I dreamt you called me baby and I dreamt you said "I'll see you soon"

as freedom is a breakfastfood
or truth can live with right and wrong
or molehills are from mountains made
-long enough and just so long
will being pay the rent of seem
and genius please the talentgang
and water most encourage flame

as hatracks into peachtrees grow
or hopes dance best on bald men's hair
and every finger is a toe
and any courage is a fear
-long enough and just so long
will the impure think all things pure
and hornets wail by children stung

or as the seeing are the blind
and robins never welcome spring
nor flatfolk prove their world is round
nor dingsters die at break of dong
and common's rare and millstones float
-long enough and just so long
tomorrow will not be too late

worms are the words but joy's the voice
down shall go which and up come who
breasts will be breasts and thighs will be thighs
deeds cannot dream what dreams can do
-time is a tree (this life one leaf)
but love is the sky and i am for you
just so long and long enough

Well, on the eve of my 18th birthday I traveled to Jupiter, woke up in Mars and then traveled slowly back to Earth. Luckily on the anniversary of my birth it was beautiful and warm so we went to the sound and looked at all the diseased creatures of the world. Around 3 I went back to stars and stopped at the Moon for laser light show. As we travelled back to Earth it was spinning backwards and when we arrived at our final destination it was early in the 18th century. We did rain dances with the cowboys and the ducks into the Spring night. It was a very eventful birthday for me, thank you.

That is no country for old men. The young
In one another's arms, birds in the trees
- Those dying generations - at their song,
The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas,
Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long
Whatever is begotten, born, and dies.
Caught in that sensual music all neglect
Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing,
A tattered coat upon a stick, unless
Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing
For every tatter in its mortal dress,
Nor is there singing school but studying
Monuments of its own magnificence;
And therefore I have sailed the seas and come
To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God's holy fire
As in the gold mosaic of a wall,
Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre,
And be the singing-masters of my soul.
Consume my heart away; sick with desire
And fastened to a dying animal
It knows not what it is; and gather me
Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take
My bodily form from any natural thing,
But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make
Of hammered gold and gold enamelling
To keep a drowsy Emperor awake;
Or set upon a golden bough to sing
To lords and ladies of Byzantium
Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

-W.B. Yeats

Staying home from school, staying in my bathrobe and sleeping late, like I have done today. Sometimes I even get the house to myself, but not on days like today. And I have an inkling that today is going to be a sad day.

My poor cat is sneezing too, I guess he's having a sick day as well.

Tonight, instead of playing pokemon pearl until I fall asleep, I'm actually going to go to sleep.

Happy Easter, :)

I don't know how I would feel about somebody taking my bones, combining them with someone else's, then placing them on their pool table and drawing them. I guess I would approve of it. It doesn't really matter I guess, but a lot of things don't matter. So what truly determines what does matter? Who truly determines what is right and what is wrong? Sometimes you do sometimes I do and sometimes someone we don't even know does. So I guess it's anyone's game. Everyone is right and everyone is wrong.

I wish I had the nerve wear my one piece to kick-boxing tonight.

As she unfolded the white linen and let it billow over the fine mahogany table, she would look once more at the large water mark. She never set the table or passed through the dining room without looking at it. Like a lighthouse keeper drawn to his window to gave once again at the sea, or a prisoner automatically searching out the sun as he steps into the yard for his hour of exercise, Ruth looked for the water mark several times during the day. She knew it was there, would always be there, but she needed to confirm it's presence. Like the keeper of the lighthouse and the prisoner, she regarded it as a mooring, a checkpoint, some stable visual object that assured her the the world was still there; that this was life and not a dream. That she was alive somewhere, inside, which she acknowledged to be true only because a thing she knew intimately was out there, outside herself.

I almost feel silly writing in this to nobody, but Keren hasn't been writing in our blog to one an other so this is wil hopefully provide me with some comfort. :/ Jeeze, I haven't written in something like this for years though, since I had a Blurty or something relevant in 7th, 8th, 9th. Boy do I wish that I still had the link to that.

But I think I will be using this for poems, drawings, etc. And things I find aesthetically pleasing that I can put in a permanent place. Hopefully, I won't waste too much of my time with it.

I just realized that in less than a month I will find out if I get accepted to Pratt or Fordham, and there is nothing more I can do to emphasize to each of the schools how grateful I would be to get into either, so all I can do is just sit back and wait.

Note to all bosses: Don't text your employee at 9:30 am asking them to maybe come in at 11 on a day they don't usually work and when they day prior they tell you that they are free to work the next day, it's only going to frustrate your employee and lead to a disappointment.

Time to eat breakfast, go play in the fog, watch Darjeeling Limited with my manfriend and then go to the student artist collection.