Aug. 22nd, 2004

raybear: (hip hop)
first, the astrological news for the week, named after a Clairol product )

Dear Universe, I would like to humbly request of you the following: the ability to stop time. I'm not sure why this seems important to me right now because I suppose I could also just request the ability to work harder and faster for longer and it might achieve the same effect. Or possibly just a temporary vacation (not a permanent one, and neither a permanent midnight) and a well-furnished space with the ability to stretch out my arms without ever touch walls and possibly even no means of people being able to reach me, except, Universe, here's where the time-stopping element comes in. I don't really want to disappear off the planet because there are things going on I'd like to be around for, I just wish I could bounce back and forth, perhaps between those dimensions vibrating off all those tiny strings. Or maybe I could just sleep more deeply and restfully and have better dreams than the one last night where I spent the whole dream being tired and wanting to go to bed. What does it mean to dream you are tired? I mean, I was sleeping for chrissakes. Perhaps it was my body yelling at me for doing too much yesterday except I thoroughly enjoy riding my bike more than ten miles and it yelled at me again this morning when we rode to temple for meditation. It stopped yelling or at least went a more manageable whisper while sitting that I sometimes forgot about and listened instead to my lungs which were breathing on behalf of the entire universe. That's universe with a small 'u', not you, Universe. I don't need to explain the difference to you, I know. I'm not sure either why I'm wasting my time with you because it's not going to happen, at least not in this way, and maybe I'm hoping if I ask for something big you'll throw me a bone, Universe, and give me something else to chew on, and I don't mean that in any sort of sexual way, because at the end of the day, I'm doing alright there. And I'm hoping that no e-mail all weekend is just a sign of busy-ness and not being cut from the pool of applicants and I should really call up my tattoo artist but instead I'll go shower, Universe, and walk the dog, and write mediocre poetry not because I'm that tortured but because it's a school assignment, which is probably frankly the only time I would even attempt such a medium, because as you know, Universe, I'm not always careful with words: they spill out and overflow and rather than choose one or two I'll use them all and combine meanings in an attempt to clarify. I don't have the sparseness of a poet. I have the logorrhea of a novelist. Thanks for that.

spoilers for Femme Fatale. I honestly can't imagine anyone caring, but just in case. )

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