1:37 AM

I am out back for a guilty cigarette. My backyard is divided into a large cement area and a grassy lower terrace; the grass is long and the crowd of bamboo waves lazily from the northwest corner (they are  quiet and polite). The night is mostly still, and if you stay still you can hear the whispering crackle of the highways (over yonder hills! and the Diamond S Ranch, where a smelly pygmy horse grazes). I lurk quietly, diagonally making my way across the cement (as if I were) a Ninja of the Night.

I make my way behind the large, white van parked facing the house; large logs placed on their sides made a private bench overlooking the grassy, lower terrace  (there is where I take my Vice; secrets trapped in  wormholes in the wood). I lay down and watch the cotton like clouds float up above; the black of the night glowed a deepest, darkest blue, and the mild wind whispered late night sighs into my ear… as I lay on the log, I suddenly thought of the danger of a raccoon jumping out from the bushes to throttle me or worse! slay my jugular. My body tensed up, but I talked myself into calming down. Because I’m a Ninja of the Night. (At this point I would like to confess my obsession with being a double agent for the C.I.A. I would frequently berate myself for the inability to compartmentalize emotions and become a master amongst gullible fools. Instead, I am A Gullible Fool).

1:40 AM

I realize that I’ve grown to be an extrovert, or am exhibiting extrovert tendencies. This gives me bittersweet feelings and slight crisis of self identity because I feel as if angst is much cooler when obsessed about… rather than being busy with Reality Life. I wonder if that’s why it’s been excruciating to write (or reread anything I write/wrote). Am I being needy for attention and social love? Is it the spring air?

(Nimby Nation is in heat; she was writhing and meowing wantonly in prone positions. I can’t say I don’t empathize with her frustration)

1:45 AM

I worry about the raccoon again, and think about makeshift shields for my jugular. I think this idea is brilliant, until I realize that soldiers probably  have neck guards. Do all animals go for the jugular? Do crows?

1:47AM

I debate a small quote I read in Middlesex when the main character discusses how scientists tested him for gender normative behaviors– writing by men, it was mentioned, tended to follow linear ideas rather than circular abstractions… which is supposedly characteristically feminine. I recognize this, as many of my ‘angst’ posts are angsty because my reasoning draws flawless circles… without answers. Flawlessly useless. But I do believe in the Power of the Circle: or at least, cyclical-ality … the cyclical nature of time– the seasons, the weather,life and death. Or perhaps not life and death, I’m afraid that’s me placing my culturally Buddhist bias on the table. Or I could be emphasizing the passing of generations instead of reincarnation. Questions demand answers; answers demand questions (may I remind you that being deep is appropriate at this hour). We constantly use history and experience to facilitate our decision making. We mimic behaviors of our past and bring them into the future. There is no end of the world, or beginning… just refresh. Perhaps global warming will destroy humanity; but who is to say that isn’t natural? Perhaps a smarter miracle will take the stage. Our history will be done; but we are but humans. Let us have an existential attitude of “Hey, it was like one giant party!”.

1:55 AM

I decide to re-enter the household. Not only do I gracefully slow dance towards the back entrance, but I patiently grind the sliding door open with the methodological science of an extremely smart person. Venturing back inside the safe domains of my picture-laden walls (I have a picture of this stranger woman on my wall that my mom absolutely hates. I like it because it’s some really awkward random older woman from the 70′s in an extravagant setting, but she doesn’t get it) is like playing Super Mario Bros basement level. Or Bowser level, depending on how daring and tense I get (maybe no fireballs, but definitely more jumps, and a sleeping Bowser).

1:59AM

I floss, then enjoy brushing my teeth. Barney once said it was like a gum massage, and I’ve liked it ever since.

If I agree with this ironically, the joke is no longer ironic and therefore obsolete

For all misfortunes that fall upon my life and besmirch any good cheer or attitude for the day’s progression, I blame the grand Disillusionment of Life.

I refuse to believe that This Is The Way It Goes. I think it’d be better to accept Life As It Is and embrace the Looming Gloom of Daily Problems and Mishaps. It’d certainly be easier; but that’s why people have religion.

I wonder what Mario thinks when the B button digs his heels into the ground and makes him spurt out fireballs; I wonder what he thinks as he massacres levels of goons only to have a cute mushroom stooge tell him that the Princess is in another fucking castle. Yes, I’m drawing a parallel with life as a game. How original, you say. What else is a blog for, than to bemoan self-wrapped loathes and loves in textual eruption?

Anyway–

via rushofblood.tumblr

And I stumbled upon an artful erotic photo blog (oh I know, some of you will shriek PORN) chagrin.tumblr.com– quite interesting to take a look at– if  you’re checking to see what part of your body is normal, but more interestingly,  how people feel perceive sexuality and its nuances.

via cacaococoa.tumblr.com

Also, we established this fabulous labor day weekend that Onch (Paris Hilton’s New BFF) shits /farts glitter:

That’s all I want to say for now.

Gracieee

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