"Good people of Leonardo!"
Mar. 12th, 2006 03:11 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wolven7Futurama - [X-Mas Elves]--- I wrote some stuff this weekend. This was a good weekend, melancholy, nostalgic, and relaxing as all hell.
Blues Traveler - [Freedom]--- Here's what I wrote:
[03.11.06 (In the Airport and On the Plane) Home. Where every smell evokes a forgotten scene; a taste of something to which you haven't been privvy for nigh on to half your current existence. A place in which you find faces, questioning rememberances of love, silently pleading for you to return to them, that most precious thing which only you could take. How can you tell them that something fundamental has changed? How can you explain that this place no longer knows its referent, when it cries your name?
Eleven years away from "home," and the streets are changing, tunnels know your scent, but cannot place your sound, when you (echo) into them again and again and again. Even that echo evoking memories, though his sight clouded over, when he last saw your face and did hers light up, or was that tansferrence? Transposition? The lines of home connect your facets of life. Georgetown to Downtown, Downtown to NorthEast, NorthEast branches into three distinct flavours of Home. Nine if you count your life outside the citiy itself. And as the lines have changed, in your absence, no longer do your faces mesh, match, converge. Its name is a symbiote which feels rejected, unloved.
You are chimeric socio-. Logos and Pathos follow you until the end of time, for yours is the static, ever-changing Word and we will always feel you here.
His house was smaller than it was 12 years ago, wasn't it? The stairs were exactly the same, somehow, and even though it was so small, it hurt you bad, like a .22 bouncing off your ribcage. You could barely look at the basement, where he built the tome-holding miracle, for you. Your 12th year was magical, wasn't it?
Everyone looks smaller, every Place seems half-familiar, as if you've made your way to some parallel dimension; so close, almost. How must you appear to them?
Resolve and will
you stop fucking around
Cities don't reflect moonlight, when you're this high, and you're on 717 of something that will constantly {inject} you from family to friends, and from Home, to Home.]
VNV Nation - [Intro]---![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mech_angel and I spent last night at the Marriott, which was amazing, for head clearing, and defragmenting purposes.
Hugh Masekela - [The Boy's Doin' It (Carl Craig Remix)]--- I love my family, and the time spent with them, and this weekend went rather well. Picked up a collection of short stories called D.C. Noir, edited by George Pelecanos.
Dreams, last night, were of a Desperado-style thing, with the bad guys offering El Mariachi the clone of his dead wife, and he killed them, and raised the girl as his daughter. There was a sequence that included him shooting these flowers off of chandeliers. The flowers were the same kind of purple orchids they sent with our room service, last night.
Next section included something about a girl shooting a three-point shot, in the finals game of her favourite college team, missing, and still having them win.
White Zombie - [El Phantasmo and the Chicken-Run Blast-O-Rama]--- Section after that had something to do with trying to borrow a car, from either Al orbeard, and trying to get Bob and mech_angel places, through severe tornado weather.
After that was my Dad being in town, and driving a U-Haul that was also his truck. We stopped at a WaHo, at which my aunt, his sister, was the manager. He kept lighting cigarettes, smoking them almost to the filter, and then tossing the remains into the recently vacated booths, near us. This made my aunt extremely mad, and she was threatening to kick us out, if he didn't stop. Soemthing about gettting fried chicken, at the WaHo, paying our check, and leaving, with my dad having to take a really circuituous route, around some apartments.
Gary Numan - [Exile]--- Ok, there's now a dead or dying wasp, in my room, so i'm gonna book it. Before either it stings me, or the raid spray does permanent brain damage... More.
Later.
Blues Traveler - [Freedom]--- Here's what I wrote:
[03.11.06 (In the Airport and On the Plane) Home. Where every smell evokes a forgotten scene; a taste of something to which you haven't been privvy for nigh on to half your current existence. A place in which you find faces, questioning rememberances of love, silently pleading for you to return to them, that most precious thing which only you could take. How can you tell them that something fundamental has changed? How can you explain that this place no longer knows its referent, when it cries your name?
Eleven years away from "home," and the streets are changing, tunnels know your scent, but cannot place your sound, when you (echo) into them again and again and again. Even that echo evoking memories, though his sight clouded over, when he last saw your face and did hers light up, or was that tansferrence? Transposition? The lines of home connect your facets of life. Georgetown to Downtown, Downtown to NorthEast, NorthEast branches into three distinct flavours of Home. Nine if you count your life outside the citiy itself. And as the lines have changed, in your absence, no longer do your faces mesh, match, converge. Its name is a symbiote which feels rejected, unloved.
You are chimeric socio-. Logos and Pathos follow you until the end of time, for yours is the static, ever-changing Word and we will always feel you here.
His house was smaller than it was 12 years ago, wasn't it? The stairs were exactly the same, somehow, and even though it was so small, it hurt you bad, like a .22 bouncing off your ribcage. You could barely look at the basement, where he built the tome-holding miracle, for you. Your 12th year was magical, wasn't it?
Everyone looks smaller, every Place seems half-familiar, as if you've made your way to some parallel dimension; so close, almost. How must you appear to them?
Resolve and will
you stop fucking around
Cities don't reflect moonlight, when you're this high, and you're on 717 of something that will constantly {inject} you from family to friends, and from Home, to Home.]
VNV Nation - [Intro]---
mech_angel and I spent last night at the Marriott, which was amazing, for head clearing, and defragmenting purposes.Hugh Masekela - [The Boy's Doin' It (Carl Craig Remix)]--- I love my family, and the time spent with them, and this weekend went rather well. Picked up a collection of short stories called D.C. Noir, edited by George Pelecanos.
Dreams, last night, were of a Desperado-style thing, with the bad guys offering El Mariachi the clone of his dead wife, and he killed them, and raised the girl as his daughter. There was a sequence that included him shooting these flowers off of chandeliers. The flowers were the same kind of purple orchids they sent with our room service, last night.
Next section included something about a girl shooting a three-point shot, in the finals game of her favourite college team, missing, and still having them win.
White Zombie - [El Phantasmo and the Chicken-Run Blast-O-Rama]--- Section after that had something to do with trying to borrow a car, from either Al or
beard, and trying to get Bob and mech_angel places, through severe tornado weather.After that was my Dad being in town, and driving a U-Haul that was also his truck. We stopped at a WaHo, at which my aunt, his sister, was the manager. He kept lighting cigarettes, smoking them almost to the filter, and then tossing the remains into the recently vacated booths, near us. This made my aunt extremely mad, and she was threatening to kick us out, if he didn't stop. Soemthing about gettting fried chicken, at the WaHo, paying our check, and leaving, with my dad having to take a really circuituous route, around some apartments.
Gary Numan - [Exile]--- Ok, there's now a dead or dying wasp, in my room, so i'm gonna book it. Before either it stings me, or the raid spray does permanent brain damage... More.
Later.
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Date: 2006-03-12 10:14 pm (UTC)no subject
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Date: 2006-03-14 03:45 am (UTC)no subject