atlas shrugged

I dreamed I had sex with Ayn Rand. She started it.

(And Atlas was like, 'who cares?')

Encouragement

wow, between spoonfuls of Trader Joe's Belgian Chocolate pudding (so luscious! so creamy!) and the best letter-from-a-friend I've received since, I don't know, there was a frost in Echo Park, things have suddenly become a lot more cheery:

Darling, if you ever ever need to talk to someone at any time of the
day about something that's fucking with you, just call me aiight.
I'll always be here to listen. I really do know how it is.
A small reminder though, is that we're in our 20's. This is the time
to be discontent. We're still working towards a future. We're the
lucky ones that don't already have babies and aren't forced to live
out any specific path that we chose as kids- you know. We're among
that young, educated, creative class of lucky bitches who can
actually chose a future in a career that we find fulfilling and be
picky about the people we keep around. We've got years and years to
pick and chose. You've only been single for a tiny bit, and I assure
you, we'll run into a bunch a great folks. With one or more of them,
I'm certain we'll find that deep intellectual and physical connection
we seek and deserve. We should be enjoying the chase damn it. Cuz
we're cute AND smart AND motivated AND soooo far ahead of the game.
Its not even fucking funny!!!
'Jah

thanks, aldous

"You can't play Electro-magnetic Golf according to the rules of Centrifugal Bumble-puppy."

this line alone makes reading 'brave new world' worth it.

"The reasonable man adapts himself to the world," wrote George Bernard Shaw. "The unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man."

The article that quotes this goes on to point out that in no other time in history has the power elite allowed outside forces (corporate structure) to dictate their choices.
(which of course, would be far more significant to me were I actually a member of the decidedly active anti-corporate power elite, but hey...working towards it, i s'pose...)
for further progressive ruminations on restructuring the work-world, click on the link below:

http://www.nytimes.com/2005/05/25/opinion/25miller.html?th&emc=th

It's always nice to don a poncho

notes my new roommate, jean, as we return from a miles-long rollerblade/bike jaunt along a moonlit seascape.
ahhh.

'what's a guy gotta do to getta girl in this town?'

the country singer twangs on...
'just a sweet little somethin' to put my arms around...'

I swivel my black-leather chair and use the momentum to thrust my body in the position of the 'tracking' button on the clock radio posing as entertainment in the cramped office of Brentwood magazine.
But before I can change the station to the soothing tones of 89.9's 'Morning Becomes Eclectic' my hyper-aware boss hollers from his back office. 'Whaddya' doin?' He stalks into the main room with the easy assurance and stiff-arm stance of a former model/minor league baseball player. He pats me on my faded beret letting his big hand rest for the exactly one extra blip in time that eases across the line between friendly and inappropriate.
"Don't worry honey," he patronizes in fatherly tones, which make his office decor of hot blond models under the age of 25 all the more creepy, "You'll learn to appreciate country music more, as you get older."

Peace

There is something deeply satisfying to be found in spending significant amounts of time hanging out with yourself. I feel like I can't get enough of getting to know me all over again.
And doing something productive is like throwing back an extra shot to compliment the buzz.

(Or maybe it's the four different kinds of pain/cold medication I'm on right now...)

Bests of the day

Word: Persnickitty (as in, 'stop being that, just share the chocolate cake with all of us')
Quote: 'you know it means the most to me, since my dream in life is to go fast.'
Color: yellow (as in, inside layer of a jacket)
Purchase: 2005 VW Golf!
Smell: new car
Activity: climbing a rickety tree onto a sharply angled roof to swing into a makeshift skylight. (lost the house key)

sunday afternoon cartwheeling

sunday afternoon cartwheeling
Originally uploaded by heidstar17.

too bad I put the camera away for the topless water fight ensuing immediately after the big-red-ball birthing celebration.

sexual healing

My ipod's random play is fucking with my head.
Bjork's 'you can't handle love,' followed by the Lord of the Rings 'escape through the fjord' followed by (yeah!) 'sexual healing' by Marvin Gaye.
that last song makes me feel like I'm lolling in the back-seat of a souped-up Honda double-fisting a wine cooler and a 40, but still with enough mobility to, y'know...git it on...
ah, high school memories.

My idea of heaven is being god

lately I think...we did not create ourselves, so we are indebted to humanity; to, through realizing our own goodness, give back to the best of our ability. This - finding and knowing the god within and sharing it - is happiness.

the guy that got me thinking was aldous huxley in brave new world:

'we are not our own any more than what we possess is our own. we did not make ourselves, we cannot be supreme over ourselves. we are not our own masters. we are god's property. is it not our happiness thus to view the matter? is it any happiness or any comfort, to consider that we are our own? it may be thought so by the young and prosperous. these may think it is a great thing to have everything, as they suppose, their own way - to depend on no one - to have to think of nothing out of sight, to be without irksomeness of continual acknowledgment, continual prayer, continual reference of what they do to the will of another. but as time goes on, they, as all men, will find that independence was not made for man - that it is an unnatural state - will do for a while, but will not carry us on safely to the end."

thanks hux, for throwing a baseball through my current smeary fuck-the-world window. ah well, didn't really need any glass blocking me from the breezy view, anyway.

motion sickness

We were spinning along full-steam in a little roller-coaster car on the edge of cliffs, laughing and squealing and enjoying every minute of our precarious position. And then he, the abruptly untrustworthy driver, suddenly slammed the brakes on with a deafening screech and the repulsive smell of burning rubber. He stopped the car so fast, in fact, that I flew out the window and landed face-down, flattened on the gravel. And when he offered me a demoted backseat in which to lie and heal my wounds, I turned my back and limped off, preferring to reach the original destination alone. I found a trail that cut through the mountain instead of around, and finally came to the open sea. I stood on the dim, hazy shore and let the salty droplets mix with my tears and blood and sting my wounds with healing. Alone. Again.