I've come to a point in this saga that is my life in New York as a writer still in school, where i've realized i have to return to LA on the 6th. Which is a terrifying thought. It will be nice to go back for my sister's birthday and all but I don't want to. I have a life here. the good thing is The Boy will still be here and i will still be involved with him, despite the non seeing. So I will fly away, with reluctance, but i'll be back.
The other giant question the returning to LA issue brings up is my blog. What am I to do about my blog? should it end when I leave? I haven't ever written anything from LA. Maybe I'll start a new one from there. It will be the next chapter of my life. On that note. I realize that there are probably a hundred loose ends to this story that i haven't wrapped up, most of which i'm sure i've forgotten. I suppose I should read through the whole thing and take notes on the thoughts that I left incomplete, but that's a lot of reading to do and i stil need to finish "On the Road". So, my motto right now is "One Step at a Time". It sounds kind of dumb, but it keeps me focused. And that's what I need right now. Focus. My life is so scattered, with finals and packing and everything. Well, i've got to get to work. That's another thing that's up in the air. I'm trying to transfer and I don't have a final answer on that. The one thing i've learned as experience the world more (a very sad thing) is that people tend not to meet my expectations. I'm continueously being disappointed. I try so hard to not expect anything and not ask things of people, but this trying to transfer thing is just re-enforcing that belief. I laid out all the information very neatly on a typed up sheet. I called the store I want to transfer to. I gave everyone dates and still no word. The last comment in relation to my transfering was "you can't transfer, if they don't have space." I checked. That was the first thing I did. Thank you very much. Just listen to me. I know my shit (not to sound pompous or anything.) Anyway, to work. But what can I expect from these people, they work at Barnes and Noble as a career. For me its a job, money and an experience. In no way I'm I going to make it a career. Well now i really have to go or i'm going to be late. signing off. peace.
BTW. Its Beltaine. More on that later.

KILLING

I was thinking about killing while drying my hair in my closet from the shower. I was think how i've never killed anything and how that would be such a huge psychological thing to have to deal with. I think this came to mind because earlier today i was noting in my head how i've never had a character deal with the ramifications of having killed someone. I've only had killing in one screenplay for school and the issues wasn't dealt with as an action that some one did and had to live with. Dying is an end in everything i write. Which is the truth. Dying is the end of what we currently know. Beyond death we don't know anything. So i was thinking how i've never killed anything. Then i realized i have. that kind of weighted on my. Then i said it out loud. "I killed a fly" the significance seemed to fly away (pun kind of intended). it didn't seem to matter that i had killed a fly. In fact i've killed lots of bugs. And people are okay with it, in fact often happy for me. But thinking about it now, its weird. I've killed something. I've taken away its life. I know they were just bugs, but somehow the weight of that concept it sitting very heavily on my shoulders. I'm repulsed with myself. i'm disgusted. I took away the life of another creature. it makes me sick to my stomache and guilt. i feel like a murderer. I would feel right if someone locked me away right now for that crime.
My Boyfriend is a vegatarian. I completelt respect him for that choice. he does it as a health thing he says, but whatever his reason I respect him. Also, whenever we eat together I feel bad eating meat in his presence. I never felt this in front of a vegatarian before. its gotten to the point where i don't eat meat when i'm not with him either because i'm sicken by the fact that he might kiss me after i've eaten meat. its a really amazing realization. it makes me think about how much i like The Boy. its nice.
I think these kind of relate. I was thinking about how eating meat is murder and then how i killed those bugs. i'm disgusted by the idea of taking something elses life, but i'm not sure if i could become a vegatarian because i'd be too worried about nutrition. but i think it is a very respectablt decision, if you're going to watch your dietary needs.

Shades of Citrus

I’m just mad about Saffron…
They call me Mellow Yellow.
- Donovan, Mellow Yellow


The Gates was a project by Cristo and Jeanne-Claude which involved filling Central Park with giant saffron gates with curtains hanging from the tops. There were thousands of these gates lining every walk way of Central Park. They flowed along the paths like so many ants on their way to work. The saffron curtains billowed in the breeze. The one question that everyone in New York and around the country seemed to be asking was: Why? The only adequate response I've heard was: Why not?
Christo and Jeanne-Claude say The Gates only serve an aestetic purpose to the park. The husband and wife team struggled over three decades to construct these gates because they would look cool. Yet, this answer doesn't seem to satisfy anyone and I ask: Why not?
Let me start at the beginning of my experience with the work of Christo and Jeanne-Claude. I was five. I was sitting in a hot Plymounth Minivan with my mother, my father and my annoying younger sister sweating beside me in the back seat. That morning my parents loaded my sister and I into the car with a picnic and drove into the middle-of-California-nowhere. Let me set the scene for you again. Me, my family, a hot car, a two lane highway weaving through the California plains and giant yellow umbrellas. I had no idea why they were there. To a five year giant yellow unbrellas in the middle of nowhere is very confusing. I wanted to know why there were unbrellas in the plains and why they were open when it was sunny and why we drove in a hot car for hours to see them and why they were yellow. To a five year old they didn't make sense. My mother simply said “Its art”, which did not clear up the confusion for this five year old and has been ringing in her ears ever since. “Its art.”
I was resistant to the The Umbrellas because I didn’t understand them. I didn’t want to get out of the car to look at them. It was enough to watch the lines they formed, the patterns that kept changing as we drove past and the yellow blooms that were tucked into the folds of the mountains. I was more interested in eating, my parents tell me. I just wanted to have our picnic. Now, I regret not fully expiriencing The Umbrellas. I only saw them from far away and from a moving car. I remember the atmosphere of The Umbrellas and the plains: yellow. Yellow doesn’t just describe the color of The Umbrellas. Yellow was the sun beating down, the smell of sunscreen, the dying grass on the hills and the interior of the car. The whole experience was yellow. I thought this yellow experience was isolated, something I saw when I was five, something that would remain in my memory, alone and yellow.
Now, as a nineteen year old I understand that they don't have to mean anything, but it took fourteen years to figure that out. Five year old me needed a reason. The Umbrellas needed a reason. So I came up with a reason. The Umbrellas were there because a big company was having a company picnic, as we were. I pictured lots of men and women in suits milling around eating picnic food while enjoying the shade of the giant umbrellas. For a five year old this was enough of a reason and when I had my reason I was ready to eat and go home. Now, I think back to The Umbrellas and the few visual memories I actually have of them stretching out across the grasslands. Then I understand something, its not a point or a reason, just a something. The presense of The Umbrellas emphasized the endlessness, expansiveness and exposedness of the plains of California. Before they were just plains, but now the complete nothingness of them seems so evident. They stretched out along the freeway and completely surrounded little towns that seemed lost in all the empty yellow. The plains are just filled with grass, and I say filled, despite how empty they are. When the wind blows through those plains along the Grapevine[1], eighteen wheelers are likely to tip over. The plains are so utterly empty; so completely yellow.
Moving across the country and going to college suddenly filled my world with Christo and Jeanne-Claude again. The yellow memories of the past that I had dismissed as an event no one else would ever share resurfaced, this time in a darker hue. When Christo and Jeanne-Claude were installing The Gates into Central Park, the same emotions, responses and questions that my five year old self had asked, came to mind again. Why are they here? This time I had a better answer: Why not?
How does this relate to The Gates? Aside from the fact that the two projects are by the same artists, The Gates is the one project that is remotely similar to The Umbrellas. The other projects of Christo and Jeanne-Claude generally involve what the media calls "wrapping", a title that Jeanne-Claude does not hestitant to ridicule. The Gates are thousands of individulal structures, as were The Umbrellas, alone they might be cute and not given much notice, but when thousands of them – 7500 to be exact – line every walkway of such a public space people stand up and take notice. As I walked through Central Park the first afternoon that The Gates were "opened" other things began to jump out at me. On previous visits to Central Park I has seen the joggers and the trees and the ponds and they were very nice. When I visited with The Gates, the bright saffron invading this place of nature jumped out at me. It was intruding. It forced this unnatural creation of man into nature, almost like Frankenstein's Creature. Yet, when I started to look for The Gates as I walked beneath them and tried to see where the other paths lead, I didn't see The Gates anymore, I didn't see the saffron billowing in the wind. I saw the trees. I saw the mud. I saw the tourists. I even saw the Hawk that lives on Fifth Avenue. The Gates slowly disappeared and everything else popped out, particularly people who were wearing any shade of orange. I had never noticed so much orange before in my life. It was overwhelming and I'm not sure I care to see that much ever again. One critizism of The Gates is that all the saffron makes the park look like a construction zone. I don’t think the orange should be dismissed so lightly.
Stewart Edward White, in his book The Mountains, he talks about trying to see deer in the woods and how those unaccostumed to looking for deer, don’t often see deer. He says “A soon as you can forget the naturally obvious and construct an artificial obvious, then you too will see deer”(123). Although, you aren’t likely to see deer in Central Park, it is the construction of the artificial that allows you to see the park. The Gates are obviously artificial and although the park itself it a constructed entity, it has the allusion of being natural, The Gates do not. These artificial constructs imposed on the park allowed me to see aspects of the park I had never seen before. With The Gates I did not need to forget the naturally obvious and impose the artificial on to the park with my mind, Christo and Jeanne-Claude did it for me. The Gates allowed me to see the “deer” of Central Park.
The idea that The Gates makes everything around them more visible is a really interesting and confusing idea. It confuses me now the same way The Umbrellas confused the five year old. I feel I can see Central Park better because The Gates are there. Maybe its because they offer a gateway for me to see the park or they make me really look at the park, or more likely, since The Gates are in the park and I'm looking at them as if they are an art object, I see the space around them as an art object too. The whole park becomes art and not just the park; the people, the dogs, the vendors and even the surrounding buildings. The Gates seem out of place in Central Park; as do the people, the dogs, the vendors and the surrounding buildings.
Walt Whitman wrote in his famous poem Song of Myself
Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is proved by the seen,
Til that becomes the unseen and receives proof in its turn. (27)

This notion of duality is common in western philosophy. Two things – people, trees, art objects – rely on others to justify their existance. A person and their dog, a tree and the soil, a painting and the museum, The Umbrellas and California, The Gates and New York, California and New York, The Umbrellas and The Gates. Without The Gates I would never have reached a personal peace with The Umbrellas and without The Umbrellas I would never have been so open to just seeing The Gates. With both The Umbrellas and The Gates I first saw them, because they were what was intruding on the natural landscape. I had driven along the Grapevine before and through the endless plains along the Grapevine and I had walked through Central Park before, but with these old places decorated with new intrusions I just saw the intrusions. Through The Umbrellas and through The Gates I saw the landscape in a new golden light. I saw California more empty and I saw New York more crowded. The Umbrellas emphasized the emptyness of the California plains, The Gates emphasize the crowdedness of New York’s Central Park.
Christo and Jeanne-Claude helped me bridge the gap between California and New York, between childhood and adulthood. I spent my entire childhood in California with the image of the rolling plains somewhere on the other side of a free way leading to lush orange groves and yellow umbrellas somewhere deep in my consciousness. The plane trip from LA to NY becacme the literal transition from childhood into adulthood and Christo and Jeanne-Claude were there to greet me and usher me into my adulthood with something familiar, although confusing.
With the beginning of adulthood came an understanding of the unanswered questions of childhood through the connection between The Umbrellas and The Gates. I realized that not all questions have answers and not all answers have questions. The Umbrellas and The Gates are both answers and questions, unto themselves. Although, they help each other in finding the answers and asking the questions, they do not complete each other. Moving to New York seemed to be an answer to my depression all through high school, but the depression was not a question. While The Gates answered the questions raised by the five year old about The Umbrellas, The Umbrellas were not able to answer new questions raised by The Gates. However, The Gates did make me ponder whether I was asking the questions in the right way.
Answering the questions of childhood, with the questions of adulthood lets me know that I keep moving on, just as I moved across the entire country to find answers for the five year old. Although, having childhood questions answered is satisfying, and puts the child’s mind at peace, the adult keeps pushing.
Why are there yellow umbrellas here?
Its art.
Why is this art? Why are the saffron gates art?
Why not?
The cycle just keeps going. The why’s just keep proliferating.
Christo and Jeanne-Claude’s work is temporary and immidiate, but it took me fourteen years to understand that. I thought it should have a lasting impact in the form of a “reason d’être” but the lasting effect is due to its temporality. I could go to the Met everyday of the week and stare at Da Vinci’s sketch of the Head of the Virgin and study each line and I would remember the sketch, and say I understood what Da Vinci was doing with color, light and perspective. But The Umbrellas and The Gates do not remain still and perspective, light and color change with each viewing and each movement around them you make. Da Vinci’s sketch represents the head of the Virgin Mary. Christo and Jeanne-Claude say their work doesn’t mean anything. If The Gates represent anything, whether the artists say it or not, it has more to do with peace then anything else. People from all over the country, all over the world, I'm sure are flocking to New York City's Central Park to see them. If anything The Gates are bringing people. Yet, with The Gates and The Umbrellas I saw them each once as I walked or drove around them, they exist in my memory, and The Umbrellas remained in my memory from a five year old perspective, growing more yellow with age. Only now under the influence of The Gates has that image been updated, given a technicolor rebirth through saffron.
The Umbrellas and The Gates swirl together in my memory, blending the old and the new, my past and my present, yellow and saffron. The Umbrellas and The Gates are both shades of citrus in my mind and no matter where I am, the smell of citrus will remind me of who I am.




Bibliography
1) Christo and Jeanne-Claude. The Gates. New York Central Park, New York. 1979-2005
2) Christo and Jeanne-Claude. The Umbrellas. The California Plains, California. 1991.
3) Da Vinci, Leonardo. Head of the Virgin. Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York. Drawings and Prints. By Harris Brisbane Dick fund. 1951
4) Donovan. Mellow Yellow. 1966.
5) White, Stewart Edward. The Mountains. New York: McClure, Phillips & Company, 1904.Whitman, Walt. Leaves of Grass. New York: Barnes and Noble Classics, 1993.
[1] The Grapevine is a stretch of highway that connects the coastal region of CA to the agricultural valley in the center of the state. It is called the Grapevine because of the way it winds across the plains – like a grapevine.

Revolution for the essence of humanity

Someone once said
“I believe we are lost here in America,
but I also believe we can be found.”
I believe we will be found.

Revolution for the essence of humanity
Revolution for the essence of you
Revolution for the essence of humanity

My skin has no color
And no color shall own my skin
I am the color of humanity
Humanity has a color of its own

Revolution for the essence of you

No person claims my body
But I put no claim on it myself
My body is part of Humanity
And Humanity encompasses my body

Revolution for the essence of you

I stand no more in front of you
Then you stand in front of me
We stand facing each other
Looking out into the world

Revolution for the essence of humanity
Revolution for the essence of you
Revolution for the essence of humanity

I reach no more up to the sky
Then it reaches down and touches me
With me it feel all of humanity
And I feel them too

Revolution for the essence of Humanity

The ocean laps at my ankles
Taking my skin, my salt and me
And pieces of everyone are washed together
Creating the sea of ourselves

Revolution for the essence of Humanity

The waves of our sea cleanse
The dirty shores of our countries
They swirl together creating a one
And washes us all into one

Revolution for the essence of humanity
Revolution for the essence of you
Revolution for the essence of humanity

And in this one
I am no better then the next
And the next has no power over me
We are each as good as each other

Revolution for the essence of you

In my fellow human’s eyes I see myself
And I come to know myself
In my eyes they see themselves
And come to know themselves too

Revolution for the essence of you

By each other we know ourselves better
I learn the movement of my hand from my brother
The shape of my lips from my lover
And the power of touch from my daughter

Revolution for the essence of humanity
Revolution for the essence of you
Revolution for the essence of humanity

With my knowledge of myself
From the people around me
I teach the people of themselves
And through me they learn of themselves

Revolution for the essence of Humanity

But through my teaching of them
I learn more of myself
They are as much my teacher
As I am their teacher

Revolution for the essence of humanity

We learn of our world
And we sweep to the salt waters of sea
To be become the one of the dream
And in our dream we melt into one

Revolution for the essence of humanity
Revolution for the essence of you
Revolution for the essence of humanity

Then we are found.

Everytime I read this poem I get a strange feeling that its some kind of weird cross between Whitman and rap poetry. I did write it, but I'm not sure what to make of it.

Tonight's AIM away message. Longer then any other.

my mind is wandering through the night, not looking for a place to rest, just a place to pass the time before i have to move on. a place where the sun shines brighter at night and the noise doesn't stop my thoughts. where the moon is the sun and nights are always fair and the darkness isn't scary and only hides the parts you don't want to show and reveals to you new things that were never there before in the night.

looking at the post in purple. makes me think about what colors mean. I think i've been thinking too much as of late.

One of Those Nights

Its one of those nights. To explain what I mean before I just start to write whatever pours from my finger tips to free my head of the thoughts that are caused by nights like this I would like to reproduce a few of my recent AIM away messages. They are as follows:
And the onset of yet another sleepless night creeps up on me and i yell at my play, which i've learned doesn't help. the night is warm maybe i'll go for a walk outside. the summer night's calling my name.
I like hot summer. i like when its so hot that you can feel the air press up against every inch of you. it makes me feel safe, like the world is giving my a big hug. i don't need to hide because everyone cares. then hot summer nights pillow me in their warm touch and i don't need to sleep and i don't need to cry. i love hot balmy summer night and i love afternoon showers in the heat and i love waking up in that coating of sweat and i love feel warm and hugged by the world.
And onward to the ramblings that are Morrigana.
So many ideas are flooding my thoughts right now that i'm scared if i start writing about one i'll lose the others adn never return to them and leave a million loose ends. I'm trying to get this in this blog to tie together neatly in a package. To mean something cohesive, but the more I try the more I fail and the more I realize that life itself doesn't tie neatly into a package, so why should my blog? And why does it need to tie up now? The tieing up can wait until my life has an end in sight and I need to tie things up to not leave a mess for the rest of the world, if I'm so lucky. I hope to leave the world a better place then i was born into. I try to pick up other people's trash and clean up my own messes. But the world is so big and there is so much trash out there that I get overwhelmed and on night like this it doesn't matter any more, as long as I'm good, then the world is good. But its also on nights like this that i'm not sad and i stay awake thinking and i can't stop the thought from coming and i don't sleep, but it doesn't matter. I don't feel tired from my thoughts they refresh me and invigorate me and help me live better. i love to walk. it is my new favorite thing to do on warm summer afternoons and nights when the rest of the world is relaxed. its so beautiful. i just walk and walk and i see new things and i hear people and connect with the world. i had always wondered why people were so crazy about the ipod and had suddenly come to realize the desire. you can have all your music, all in one small devise that you can take places. With CD's you need to bring each one and they are heavy, or you make mixes, but either way there are limits. With an ipod the only limit is the megabit and you can always delete bad songs. But today as i was walking through the village and watching the people and their dogs and the trees, i realized ipods cut you off from all of that. you exist in your little ipod world, where everything is governed by the sound of the song. its like wearing sunglasses for me. I started doing that recently in an attempt to protect me eyes, because i do bad things to them, like typing and reading late at night. Also they look pretty cool and i can look at people and they don't always know. It also makes it easier to ignore catcalls. Anway, I realize that like the my sunglasses the ipod filters the world for the wearer. As i realized this, walking through the village. I took off my sunglasses and put them in my bag. I saw the world better.
Then i got ice cream, because it was free cone day at ben and jerry's. the line moved really fast, but my brain did this nice thing where it suddenly made me aware of every inch of fat on my body. I told it to shut up and look at the flowers. I was going to get my ice cream and enjoy it. Which i did. I walked through Washington Square park and remembered my camera. i took pictures of flowers and nothing. then a tourist couple asked me to take their picture. I wish i could have found the zoom. but they didn't speak english and i they didn't say enough for me to recognize which language they spoke. I think i speak it too though, well a small bit of it. I was able to use french, spanish and italian at work the other day. i was so proud. i hope to minor in linguistics. As i was walking along the bloominb tree lined streets i want The Boy. I just wanted him to walk beside me and hold my hand and reassure me that the trees are beautiful. I almost called him, but i was too scared. I don't know why I'm still scared to call and ask him things. Somewhere deep inside i think i know he wouldn't refuse the request to see him, unless he was very busy, because we are good at distracting each other. In the park the most beautiful trees are in bloom. I'm not sure what they are, but they look like they should bare fruit when the blossoms are gone. As i was standing beneath one of the trees and the small white, pink edged petals fell all around me i was struck with an interesting thought. I want these flowers at my wedding and i want my wedding in the early spring. I never think about myself in conjuction to marriage. i just dont. I'm the girl the phrase "always a brides maid, never a bride" will apply to. the only vision I had of my own wedding, was going to the court house to file the necessary legal documents. I've always wondered why i thought that was marriage. I've only every been to two weddings. The first one was very small. If was beautiful. It was in my own back yard and my father was the officer of the peace presiding. He has the legal right to marry people. he actually married himself. By that i mean he was the person who over saw the wedding, where he was also the groom. The second wedding was in a church and there was a reception afterwards. Very traditional, very formal. I always feel awkward at things like that, maybe thats why i don't want one. i liked the back yard ceromony it was beautiful. I probably remember it more beautiful then it was. But the beauganvillia wasin full bloom and it was lush and green. I miss the messy lush garden of my old house. The new garden is more dry, more designed. There was a quaint organic feel to the old one. Like if grew up from the earth and became a garden. The ground was always soft and moist, even where the grass wore away it was moist, but never muddy. Maybe that's why I was so unhappy for so long. the garden seemed so made. the whole house seemed so made. i wanted something more organic again. maybe the transition wasn't as easy for me as i thought it was. maybe i didn't show my anger for leaving my childhood fantasy land and moving into a new house that we had just built, from the remenants of an old house. maybe i pent up my anger and then it came pouring out, years later with each small pebble slowly gathering until they avalanched and i was incapacitated. I guess i'll never know. that was another me and we don't know each other anymore. Sometimes i miss her, or parts of her. I miss her faith in things, really faith and trust. I have faith and i have trust, but i know in the cave in my heart, that they might fail me and i have other options. i miss her passion. i have passion, but its not so blind. I'm also now, starting to miss her ability to love. For so long i told myself i could not love. the emotion was bad for me. I was right. Love was too complicated for me to feel at the time. I would get lost in it. So i convinced myself it didn't exist. that love was a lie. now i believe it and i know i can't love any more. I can't love was recklessly. I wish I could. I think The Boy desires that, but i think that kind of love might scare him, just as much as it once scared me. I scared me so much i banished it from my heart and now there isn't a place for it there anymore. Love has fled. Love is gone. But i can care and i know when i should love someone. I can tell where that emotion is missing. I thinking sleeping with someone you care about deeply, maybe even love, is the most beautiful thing ever. And by sleeping, i actually mean sleep, closing your eyes and traveling into the unconscious. it requires so much trust and honesty and bravery. it is so beautiful. I think there is a difference between having sex with some one, making love to them and sleeping with them. The last two are very similar, but the first one is raw almost brutal. The first time The Boy and I had sex, after i had to go back to my bed to sleep. He said I could stay and spend the time, but i was scared. Sex, sure. Sleeping, no. I wasn't ready. It was a scary proposal. Things have changed since then. Sleeping with The Boy is so peaceful and so easy. We have complete honesty and even in sleep we almost understand each other. One night i just woke up, for no reason and slowly turned and saw he was awake too. We had both been asleep, but we woke up. Later he said he was just looking at me sleep and that i looked so peaceful. Normally, someone looking at you while, you sleep is creepy, but it was so sweet. he said he was looking at me and he just wanted to kiss me. We didn't sleep anymore that night. We just held each other. he is so warm. I love the heat and the warmth of him. I only like natural heat sources, which i believe are the sun, the center of the earth and other people. that is the kind of heat i need and i can never get enough. The Boy always says the most beautiful things to me. They are simple and pure and so beautiful. I wish i could put the beauty of his words in a little box and wear it around my neck. Then i would never lose those words and i could keep them with me forever. i think that's my biggest fear right now, not having him any more. I think that's why the prospect of summer is LA was so ugly. It seems alright now, long and incertain, but not so scary. I'll have My Boy here waiting for me, but I wont keep him waiting forever. one day i suppose i'll have to share him and let him go on to something better. i'm not a future, i'm just a place to spend sometime in the present.

Every time I work in the music department (twice) i get asked out by a customer. What's the deal? I mean seriously men. Why ask me out at work? A) I'm working, B) umm...I"m working and most importantly, but not a visual cue C) I have a boyfriend and am very very very happy with him. So men of the world, while it is sweet that you, a stranger, is asking me out, not of work, come on. Yes, I do know I work at the number 1 place to meet eligible singles, but come on, not the employees. We are working, go hit on other shoppers. Okay. end of rant.

A new pope was elected today. Not that I care much. Many more exciting things happened to me today. Well, maybe not. I turned in a musical to my teacher and then interviewed her for an essay. I suppose that might be interesting. However, I did learn there have been 265 popes since Saint Peter. There was one more who died before he was conscreted. THe more interesting aspect of my brief research was the discovery of antipopes, which are actually recognized figures, who were often excomminicated. Isn't that cool? There are 43 recognized antipopes and hasn't been one since 1443. When it became an offense that was automatically excommunicatable, before it was just advisable. Anyway, I'm enamoured of the idea of antipopes.

Response

SkinnyMalinkee: hey i just wanted to leave a message saying this : i just read your blog and i dunno i love the love post for some reason. yeah... i guess its cause i've spent the last bloody month being sat on like a fucking toilet by none other then myself because of it. yeah that was my rant...i dunno I am in awe of the fact that people have been trying to figure out love for a millenia and still have gotten no where- its kinda unbelievable. anyways. night night!

Its nice to know I help people and that my blog is not purely narcisstic. However, I'm shocked people can still stand to read it.

LOVE

I think I need to explain something. This might take a while and I'm a wee bit tired, okay, a lot bit tired. I'm going to try to explain my views of LOVE; the word, the concept, the misconception and its applications to me (like everything on this whole fucking blog (I've recently felt the need to describe a lot of things as "fucking", which could become a problem when I return to my parents house.)).

THE WORD
I use "the L word" is three ways. 1) to express a deep connection and trust with friends. So the word is often dropped very casually with people like Scurvyseawench and Countrybird. Also, may of my friends back home, who I've never mentioned before. 2) to express the long, long, long relationship and kinship of my family. Mostly my immediate family. 3) the powerful, scary one. To express love for someone. In my case it would be someone of the opposite sex, exclusively, but this varies from person to person. This is the way that parents warn their kids about using the word and the way it can change lives when used for the first time. It can have the same effect as "Will you marry me?" or "I do."I remember when my dad heard me tell The Ex that I loved him, oh so many years ago now, my dad took me aside later and warned me about those words. I blew him off at the time, but now I realize the wisdom in that warning.
THE CONCEPT
The concept of love is hard to grasp and define. What is love? People have been trying to define it for millinia.
Let's take a moment to break from my discuss of love and give the dictionary definition. Merriam-Webster defines love as(well, they're are 2 seperate entries):
love \'lev\ n 1 : strong affection 2 : warm attachment (~of the sea) 3 : attraction based on sexual desire 4 : a beloved person 5 : unselfish loyal and benevolent concern for others 6 : a score of zero in tennis - love*less adj
love vb loved; lov*ing 1 :CHERISH 2 : to feel apassion, devotion, or tenderness for 3 :CARESS 4 : to take pleasure in (~s to plat bridge) - lov*able \'le-ve-bel\ adj - lov*er n
So, now we're all on the same page as to the standard definition. Although, I'm sure we're all aware of what love is standardly suppose to feel like, or the act of being in love.
So, now that we have a definition. People have been trying to define love for millinia and often don't develop anything new. On my bookself, I have Plato's dialogues, which often try to understand the concept of love. I also have a book, which I have not read yet, called Against Love; A polemic by Laura Kipnis, which argues against love (I think). She wrote this book, because no one has ever been against love. Then I have Whitman and the non-narcissitic self-love and plays looking into "the power of love". But none of these every tell us what it is. Love is the great undefined.
I think that's enough for tonight. Maybe tomorrow, while procrastinating finishing my play I'll talk more about what I think about love. Its too late for my opinions now and I'm exhausted. Good night. Sweet dreams.

So The Boy and I haven't yet talked about summer us yet and I'm still really nervous about the whole thing, but I'm hoping he's nervous too. I was talk (at this point in writing this post, my phone rings. Its The Boy and I answer in nervous anticipation. He just read the email that I sent about a minute before I started writing this. He's coming over and we're going to talk)
LATER
Like three hours later. Yes, this is a three hour post. However, it is nothing like a three hour tour, because no one has to remain on this post for years. So three hours later, after just sitting and talking in my closet, well not just talking, there was quite a bit of silence. So when we finally got to the topic at hand, which took all of...um...five minute....no....5 seconds to agree about.....we are going to stay together over the summer.....or as he so neatly put it "I will wait for you". That made my heart drop about two feet. I am soooo Happy.
Then he handed me this little card. A mere trifle really, but it meant our entire world. It meant so much. I never want to let it go. I so scared to lose it already. I think I could tell this boy I love him. Which is strange, because I don't believe in love, but sometimes it creeps up on me and I have to press my lips to his to stop myself from speaking. Please, don't tell him. It scares me.

This is how he said goodnight before he signed off:

princessmorrigana: good night, sweet The Boy
The Boy: good night, exquisit morrigana. may your dreams suit your mind's destiny
The Boy: mwah.
princessmorrigana: mwah

Why am I so utterly hopeless? I didn't have anything to say. Granted, it left me pretty speechless at first. Then I wanted to shout. "Can I keep him". Like from Casper. Yes, its a pathetic reference, but the moment is very sweet. Also, I did not call him The Boy. I did call him by his name, but his name is for me to know and whisper at night and you to wonder about.

And now sleep, before I make more of a fool out of myself.

And inhale. Exhale. I'm talking to my boyfriend on AIM and the whole "what are we going to do about us for the summer?" Which is not really something I ever wanted to face. I'm at a place where enjoying the present is the best thing ever. The future can wait and I can't help the past, so present, I love you. Anyway, we decided that we should talk about it later, in person. Which kind of makes me sick, but also relieved. He did agree that we should talk about that, but since we are talking on AIM, I don't know how he feels about that from his facial expressions. DAMN YOU IMPERSONAL INTERNET!!! DAMN YOU!!! No wait, I need you. Anyway, so the what's my relationship status for the summer question is sitting somewhere, unvoiced in cyber-space. Oh please. I really want to keep him, but I shall not be psycho if he disagrees. Well, I wish myself luck.

I just realized I posted that damn poem about Morrigana twice. What am I to do with myself? whoa. deja vu, so hard. I totally dreamed about this post at the beginning of the school year before I even had a blog. This kind of thing happens all the time. I wish it would tell me important things. It did once.

I never much noticed before how very much the weather affects my moods. I really am a child of LA. I like the sun very much indeed.

I'm a failure as a writer, can someone just tell me that now and save me the pain of figuring it out on my own.

On that note; a poem.

Morrigana

Celtic goddess, red hair’d, old crow,
Of three you take my sword from me.
The gift of friend, the fear of foe,
Alight you witch on yonder tree.

I’ll tell your tale of death and life,
From the high wind and the low lake.
Firbolg slayer, mother and wife,
Revengeful of the ones we make.

Sent thee, Cu Chulainn to his grave,
A thousand men did not him break,
With careless words his fate did pave,
One woman, fair, his life did take.

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

To him you went in splendid youth.
Long red, thick hair, high cheeks, soft lips,
On bended knee you spoke the truth.
Around your neck hung fair cowslips.

Between your hands you took his face,
Upon his lips to plant a kiss,
I love you, Cu Chulainn, sweet grace;
Into his ear you whisper’d this.

He push’d you from his gentle touch
Away you flew in wing’d frenzy
Never before expirenc’d such
From one used to being choosey.

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

As the battle was raging on
You hatched yourself a vengeful plan.
Just before the morning’s pale dawn
From the river came a Scotsman.

In his teeth a rusty old knife
The most cunning of a decoy
Him sent by you to stop this strife
Quickly kill Cu Chulainn, young boy.

From Cu Chulainn came the first blood
Through his shoulder pierc’d cold copper
Pouring forth into red wet mud
You would rescue him, Earth Stopper.

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

As an old hag you went to him
Healing blessings to him offered
When his future lookèd near grim
From help he would have just proffered

Away you went leaving him cursed
A second time he saw not you
Only heading into the worst
Of the troubles that would ensue

Before the last battle was fought
You took his shirt to mark for death
You wash it with the water fraught
Of the souls who not more draw breath

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

He dressed himself in your clean robe, wrappèd his sword around his waist
He was too soon to leave this globe
Upon him soon she, death, made haste

He lay alone in the cold mud
As his body lost all its heat
And all around saturat’d with blood
That time was when he knew defeat

In shape of bird on him you sat
To show the world your true power
You won, at last, this long savate
Still reign supreme in the last hour

Raven women, dressèd in black,
The lives of dead men in your sack.

Its really interesting how small things can change my mood so drastically. For example; on friday my registar was about $10 short when I left, which really sucks. (however the money was found later) This discrepancy triggered my emotional collapse on friday night. It was kind of the thing that broke the camel's back. Then today, I was in a fairly blah mood, then some one helped point me in a thoughtful direction in regards to my play, which sky rocketed my mood into happiness and the happiness has stuck all day long. Which is way awesome. Its cool how small things can affect ones mood so drastically. It can also really suck, but its cool thinking about it. Also, its still sunny and its like 7:30. Yippee!!!!

Since tonight to going to be strange for me emotionally, I'm just going to post everything that I've meant to post for the last month.

Number One.
A conversation I had with Countrybird that I thought was worth sharing:
Countrybird: wow, my parents must really miss me
Morrigana: they probably only realized after they saw you
Morrigana: that they missed you sooooo soooooo very much
Countrybird: heeheehee
Morrigana: i never realize i miss you until i see you
Countrybird: I think its one of those things were they could look FORWARD to seeing me and now there are no more plans to come out here and so they realized how long it is until summer
Morrigana: aawwwwww
Countrybird: awww I miss you sometimes too
Morrigana: ya know how like sometimes you miss a person when you're hugging them?
Countrybird: yeah
Countrybird: tottally
Countrybird: or you dont realize you miss them until you call them
Morrigana: ya well, i never feel that way with you
Morrigana: (i'm laughing histerically at this end, FYI)
Countrybird: you weirdo
Morrigana: i love you
Morrigana: no, sometimes i do miss you when you;re sitting across the table talking with some one else
Countrybird: hahaha
Countrybird: oh you silly goose
Morrigana: maybe thats jealousy
Countrybird: heheheheeeeeeeeeeeee
Countrybird: that makes me giggle
Morrigana: oh good

Number Two:
A Poem I wrote which tells the story of Morrigana, goddess of the Tuatha De Danann, who defeated Cu Chulainn at the fields of Mag Tuireadh.
Morrigana

Celtic goddess, red hair’d, old crow,
Of three you take my sword from me.
The gift of friend, the fear of foe,
Alight you witch on yonder tree.

I’ll tell your tale of death and life,
From the high wind and the low lake.
Firbolg slayer, mother and wife,
Revengeful of the ones we make.

Sent thee, Cu Chulainn to his grave,
A thousand men did not him break,
With careless words his fate did pave,
One woman, fair, his life did take.

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

To him you went in splendid youth.
Long red, thick hair, high cheeks, soft lips,
On bended knee you spoke the truth.
Around your neck hung fair cowslips.

Between your hands you took his face,
Upon his lips to plant a kiss,
I love you, Cu Chulainn, sweet grace;
Into his ear you whisper’d this.

He push’d you from his gentle touch
Away you flew in wing’d frenzy
Never before expirenc’d such
From one used to being choosey.

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

As the battle was raging on
You hatched yourself a vengeful plan.
Just before the morning’s pale dawn
From the river came a Scotsman.

In his teeth a rusty old knife
The most cunning of a decoy
Him sent by you to stop this strife
Quickly kill Cu Chulainn, young boy.

From Cu Chulainn came the first blood
Through his shoulder pierc’d cold copper
Pouring forth into red wet mud
You would rescue him, Earth Stopper.

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

As an old hag you went to him
Healing blessings to him offered
When his future lookèd near grim
From help he would have just proffered

Away you went leaving him cursed
A second time he saw not you
Only heading into the worst
Of the troubles that would ensue

Before the last battle was fought
You took his shirt to mark for death
You wash it with the water fraught
Of the souls who not more draw breath

Raven woman, dressèd in black,
What do you carry in your sack?

He dressed himself in your clean robe, wrappèd his sword around his waist
He was too soon to leave this globe
Upon him soon she, death, made haste

He lay alone in the cold mud
As his body lost all its heat
And all around saturat’d with blood
That time was when he knew defeat

In shape of bird on him you sat
To show the world your true power
You won, at last, this long savate
Still reign supreme in the last hour

Raven women, dressed in black,
The lives of dead men in your sack.

Number Three.
Massive amounts of venting.
I'm just so frusterated by so much right now. The end of the school year is so close I can taste it, but I dont' want to go back to LA because I don't like the person I am in LA. I really want to stay in NYC, but money is an issue and even though I have a job its not really enough. Then my job. My job. I really do like working at Barnes and Noble. I also like the people. No problems there. But what happens if I go back to LA. Then I have to get a transfer. I have to tell them that soon. If I don't I'll just switch to full time for the summer, which I'm sure they won't mind at all, but that requires me to be here. Oh, the arguement is circle.
Secondly, my face. I know, I know. Young girls always complain about their faces. But listen. Its not pimply or anything. It just burns and I don't spend time in the sun. I'm worried I have Lupus. My mother has Lupus and I know she worries I have Lupus and now I'm worried. Also, so my face hurts and is red, I had those hand pains a month or so ago, my whole body feel off kind of and I've been kind of shaky over the last few days. I think I should go get tested, even though I was tested 2 years ago, but I don't want to worry my mom. I know her worst nightmare is that my sister or I have Lupus. Anyway, on the note.

Number Four.
A play. I wrote. Which is kind of based on my experiences growing up.

SISTERHOOD IN FIVE MINUTES

Older(2) and Younger(0).

OLDER Mommy, what’s that? (stop and wait as if listening for a response) I don’t want a little sister.
YOUNGER (cries like a small baby)
OLDER Mommy, watch me dance.Older does a little dance.
They age three years.
OLDER Now, we’re going to have a tea party and I get the pretty hat and you get the other hat.
YOUNGER Okay.
OLDER And I’m going to wear the pink dress and you get the blue one.
YOUNGER Okay.
They age three more years.
OLDER I’m going to be Wendy for Halloween and you can be Peter Pan.
YOUNGER Okay.
OLDER So, you’re a boy.
YOUNGER No, I’m a girl.
OLDER But Peter Pan’s a boy.
YOUNGER In the movie Peter Pan’s a girl.
OLDER But in real life Peter Pan’s a boy.
YOUNGER I don’t want to be a boy.
OLDERYou have to be a boy because I said so.
YOUNGER No.
OLDER You have to be Peter Pan.
Older pushes Younger. Younger starts to cry. They age two more years.
OLDER You were an accident. Mom told me.
YOUNGER No, I wasn’t.
OLDER Yes, you were.
YOUNGER Mom and Dad had me because they messed up with you and they wanted a better child.
OLDER No, they had you because I am so wonderful they wanted another one, but miracles don’t strike twice in the same place.
YOUNGERI hate you.
OLDER I hate you more.
YOUNGER I’ve hated you longer.
OLDER I’ve hated you since you were born.
They age two more years. Younger is crying and Older is trying to comfort her.
OLDER Shhh. Go to sleep.
YOUNGER You think Mom will be all right?
OLDER She’ll be all right. They’re going to make her feel better.
YOUNGER When will she be better?
OLDER I don’t know. Soon. The doctors are working really hard.
YOUNGER What’s wrong with her?
OLDER I don’t know.
OUNGER Will Daddy fly home to be with us?
OLDER He has to work to pay for Mom to be in the Hospital.
YOUNGER I’m scared.
OLDER Its okay. Shhh. Go to sleep. I’ll stay here. I’m right here.
They age three more years.
YOUNGER Hey, can we talk?
OLDER I’m kinda busy. I’ve got a lot of homework due tomorrow.
YOUNGER I’ll be really fast. Please?
OLDER Okay. Quick.
YOUNGER I got my period.
Facetiously sweet.
OLDER Oh sweetie. Congratulations.
YOUNGER Thanks.
OLDER My little baby’s growing up.
YOUNGER Okay. Stop.
OLDER It really sucks doesn’t it?
YOUNGER Hey, it sucks a lot. I don’t want to grow up.
OLDER You don’t have a choice.
They age four more years. On the phone.
OLDER Hey, how are you?
YOUNGER Okay. I miss you.
OLDER I miss you too.
YOUNGER I wanted to go shopping with you.
OLDER You never want to go shopping, I always had to drag you.
YOUNGER I know.
They age ten years.Older is pregnant.
OLDER This baby needs to come out now. Its already been in there nine months. The timer is ringing, but the oven door is not opening.
YOUNGER It’ll come soon enough. Enjoy your pregnancy while it lasts, after delivery, you’ll want it back in there.
OLDER I never want to be pregnant again. Just wait until you have kids.
YOUNGER After its out, you’ll be all postpartum and depressed.
OLDER Yeah. I’m sure.
They age two years. Younger is pregnant.
OLDER So how’s the little bun?
YOUNGER Over done, its going to burn if it doesn’t come out soon.
OLDER It’ll come soon enough.
YOUNGER How do women do this more than once?
OLDER You’re asking the wrong person.
They age four more years. It is Christmas. The sisters watch as their kids play with their new toys on the floor.
OLDER Where did you get the Talkin’ Teddy. They have been sold out of every store since November.
YOUNGER July.
OLDER July? You bought Christmas presents in July?
YOUNGER Yeah. I thought it was ridiculous too. But now she’s going to be so popular at school.
OLDER You’re going to let her take it to school and get stolen?
YOUNGER No. But she’ll tell kids and then they’ll want to come over.
OLDER Do you really think that she should make friends because of a doll?
YOUNGER She needs friends. As long as they’re nice to her, it doesn’t matter how she makes them.
OLDER You had the same problem in grade school, you never kept friends long. Mom worried about it all the time.
YOUNGER She should have bought me one of those skip-it things.
OLDER Oh my god. I remember those awful death traps. Ha.
They are older. At Younger’s youngest daughter’s wedding.
YOUNGER She looks so beautiful.
OLDER She does.
YOUNGER I can’t believe all our children are married now.
OLDER I know.
YOUNGER And you’re a grandmother.
OLDER Not yet.
YOUNGER Okay. In a month.
OLDER And don’t forget that month. I’m holding on to this non-grandmother month as long as possible.
They are now Older(56) and Younger(54). Older is rubbing her hands and wrist in a clumsy way trying to push away the pain of one hand with a pained other hand.
OLDER The drugs aren’t working as well anymore.
YOUNGER Are you still on that study?
OLDER Yeah.
YOUNGER Are you sure you’re not getting the placebo?
OLDER I thought I was getting the drug. I had been doing so much better for a while.
YOUNGER I know. Can you stop the study? Do you have other options?
OLDER I’ve tried all the other options.
YOUNGER What does that mean?
OLDER I don’t know.
YOUNGER I’ll always be here for you. For anything. I love you.
OLDER I love you, too.

Number Five.
Thats a lot to post for one night. So I'm going to stop and I'm going to say good night.
GOOD NIGHT!!!

This is not a test. I am on the verge of a breakdown. This should be an interesting post because I've never posted in the present tense.

My whole body feels shaky. I want the lights out and I want everyone to leave. My roommate who is studying musical theater has 5 friends over and they are too much. Usually I can kind of handle them. Right now I just want them to leave. They need to leave now. I just want to curl up and hide. They need to leave. I want quiet. They need to leave now. I should ask them to leave, but I feel that the smallest thing is going to cause me to cry. I just opened a container of food and it was giving me problems and I almost cried. The worst thing is that my roommate's friends are talking about horror movies. PLEASE LEAVE!!! I just want my whole body to stop shaking.

I'm feeling a little better now, having eaten. However the people are still here and they still need to leave.

They have left. Quiet has returned to the room. I'm still a little shaky, but mostly better. I guess I'll see how the rest of the night progresses.

Okay I think the whole thing has passed. I'm good for now.

That was scary. The last thing I needed was a breakdown. Okay. breath. Breath. breath.

Mistinguett

I bought a CD of Mistinguett, she's a french singer from the 30's and 40's. So now I'm going to be really pretenious and write in french.
J'aime Mistinguett. Elle a un sond tres original. Elle chante dans sa nez, mais ce n'est pas horrible. J'aime. Elle a chante dans les annees 20 et 30. Elle a chante apres Edith Piaf et je elle aime plus. Edith Piaf a un sond que et tres intense et beaucoup des emotions, mais.....on dois ecoute que elle fume beaucoup, beaucoup. Mistinguett est un peu comic et je pense que elle ri a elle meme. J'aime ca. Elle chante un peu du jazz, un peu les chansons avec un histoire et les chansons comic.
J'aime le francais. J'aime parler francais et j'aime lire le francais. I veux prendre un class de francais. Je deteste l'italian. Ce n'est pas beau. Le francais est tres beau parceque il y a beaucoup des voyelle. J'adore le sond du voyelles. J'espere que je prende un class de francais tout suit.
Alors, maintenainte, j'ai besoin d'aller a ma travaille. Je travail dans un magasin des livres. C'est bien de travailler dans un magasin des livre.
aurevoir, mes amies. J'espere que vous comprendez un peu de ce poste. Je vous aime.

Today has been a very odd day. It started with me skipping my Italian class to watch a movie for my Craft class. However, I did actually sleep last night for a solid eight hours, which I haven't done for a week or so. Then I went to Craft and was late. I'm not sure why I was late, the time just kind of snuck up on my and suddenly I was late. I don't have a good relationship with time. It never seems to pass in a consisant way. Anyway, I didn't really want to be in class today because the sun was calling me outside, but after class I just went back to my room and slept. So my whole day has been spinning. However, before I went back to sleep I was online and The Ex, IMed me. That was a shock. Apparently he was in Albany last week and is going to be atending a graduate program there in the fall. Who knew? However, he is engaged, like the rumors said, but she is not moving to Albany with him for school. I wonder how long that will last. It's probably better if they end it. He is so damn young. Way to young to be getting married. Not that I should be talking, but I'm not married and not looking to forge into that landscape. Dispite my previous post. I really don't have anything interesting to say today. So I won't good bye. I'll try to write more often.

My Future

I can't believe I haven't posted for so long. I guess that's what happens when I acually do stuff. I guess my posts would be more interesting if I wrote when I was doing things. Oh, well. So I think after I graduate I will resign to the fact that the only thing I'm ever going to be good at is being a mediocre midwestern house wife.