seven for a magpie

The questions were redundant and some very silly, but anyway:

You scored as Hermione Granger, You are Hermione. You are academic, intelligent, and reasonable. On top of this, you are highly concerned with justice, scorn the small-minded prejudices of others and work hard to defend the under dog. Many times you may find that your heart and mind are constantly at war with each other. </td> Hermione Granger 81% Neville Longbottom 78% Albus Dumbledore 75% Remus Lupin 72% Luna Lovegood 72% Harry Potter 63% Draco Malfoy 59% Severus Snape 53% Ron Weasley 44% Sirius Black 44% Percy Weasley 41% Bellatrix Lestrange 41% Oliver Wood 31% Lord Voldemort 16% Harry Potter Character Combatibility Test created with QuizFarm.com

This

http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/19959323/

has made me a happy HP fan. I can't wait for the encyclopedia!

sand scratch tracks dragging feet
back down back roads dirt paths
leading off away from sidewalks
pavement tract homes dust in walls
leaves falling dusk falls hands
trace shapes in wet ground sun down
lay down fall down deep down hands
make marks on new ground drink down
coffee grounds boiled eggs new round
mask maker paid in flowers new
gathered by a casket grew down by
dirt paths leading to the water
cold and heaven waits there past
hands grasping for the truth

sometimes life smells like toothpaste
and an open window where city sounds
filter through like silt dust
into my pores and under my fingernails
where they sit and wait like
sensory time bombs that will never go off
because bad similes die
and the best ones die hard
and we all want to play like children
building castles in the yard

I have seen a few dreams crumble
and rot silently away
not dreams per se
but ideas of maybes
dreamed in decades not lived
and unleashed upon
a suffocating summer day

I've stopped writing poems for myself
and I've stopped writing them for others
and for the unknowable gods of nothing
that taunt me from their star-studded seats

I've stopped waiting for something to happen
stopped listening for words that aren't there
and trying to match footsteps perfectly
when the sand beneath my feet feels so nice

I've stopped making plans for the future
that are so grand they outweigh my body
and I've stopped giving in to the voices
that say they're too far out of reach

There's a word for the ache that is wanting
and a want for a word for each aching
but I've left thoughts of these by the wayside
and turned my burnt face to the sky

where the colors remind me of water and air
and when I look down it's just earth
and off to each side miles and miles of land
that I can't tread all of even if I try

I'll draw a hundred flawed maps of my self
and a hundred flawed more of each country
and in each wavering line are a thousand things
that don't mean anything, they're quite innocuous

I'm just writing poems for myself
and sometimes I write them for others
and sometimes it's only for language itself
as a gift so it won't turn and bite me

If I tell you a lie it is with good intentions
and if I forget there's a real good excuse
if I haven't found one yet, I promise I will
if there isn't one, I apologize

The mechanisms of the known (and unknown) world
whisper of the everythings of everything
and I know we will follow until we tire
and our legs can't move and minds can't think

Because there's something beautiful
in the grandness and infinite complexity
though you should know I don't believe in god
and I promise you I never will

It's 9:25 and I should probably be reading
about stem cells and tropical forests and things
their opportunity cost was this poem
and another poem or two I didn't write

"A Wish"
by Edith Södergran

Av Hela vår soliga värld
önskar jag blott en trägdårdssoffa
där en katt solar sig...
Där skulle jag sitta
med ett brev i barmen,
ett enda litet brev.
Så ser min dröm ut...

In our entire sunny world
I want but one thing: a garden bench
where a cat lies in the sun...
There I would sit,
a letter at my bosom,
one single short letter,
That's what my dream looks like...

I Has a Bucket

TOMUTOMU - WORST GPS EVER

Bring me Solo and the Wookie

The Spice must flow

eating ur chocolatey treetz

Astro Cat will Play for you

Okay, I'm done now. Sleep.

Several things I have learned this week about cooking:

- you cannot go wrong putting things in boiling water, when in doubt, boil it

- if you don't poke sausage before cooking it will explode (I actually knew this); if you poke it too much it will also explode (didn't know this), it will exit its casing, and you can't put it back in!

- oil must be sufficiently hot to fry things properly, to get anything crispy and brown, otherwise the oil will just soak in and hang around and not get anything crispy

- onions taste good, always, no matter what you do to them, they help make bland things less bland

- salt is usually necessary, no matter what anybody says



So I am no chef yet, despite all of Ms. Phillips' effort, but I'm getting there. I can boil eggs, pasta, potatoes, sausage, fry onions, polenta, potatoes, and maybe other stuff. I can feed myself, for the most part. Progress?

re-discovering Tori Amos; music is one of those things, transcends all changes and inaccessibilities we seem to come across, and nothing is really lost in it, there is something new when I listen to "Blood Roses," (http://www.sendspace.com/file/0cl2l5) a way songs come to life again, stories become new and renewed, and a way to pass the time while we wait for the next thing to happen

wow, this is frightening:
http://www.guardian.co.uk/usa/story/0,,2019565,00.html

More Owen Pallett, yay!

http://www.tomlabel.com/mp3/tom54_track5.mp3

So, there's this guy, Owen Pallett, who is also a band called Final Fantasy, who is a violinist, composer, all-around very wonderful and nifty musician/creative person/artist/genius whose music has me wholly captivated.

Here's his website: http://www.reidtaheny.com/ff/read.html

He co-wrote the string arrangements for The Arcade Fire's album Funeral, has composed two operas, toured with several famous bands and musicians, and has done lots of other cool stuff.



So, here are the four MP3s I found on the intarwebernet:

http://www.teamclermont.com/mp3/finalfantasy_arcticcircle.mp3

that's a good one for valentine's day, I say, if you are going to think about said silly holiday at all, not to say that it's good for valentine's day, but that it is about peoples' relationships and barriers and crazy things that valentine's day makes people think of

http://www.teamclermont.com/mp3/ff_this_lamb_sells_condos.mp3

http://www.teamclermont.com/mp3/finalfant_songsongsong.mp3

http://www.teamclermont.com/mp3/ff_im_afraid_of_japan.mp3

and here is an article about him, with an interview:
http://www.nowtoronto.com/issues/2005-06-23/cover_story.php

Okay, so I guess I've only heard several of his songs, but I can tentatively say that I absolutely love his music, and am going to go ahead and buy both of his albums, eventually, because I will get tired of waiting for him to show up on my LastFm stations. The music's like a pizza where the sauce is classical violin, of a sort, the toppings include refreshingly, startlingly enthralling lyrics that actually say something, some gaming and fantasy and sci-fi references (yay for Anne McCaffrey), and the crust is that kind of musical wonderfulness that is general enough in nature that you can call it pizza crust (I guess it's just my personal catch-all pizza crust for Music That I Like), and it sounds vaguely like various books I read as a kid, various books I read as an adult, and something that is always on the tip of my tongue but I can never really name, that feeling that you get when you read something that sends shivers up your spine because it's just so... like books about things that are hidden in the dark, about people who act strangely, about things from people's dreams that come to life, that kind of thing, and though lots of the songs are about every-day type things, I still get that feeling. I guess I love artists who make me think about things differently, and who can say words in new ways, in new combinations, to make you just love listening over and over again.

The moral of the story is this: When you bemoan the lack of amazing violin-driven, odd, reminds-you-of-your-favorite-childhood-sensations music, you will magically discover more of it.

Okay, Last FM has made me so happy because it keeps leading me to all these wonderful musicians.

Here's a Patrick Wolf track from his new album that is just so wonderful, I don't know who he reminds me of, like Thom Yorke mixed with... some other dudes? The swaying violin and the weird electronic and pounding bass intensity, very nice:

http://iguessimfloating.net/assets/mp3s/01%20Overture.mp3

and another one from his new album:
http://musicforants.com/music/wolf/05%20Bluebells.mp3

(read with music, maybe)


oh brain, what I refuse
to tell you, oh the many
many things cut like cutting
a worm with a spade when
you're digging and
it's not like
you really meant to
but it's trying to
get at something bigger
and some things get
in there

and with years you'd think
things things get easier
to forget
like the feeling of grass
under your legs
or the way certain
buildings look
the way they loom
timeless in their
kitschy false foreignness
and you secretly think
they remind you of
somewhere
that never was home

their edges get cold
with a white light
and the movement of
night around, gets
around
your wrists
gets tangled
in your hair
gets iced
around
your eyes
gets trod on
by your feet
and left
magnificent in its
mundaneness
the simplest of movements

cutting the line
between verb
and adjective
with midnight; never gets
the way you want it to
gets in the way
the way it wants to,
to curse it
it's too banal
so I resort
to holding it near
and dear to my heart
and falling every time

oh night, what I refuse
to tell you,
fire has turned its
words into brands
and it strikes
hard and fast at
the pictures I kept
till they're falling
apart where the folds tried
to keep away pieces
that wanted to speak
to me, just speak to me,
just tell me what makes
it so hard to keep telling
my own stories
what keeps mind attached
to corpses and water
and cold
and I remind myself
of words that are dead
and a space of years
becomes nothing
the second the light
pries my eyes open
and the alarm rings late
and my head hurts

but at least I know
I got to sleep last night,

and there is glorious
in eleven o clock in the morning
in the way the world goes on
with or without
knowing anything
days crawl
and nothing I want matters
and it feels so good

a body of words
a body of nothing
a body of broken
forlorn and forsaken
and wanting for nothing
and drowning on something
and aching for nearness
and needing for the sky
wanting for beauty
searching for disaster
loving for nothing
a body of yet to say
a body of faking it

she chews on the fabric
getting the taste of it
letting it unravel
squandering, wasting it
now
every
body
wander
fall

and it goes

everybody

so lovely

taking them down with me
I'll take it all down with me
even though you don't
know it yet

this landscape
I want it with me
want to bury it with me
and draw up a blanket
of earth on my eyes
feel a calm heavy
everywhere around me
and rise up
all soft in the dark
and gaudy with music
and lovely with leaving
and dying with feeling
once more
with gusto

I am discovering