I've an alternate personality moonlighting as a furry, BUT I'M ROLLING WITH IT, MOTHERFUCKERS.

Other things I love: 1) Jeanette Winterson rendered sketchy by fangirling Alison Bechdel, 2) MY RIDICULOUS FUCKING HETEROSEXIST PURITANICAL ADJECTIVE-ABUSE-INDUCING FORMAL "SEX EDUCATION" FINALLY FUCKING ENDING THIS WEEK, 3) dancing around my living room to Los Campesinos! in very little clothing, and 3) LONG CAT IS LOOOOOOOONG. Oh my god the internet is eating my brain.

Hi, flist! How are you all?

he's a WHAT? he's a WHAT?

neologist@mail.com — Thu, 22 Jan 2009 03:33:22 GMT

So, today I was aiming to make a post about America's First President To Have Paraphrased Spider-Man And What He Means To Me, but I opted instead to go up to my room, to very quickly drop off my coat, and then somehow I found myself waking up twenty years later in the middle of the Catskill mountains with a crazy fuckin' beard and a revolution I knew nothing about underway in my motherland, and my wife is dead, and MY LIFE WAS LIKE TOTALLY OVER--

And then I decided to stop being Rip Van Winkle and study for my math test like the diligent little student I am. Even though it was almost six-o-fucking-clock, WHAT.

Which is what I did all ~~day~~ night, sans eat dinner, which is why I was going to go back to sleep without so much as a flist comment today, but my dad just came home from his Very Important Temple Gathering. Evidently, the featured film of his Very Important Moth-Ball-Scented, Sweater-Vest-Clad Temple Gathering Film Night was not about "uhhh some old Jewish person!" ("...could you be a little more specific than that, Dad?" "Uhhh I think, something about, uh, art?") as was promised over the phone, but was about MARC FUCKING CHAGALL whom I love madly (who is, admittedly, some old--if by "old" you mean "dead"--Jewish person with something to do with art, but so is my grandma and her collection of horrifying malformed beaded animals).

My precious father, who is officially the preciousest dad in all the land, tried to make it up to me by offering to stalk Marc Chagall's granddaughter in her place of employ. I wish I knew what to make of this.

eta: BECAUSE MY DAD'S BRAIN, LET ME SHOW IT TO YOU. It only gets crackier.

DAD: ALSO MARC CHAGALL SPOKE TO US AND HE WAS REALLY NICE!
ME: Dad, Marc Chagall is dead oh my god what sect of Judaism did you say your temple was again?
DAD: HA HA HA.
ME: No, but seriously, he's dead. You, you know this, right?
DAD: YES!
ME: ...?!?
DAD: I MEANT. HE SPOKE. IN THE MOVIE. OH OH IT'S STILL PLAYING! YOU COULD SEE IT WITH ME! MICHELLE MICHELLE COME BE JEWISH WITH ME!!!

Next week, you guys, I am going to join my father in COMMUNING WITH THE DEAD. WHAT ARE YOU GOING TO DO? I'M LOOKIN' AT YOU, MR. OBAMA. CAN YOU ZOMBIFY MARC CHAGALL? I THINK NOT!

HI, EVERYONE! PLEASE DON'T HURT ME.

neologist@mail.com — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 04:13:15 GMT

HELLOOOOOOO, KIDS! ADULTS! MUSKRATS! GIRLS! BOYS! GENDERQUEER PEOPLE! WOMEN! MEN! FANTHINGS! COBRAS! LICHEN! PATHOGENS! ALL KATHLEENS EVERYWHERE WHO ARE LISTED DIRECTLY AFTER "PATHOGENS" SO AS TO PROVIDE AN AMPLE CONTRAST BECAUSE A KATHLEEN IS FACTUALLY COMPRISED OF HOLY WATER, MYSTERIOUS GOLDEN LIGHT, AND PONIES! ANY CATEGORIES OF LIFE I HAVE IGNORANTLY GLOSSED OVER IN MY HASTE TO BE CREEPILY EXUBERANT! HI. HI HI HI. SALUT! HOLA! HOLLA! ETC.

If you are unsure, yes, this is veritably two_grey_rooms, more commonly known as Ellie, and not some relation thereof asking you to please send your condolences to the family because Ellie has died in a tragic and untimely accident. Nor am I a spambot with a Trojan encoded in the exclamation-mark-y reign of terror wot you have witnessed above. I REPEAT, this is [Bad username: TWO_GREY_MOTHERFUCKING_ROOMS] in the FLESH on a COMPUTER CHAIR with a KEYBOARD. TALKING. TO YOU ALL. RIGHT. NOW. DO NOT BE ALARMED! (~~Also, I am not a zombie.~~ evidently, I am. see comments to rain_explodes for details.)

I come bearing a sensational announcement: I AM ALIVE.

You know that thing that I haven't been doing? That thing that involves, idk, some reeeeal strenuous shit like idk ACTUALLY COMMUNICATING WITH ALL OF YOU LOVELY PEOPLE. Well. It should be, you know, happening from now on. This means that if you had me on an "I am not actually sure this person exists, and if they do, I do not want them reading my lj because they are probably using it for lethally dodgy and perhaps even lecherous purposes, oh my god I do not even remember consentually friending this user, will someone call the cops already" filter or some variant thereof, PLEASE TO BE RECTIFYING THIS. You are all awesome to purely absurd degrees, and I cannot even adequately convey how made of fail I have been.

HI, OLD PEOPLE! I cannot wait to get home from school tomorrow so we can ~~rekindle old flames and hopefully this rekindling will not involve too many instances of setting me on fire, even though my social skills and I thoroughly thoroughly deserve it.

HI, NEW PEOPLE! I think we should get to know each other like proper old chaps and I should not be a LJfucktard anymore! YOU ALL SEEM PROFOUNDLY AWESOME, EVEN IF YOU HAVE BEEN ON MY FLIST FOR SEVERAL MONTHS AND I AM STILL FORCED TO REFER TO YOU AS "NEW PEOPLE" BECAUSE OF AFOREMENTIONED EGREGIOUS SOCIAL SKILLS. \o/

Now I am going to get to bed, so I can pretend to be functional in five and a half hours, and then I can come home from school, probably sleep until I am declared catatonic, magically reanimate around dinnertime, and TALK TO YOU ALL ALL THE BLESSED FRIDAY-NIGHT LONG! It has been far, far, far, far, far too motherfucking long.

PS: WHOA MY LIVEJOURNAL IS LOOKING KIND OF FUNKY. By which I not only mean that I've had the same layout and user info since eighth grade, but uh. The text is all excruciatingly tiny, and yeah, this exercise in eye-killing is only happening on MY lj and no other pages at all? Can anyone think of a feasible reason for this, aside from due penance for neglecting the magical land of lj and betraying Jesus and killing Tinkerbell and whatnot? Oh dear me, internets is weird. I bet you have all missed my tedious lj-related technical questions so, so much ♥ ♥ ♥.

driven by my sister here, unafraid and unaware

neologist@mail.com — Fri, 02 Nov 2007 00:12:37 GMT

Tonight's monotony has momentarily been mutilated! YAY ALLITERATIONS? Anyway. After several hours of particularly inspired procrastination (I began by leaving a bunch of frenetic LJ comments and eventually wound up discovering that I was The Most Inflexible Person On The Planet, as I evidently cannot: a) reach my foot behind my head, b) sit in the full lotus position for longer than two seconds, c) lick my elbow, d) touch my tongue to my nose, or e) adequately sing ballads bemoaning an attractive girl in my Spanish class, her vapidness, and her unfortunate love of Dan Brown), I settled down to write essays. It hasn't been fun, unless you count gratuitous exclamations of "COCKSUCKER!" aimed at the computer. I also somehow managed to slice open my left pinky finger. Nothing I do is ever less than hardcore, kids, even writing essays on Bradbury books.

SO, THE MOMENTARY MONOTONY-MUTILATING. It is, in all unexpectedness, thanks to my sweet little brother. This news is so earth-shattering, yes, that it merits a LiveJournal update, I promise. He, who blindly loathes everything in my musical library that does not involve AC/DC, likes a song by an indie band. IS THIS NOT HUGE? IT IS HUGE. DEMANDS FOR "INCREDIBLY DRUNK ON WHISKEY" DO NOT COME EVERY DAY, ALL RIGHT.

In even more fascinating news, aforementioned song just ended and aforementioned brother has just called someone on the phone and asked, "Who is this?" upon receiving an answer. I think I should be concerned, but I am too busy wondering whether Bradbury can touch his tongue to his nose to care.

neologist@mail.com — Tue, 15 Aug 2006 04:04:40 GMT

MY DAD: "I'll be gay for Jon Stewart."

I FINALLY GOT HIM TO SAY IT. FINALLY.

This joyous occasion must be preserved in my journal forevermore. I SHALL REMEMBER THIS DAY FOREVERS AND EVERS AND EVERS AND EVERS.

-is ridiculously proud of self-