oh but you see then it's something new you've never known that you now only know with one person and it becomes special. i found something that tells you how you can practice lucid dreaming, and i realized it's almost strange, however common, because when you think of it how can you lucid dream by mistake? it's so so interesting and bizarre and nice. it's like being trapped in a bon place. on the plane i had so many lucid dreams, and they have developed such an odd pattern lately. dreaming is like knowing and not knowing for me it's very confusing but very assuring and oy. roo roo. another thing, coincidences, and fate, and other things of that nature: i have been recently thinking today and tonight about all of this, and things i have not known, and things, and pan's labyrinth, and lucid dreaming, and just now i read tonight that guillermo del toro got the idea for pan's labyrinth from lucid dreams he had when he was a child. i feel like that always used to happen to me when i was really little, i looked for coincidences everywhere and i always found them, or they always found me

you like me
more than you think

you do too

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pan_(mythology)

ives

way up yonder above the sky a bluebird lived in a jaybirds eye
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim
way up yonder above the moon a bluejay nest in a silver spoon
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim
way down yonder in wooden trough an old woman died of a whoopin cough
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim
way down yonder in a hollow log a redbird danced with a green bullfrog
buckeye jim you can't go go weave and spin you can't go buckeye jim

cmere

i get my self worked up into a state where i have these rushy thoughts and i shake my hands and hop like i'm on hot coals and i have thoughts like "i miss everything i try but i can't i try but i can't i'm trying" really these things get repeated over and over again literally i repeat things like i'm touching a hot faucet and you jump UP UGH when i see old things that i have said or look over all the old conversations i saved ( there are so many like five per person) and think wow this was so great i wish that could happen again. it is too strange to leave a place or a state of yourself and then return, completely the same as if you had never left. it's just as if you never made a ripple with your oar even though it dipped into the water over and over and over. old birds. once in a while i write long posts that are very reminiscent of something but i think that everyone just thinks that exact same way all the time, in long reminiscent paragraphs. "i love you and you're my best friend and you can tell me anything." "i used to be so honest." really i just don't want to have to come back and be here and things seeming untouched but then all of these wavvvves crash about and then there is so much to learn and study and do and write. you can't just carry your entire world around with you wherever you go because there isn't room for change if you do that. and when you leave sometimes maybe it's good to change. i think partly the reason i shake my hands and get jumpy is because i feel like everyone can hear and see everything i'm remembering, thinking, or dreaming, and i shake my head to get rid of the thoughts really i SHAKE MY HEAD, shake it grab my head stomp my feet i'll be sitting in math looking over and grabbing my face to try and focus. and they come back like ghosts, new things, or old, like ghosts and just taunt me. maybe not taunt, but haunt, or something a little more pleasant, but exist, there for everyone to see. so maybe i wear my heart on my sleeve but not my HEART, but my emotions and thoughts, i feel like i emote very obviously. this is not a good thing. i have a friend who jumps every time she gets excited, it's not even annoying or childish or anything it's just a natural occurance, when she tells a story or agrees or identifies with something she jumps and claps even sometimes and it makes me so happy. and then she sort of coils again. it's the coolest thing, what a wonderment

i k n o w y o u

lawlessness

ANYWAY

it was clear

everything is too connected for my liking tonight.
see you in napa

"those old birds"

ch ch

i think it's the realization that never more will you be seeing them, or experiencing the same things again, or feeling and thinking the same since they aren't there any more, and feeling empty, a little more empty each time. full or sparse, they're there [we agree] and when they're gone their memory isn't a brevity any more, or their existence by your side. while it was once a subconscious knowing that they'll always be there. and when they aren't; then they aren't. but then i always begin to wonder whether i grieve for myself or the dead. "isn't it selfish" to cry and say "i didn't get to say goodbye" and think of "all the things you won't have any longer, what you'll miss, how sad it makes you". while i know we can be sad for the wrong reasons for the sake of others, i know that this time isn't one of them.

i only wish i could have fed her another apple in her day

hop along

"now it's october and all those people, they're gone, gone, gone"

my hair is red

ggggg

how dependable. there's an elephant around my wrist and a huge owl around my neck. which reminds me, mom told me that she thinks our cat is a reincarnated owl, and then my dad said the same thing, and then looking through our eastern birdwatcher's book. this morning i found my pulse and kept touching it all day and sometimes i would have to stop because it felt too interesting or something that shouldn't be touched all the time and i was getting scared too, it feels fairly very strange if you touch it for too long! it is so neat to feel though, especially when you feel the pulse on your wrist at the same time as under the corner of your jaw bone, it's just two tiny movements perfectly coordinating and in sync, keeping everything secret everything home free. how dependable we are, no wonder our bodies are like locked boxes, we can't be trusted
"i have spent all my life seeking all that is still unsung"

"everyone knows that custer died at little big point. but what this book presupposes is, maybe he didn't"

edit: i JUST REALIZED that i am now thinking the reason i leave so many things unfinished isnt because i'm afraid of endings, but because not finishing things tends to be the way i finish things. regardless of the mode, things still end

(the last one is mine, and it's a little bit "old")

"what makes winters lonely? now at last i know"
edit: i just cracked my back and there were so many sounds and when i straightened up i felt so much better. come to think of it, yesterday, for about twenty minutes of french i spent massaging my neck. i think i made it worse that time, but i digress. listening to chet baker and davis my boys

squint skyward and listen

"it wandered along in curves and easy angles, swayed off and up in a pleasant tangent to the top of a small hill, ambled down again between fringes of bee-hung clover, and then cut sideways across a meadow. here its edges blurred. it widened and seemed to pause, suggesting tranquil, bovine picnics: slow chewing and thoughtful contemplation of the infinite. and then it went on again and came at last to the wood. but on reaching the shadows of the first trees, it veered sharply, swung out in a wide arc as if, for the first time, it had reason to think where it was going, and passed around.

"On the other side of the wood, the sense of easiness dissolved. the road no longer belonged to the cows. it became, instead, and rather abruptly, the property of people..."
(from Tuck Everlasting)

dig for victory

when i have to explain "idiopathic thrombocytopenia" usually it sounds like a lot bigger of a deal when it really isnt, aka i just happen to have low blood platelets, so i couldn't donate blood today, and when i came home i found out that the horse has a tumour, which i felt really bad about. other than the out of blue, odd things that have been happening lately, i'm almost finished Atonement, my dad is mowing the lawn, there are three bandaids on three fingers on account of pricking and collecting, i feel very constrained, and my lips sting red

i feel i see everything

tired awake tired tired awake tired awake awake false waking. bare shoulders, you curl, press, knead, pound, delicately into a fine softness and bake bake bake. threadbare seams of fingernails pull and extend and grow and grow and grow until they swirl in front of your eyes and spell things out to enable seeing, quickly hands become idle and ideas come. two cherries, cut in half, rub them on your cheeks and fall purposely on your face in the face of everything, the grass, "the meadow at dusk", until your nose hurts, and pull up when you can breathe again with tears in your eyes see everything

annie hall

"Never something you do, that's how people are, love fades"