I find lentils completely incomprehensible!

Another weekend and another great episode of Dollhouse, I especially loved how Topher has a drawer of "inappropriate starches". I'm working on my history essay and I'm watching Band of Brothers in the background because I haven't watched it in a while but I've seen it enough times that it won't completely take away my focus. I'm currently on the episode "Replacements" and one of my favorite moments in the show just passed. Easy Company lands in Eindhoven and private Webster and two of his fellow privates are in the outskirts of the city when a man comes out of his cellar/air raid shelter. He talks to the men and his little boy comes out and Webster gives him this big bar of chocolate. The boy had never tasted it and gets this absolutely delightful expression on his face and Webster is completely enthralled. The accompanying music is incredible and overall it's one of the best moments of the series. Go Michael Kamen (he did the music for Band of Brothers....and also Iron Giant, a Brad Bird film).

Back to essay....

red wheelbarrow

I'm in one of my classes right now and am listening to prof speak. I love his oratory style. The cadence of his speech is spellbinding. One of the things I cannot abide by is when professors pause in their speech and say "um" or are just new and are bad at something akin to public speaking. It completely throws me and takes me out of the context of what's going on. Prof doesn't have this problem. Maybe it's because he's a poet. I just hope he's lecturing next year so I can take some of his courses. A dilemma I face is the substance that lacks in courses. For example, I had professor Johnstone last year for the Science Fiction half course. He was a nice enough professor but he would just say the same thing over and over. Obviously he was "new". This year when I got him for "the Novel" I tried to tough it out but I ended up dropping the course. The sad thing is that it actually influences the way I do in classes. But really I just wanted to extoll the virtues of this excellent prof. We briefly spoke of how he was "sick in bed" all last week. And while he was "sick in bed" all last week he "didn't" go to Costa Rica. What a character. I hope he holds more poetry readings soon. I'm very very interested in the end of Cosmographia.

In other news I dropped a bombshell on my poor mother last night after another intense discussion. Tonight I'll spend the night at Karen's and hopefully get some work done. Woke up and felt like I was hit with a semi. Am currently experiencing hunger pangs and comfort food looks like a cheeseburger. Back to class though. Apparently if we could write just one line as fantastic as "we live in an old chaos of the sun" we could be happy with ourselves as poets. I kind of get this. We're comparing William Carlos Williams and Wallace Stevens. I think I prefer Williams because he's more chaotic with the way he frames his poems. He also actually paints a picture in my mind - I can imagine the thought process behind his choices. Stevens is more linear but instead of necessarily having a complete picture he just has sort of blissed out and amazing word combinations that just hit me in the best places. Like "ambiguous undulations", I love the way these words just kind of work off of each other, go hand in hand.

on a lighter note

As much as I love Stuart...this reading for tomorrows tutorial is absolute balls.

mark the somnolence with truth

I wrap myself around your buried question/through the blisters of confinement/I seek to drain this broken shelter/to refill the pigment case that I have left

I dreamt about you last night. One upside of the dream was that I had an elegantly disheveled apartment. S had recently told me some of the benefits of the new B. I was angry and phoned you and we had one of those hilarious and epic fights we would have over the phone in the early stages of the end. I don't remember what I said but I was sad and angry, eventually you hung up and then I called back and she answered and I said something spiteful, but it made me feel better. I prefer when these things happen in my dreams - not in real life. Perhaps the dreams come because I've been thinking about you late at night before I fall asleep. It starts out as a tickle in my periphery and then it creeps into the forefront. All these things that I have to work through while you are able to un-empathetically ignore everything and forge onward. I would love that level of detachment to wash over me.

Truthfully it's not that easy. I don't understand how one just forgets. Pretty much everything in my life reminds me. Being around men again particularly, specifically people who are somehow enigmatically attractive. For example - if there's someone who smells good I flash back to all the times I would have my head in the crook of your neck and the softness and warmth of the skin there. The coppery smell of your sweat, the tang. And it all rushes back.

tell me it's over/Rusbel awaits/I've been to the surface and nothing is there

Suddenly all I see is the outline of light around a doorway and am walking towards it, my feet are bare on the eons old wood flooring and the hallway is dank. The door opens with a hollow sound and we're in our office again. The conte sketches lie piled under the tables and there are drawings of Warner Brothers and Disney characters all over the black matting on the wall. Home. Home because you are there.

I'm taken back to the time we spent just sitting around, wondering why I didn't appreciate those moments more, why I didn't pay more attention.

I'm in bed and my mind again drifts off towards the apartment, the shirt I can't find, so I take mental inventory of everything I took and everything you left. For some reason I'm reminded of how you left a bunch of paperwork from the chest of drawers. I wonder if you took the white cotton braided wristlet I absentmindedly made. I remember you wore it for months at a time, I don't know why. It reminds me of how delicate it looked on your wrist. How absolutely beautifully exposed your wrist bones were. Damn you and the influence you've had on me in terms of anatomy.

I won't even get into the subject of your face. My hands ache to touch what is not mine to touch any longer. At this point I hate memory, muscle memory, all memory. Damn you. Damn you to hell. But only for those brief several minutes a day when I'm taken back.

I remember having those silent moments of reverie where I would stare at you and be completely outside myself thinking "Here sits this man of his own free will, this beautiful man and he's talking....to me....and he's mine" (for now). Like I knew it wouldn't last.

Who knew we were heading for such a violent fall? Both of us probably. I miss you incredibly - and longingly. As if it hasn't clicked...ah, would you have done it had I not acquiesced? This runs through my head.every.damn.day. Yet still I loved. However the man you are is not the man I fell in love with. Story of life and the world I guess.

I can't believe you when your thirst won't let me go/I am the moment you were always speaking of because....

a depth perception languished in the night

It's incredibly hard trying to find a climbing partner these days, nobody has the time or the money and this makes me cranky. As I survey my room I realize that there is absolutely NO way (even if I have someone to go with) that I will climb tomorrow. I have two essays that I have not even looked at parameters for and they're due in a week. Tantamount to that is the fact that my room is a disgusting pigsty. Clean room takes precedence over essays - can't do essays in a mess. I've been meaning to get this done in the past little while but there's always so much other stuff to do.

Today I got home from work and I decided to watch the Battlestar Galactica special on Space because my prof was one of the panelists - and it was quite hilarious. Then I watched a spectacular episode of Dollhouse and it was great because Joss Whedon's voice really did start coming through in this episode and I love Helo (Tahmoh Penikett). He's known as Helo in BSG but he's one of the main characters in Dollhouse - it's just easier to address him as Helo. What a great stinkin' name.

So now I feel like a freaking fifteen year old - lookit me I love teevee characters. Actually Dollhouse - although somewhat conceptually ripped off from a William Gibson idea in Neuromancer/a Johnny Mnemonic character (see backstory of Molly Millions) - is a veritable ocean of possibility. All of the minute pebbles that have been strewn throughout the first five episodes have converged to drive the plot forward and make it a more enjoyable....a more satisfyingly Whedon-esque intrigue. I like that there's something of a nod to Firefly in there with the character that played Badger as an FBI agent. The character of Topher is a mix of Wash/Kaylee and wholly reminds me of my friend H. Especially with the food references. Ha. It's nice to be following something current because House is really starting to get maybe boring? And that's hard for me to say.

vicarious atonement

Officially - my separation papers have probably not been processed, but unofficially - it is over. There are no regrets - only movement forward. There are so many things that I want to say - but there's no point now. Mostly I'm gripped by a forlorn feeling of disbelief. To think that someone I had known for nearly four years would not take stock in the consistency of who I had been - and believe the lies of another, holding an irrational grudge, it is best left behind. Perhaps my logic is obsolete in this - but I can't wrap my mind around why I'm being held against a wall in the mind of this - dare I say - woman? More like a child who isn't getting her way. I was wrong in assuming that people grew out of this by their mid twenties. Maybe some never do. My mind will let this go eventually but it's an intriguing puzzle. For now I'll enjoy my self imposed excommunication - immensely.