jheti: (adventures of courage wolf)
I'm a lowdown gangsta set trippin' banga.



Beauty and the Beast. And if anyone else calls you Beast, I'll rip their lungs out. ♥
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (winners never quit)
2 Slices cinnamon raisin toast, hot, buttered
3 Strips honey glazed bacon, crispy *crunch crunch crunch* :D
1 Egg, over easy
1/2c. Corned beef hash.

Layer: from the bottom up,


jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
If you can read this:

You are loved. ♥
jheti: (boogie woogie bugle)

That new Green Hornet movie? You may have seen The Unmentionable One cavorting around mixing himself Red-Eyes and pulling these creepy faces that literally make me want to punch him?

(For the record I'm not sure why my reaction is this viscerally angry. I just--want to destroy his face every time he appears on any screen anywhere. KILL IT WITH FIRE.)

Anyway, he's apparently in some movie.

This movie is directed by Michel Gondry.

Knowing he did This, and this, and also this, has made the fact that friends will rope me into this film thinking I will love it?

Go from just bearable if I focus really hard on Jay Chou the whole time--to actively exciting.

I am looking forward to Gulliver's Travels, because it looks like it'll be my Evan Almighty for the year and I have a lot of perhaps-misguided fondness for this, and Jack Black is an example of how to do the douchey characters right, Seth are you taking notes.

I have also come to the conclusion that I'm the sort of person who unironically buys tickets to films like Cowboys and Aliens.

Admittedly, this is largely because I saw the "clunky wrist ornament" and the "waking up with amnesia surrounded by cowboys" AND IMMEDIATELY THOUGHT Holy shit it's Fallout New Vegas THE MOVIE.

Whatever, whatever, two of my childhood crushes are in it so now I have to go see it even though they're both like pushing eighty or something.

I almost went to Speed on a Train! but luckily was distracted by You Know You Want It In IMAX.

Man. I have to go dig out my Scarecrow and Mrs. King DVDs now.

Bruce Boxleitner is only even hotter in silver fox mode. I was physically distracted every time he appeared onscreen. ajskldhfsadkjl, WHY ARE YOU MARRIED TO LITTLE LAURA INGALLS AND NOT ME. D:

(Does that blow your mind as hard as it does mine? And yet I bet they're totally happy! They seem like such relentlessly sweet people, they're like a TV Land Brangelina, the Adorbs Factor is REDONKULUS.)
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (beautiful snowflake)
Burial is just everything I need right now, the bridge between where I just left and where I am going, psychologically, psychosocially, inside and outside. My worldview has been altered, attenuated, only this time by sharing the experiences of a real person, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.

Oh. I found a pill that results in functional all-nighters with a minimum of side-effects. I took one four days ago at nine pm, hit a delicious slow-gathering euphoria between three and four am, took an hour's nap at two-thirty pm.

Really, really wanted to sleep and popped another one instead at four pm. This resulted in nothing worse than mild nausea. I went on about the rest of my day until eleven pm.

Thirsty as hell the next morning, but otherwise, nada. None of the energy drink twitches or heart clutch. None of the minor visual illusions and dead-dog fatigue of mere coffee.

FELLOW GRAD STUDENTS AND/OR ANYONE STUCK ON THE GRAVEYARD SHIFT: Go buy up all the FocusFactor you can grab before the government figures out this shit exists. You're welcome. ♥

It might also be good for jet lag, though I haven't tested this yet.
jheti: (adventures of courage wolf)
I'm coming to fuck you in the butt!

...Sometimes you just have to say it.

Since September, I have been able to deflect all varieties of the Freshman Death Cough by washing my hands until the flesh is cracking off and just generally avoiding everyone.

I have. Exactly finals to go, and I'll be done for a whole month.

I woke with a splitting headache.

My throat is full of molten glass and every hole in my face is pouring disgusting yellow goo.

I just love the holidays.
jheti: (how can i keep from singing?)
From [livejournal.com profile] taraljc. Fifteen questions about my fic.

OH AND. I haven't format checked Fanfiction.net and I won't be doing so. From now on, I'm just going to upload stuff and let it be, let it be, speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

My ego's not all I got that's massive. :3 )
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
On the heels of every hope walks Dathan.

I am a stonecutter. The Pharaohs like their images cut deep.

I put no blood on my door!

Then stone bleeds.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (beautiful snowflake)
What is the current stardate?

I'm so fucking busy. All the time with all the things. I'll just go on a jag tomorrow and get his app done. If I can do it for school, I can do it for a game.

Ayel's sin is pride, you know. So busy gloating that it killed him.

Having loose thoughts, skirling post-nap, but I'm off to theme park things. Joy as sudden and frantic as panic, fear and ecstasy are the same exact emotion.

I either feel--basically nothing, or I freak out like Pon Farr Spock on PCP.

What is this middle ground of which you speak?

Ah, so that's where cowards live.
jheti: (moonwalker)
It's kind of awesome, because you can hear where he didn't actually need AutoTune.

I think I've spammed you one of my favorites over and over, not an MJ track but yeah. Surf rock that melted in space, dessicated machine hearts grinding to a halt, and on rolls the recording, tireless and entirely without life or death.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
See? I'm not made for this deadlines crap; I can't even post every day.

It's a difficult morning, all physical pain, the feeling of having been beaten in my sleep, and the coffee, it does nothing. I'm trying to think of a good reason to do all the things I wanna do, plus it's study hall day, so it's not like I'm mega-inspired to do anything. I'm technically going to be doing work all day.

God, I'm tired. I don't want to do anything, I guess that means I want to study.

All I ever use graphics programs for anymore is taking screencaps of graphs for my homework. Which is fine. I sort of hate life without the offset filter. Icons are ugly and useless without it.

I mentioned I hurt. All over.

Now might be a good time to wallow in other projects that make wide use of that feeling?

If I could crash two sentences together.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
There is a certain sort of modern poem that I just can't stand.

It's like they grab a nature symbol, a pop culture reference, and an abstraction, and butcher them in the plainest language they possibly can. All sort of straining toward one another like girders rusting inward in the rain. But nothing touches, nothing matches, nothing signifies anything. And it's not really sound and fury so much as a dull roar, a little trickle, the wet dribbling patter of an idea about rain tortured down the kitchen tap, tonight at eleven.

Death has no mouth and I must not scream. Go to sleep, o.
But Oprah's on! How can I rest 'til I have run, run, run
After brilliant kites waving goodbye? No money down.
Low monthly payments.
Might be more relevant if we roped in something about diets
Chicks read poetry
and hate themselves
and that's what we call a win-win, Bob.

I tried? I can't even.

I see a lot of "kitchen references to loneliness and ennui" in the few slim journals I'm able to find at the magazine counter ever. It's like they're all writing love letters to each other in some kind of unbearable mouldering code.

I wanted so badly to be swept up in Scar Night, the jacket for which reads like everything I need recently, but.

The characters mean nothing, and the city isn't well-described, and there's--nothing to attach to. It's literally a city without foundations, and the book feels the same way. I sat and read it halfway through, waiting for some hint of a sign that it would live up to everyone on the flyleaves with their knees openmouthed, gasping through slick wet lips and still trying to swallow right.

No. Never saw it. Strained through hundreds of pages, plural. Never got a glimpse.

I felt a slight something for the angel that can't fly, but nothing else. We don't know these people, and we never get to know them. And then there's the part where the book...just doesn't...make much sense.

While I'm up here: Ulcis, ulcer, religion is cancer--we get it already. You can stop impressing us with your atheism now.

Look. This is very basic, Alan. I want characters I can empathize with, a setting I can see in my mind's eye, and a plot I can solve. Okay?

Even Mercedes Lackey can do that.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
Okay, so I missed yesterday; it's not like I'm going for a wordcount or even anything relevant.

Here, have mostly naked, semi-fit kinda skanky chicks with a prefab reed instrument loop instead.

It's a shame about that first young lady, there; I finally found my legspiration. I mean goddamn.

I WONDERED what had become of Crystal Waters. That was THE "wait where exactly is second base lol" song du jour when I was in highschool.

Our main vehicle broke itself the fuck down last night and we've got to limp it into the dealers today.

This post is brought to you by the theory that gratuitous sex is more interesting than yet more whining.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
I am...used to this. At all hours and volumes, forever.

I will confess I laughed when suddenly this was immediately followed by this, without pause. I kept listening to see if there would be Thriller, but apparently no.

I am so tired I cannot even. I will have to beg off meeting with my one professor YET AGAIN.~

I, like, random thoughts of a nondescript nature about how I like the dubcon better with the drug content added goes here.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
I'm late, but I'm here. I don't want to be here, but I'm here. I have nothing to say while I'm here, but I'm here. Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself; I cannot do otherwise.

This is often the nature of a writing exercise.

We've bug-bombed the house and cleaned it and everyone is absolutely exhausted and I swear I meant to do my homework. I brought all of it with me. I ate too much lunch and slept with my face in my jacket and my fingers in my ears, dogs keening and snapping at the fronts of their crates by my elbow. All day.

The nearest thing to good is half-sleep in too much sun after too much food.

When I'm looking forward to Monday, just to have somewhere different to go, I wonder if I'm more stressed than I realize, or if I just run this way, tuned too hot, something from nothing and nothing and nothing, it's nothing, no go.

I'm falling asleep at the keyboard. I think we're done here.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)
While everyone else is doing NaNo, I will play a game I can win.

For the rest of November, there will be a post of some sort per day. I'm trying to come back to myself and back to the habit of writing as myself, which is a whole different flavor of honest pretend.

Today is cold and clear, blue and golden, and I swear the next ten minutes will belong entirely to me.

Our broadcast for this morning is brought to you by selfish egoism and the letter J. )

Anyway. I have to go.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (winners never quit)
[livejournal.com profile] confessionsbook.

If I were stranded on a deserted island and had only 3 books that I had to choose from, it would be A Thousand Splendid Suns written by Khaled Hosseini.

There are no other books in this entry, except, of course The Kite Runner.

Okay, so...three copies of Kite Runner Guy? Okay, maybe you really like this book. I'm not one to judg--

I have not read many books from Nicholas Sparks but have watched many movies based off his books such as The Notebook, and The Time Traveler’s Wife.



I can't even. It's like, it's like she's saying things, and they're kind of about books? But. They make no sense.

Also? Ew. I understand that Kahled Hosseini is a Big Important Author and we Must All Learn A Lot About Ourselves~ and he's quite knowledgeable about things I know nothing about, in evocative language, so at least it's entertaining.

Nicholas fucking Sparks.

I don't understand. You CAN read, so why aren't you?

Here's what I'd like to challenge you to do. The first step is the hardest.

ONE: turn off Oprah.

I know, I know it hurts the first time, but just trust me and relax and we'll get through this, baby. We're going to try something a little harder, now.

TWO: go to the bookstore. Do not stop at the cafe` area for a Frappucino. BE STRONG, MY CHILD, I HAVE FAITH IN YOU.

THREE: go to a shelf. Any shelf that is NOT the two for one bestseller rack or the romance shelf. If you need to, bring a friend who will hold your hand, or a spouse who will gently wipe away the tears of anguish.

FOUR: put your hand on the spine of a book. Any book. Doesn't matter which one. Now, close your eyes.

FIVE: run your hand down the shelf, feeling the spines of the books in the dark, and stop when you feel like you should stop.

SIX: whatever this book is--cooking, stereo instructions, My First Colonoscopy--open it up.

SEVEN: go back to the cafe`, order that Frappucino, and don't leave the store until you've read that entire freaking book.
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (peace love harmony)
Why exactly is everyone in the fandom but me so excited about Keith R. DeCandido?

He could kill Vulcans with his brain. (With his sentence structure alone. See: How the Borg Spent Their Summer Vacation as Exhibit A.)

Guy makes Kevin J. Anderson look like Proust. For fucksake. Or maybe Melville.

Okay, okay, done proving I can read actual books. Still, aaaaughafkljshljks D:

Do not want.
jheti: (boogie woogie bugle)

I am trying to find all the funny and/or teen Halloween/monster movies!

I have these so far. )

CAN YOU THINK OF MOAR? (Crossposted like whoa) :D :D :D
jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (ghost ship)
In a real, narrative frame, here is the week, day, hour.

I don't think the phone force wants me; I'm not willing to wear suit trousers five days a week and couldn't live on campus to get to the office even if I were. No, darling, pressed slacks do not make you an adult. I've seen business majors puke in the bushes, too. No one's fooling anyone else with that disguise.

The car thing is so frustrating. It's right there on the lawn, but I never have the time or the ability to practice. I still need an experienced driver awake and ready to go in the car beside me, and one of them works days and the other works nights. The odds are still against me with the thing fucking parked on my lawn.

I think my odds of the teaching assistant job are pretty damned good, but I need to be driving, habitually, and comfortable with driving to school before that can happen, and I'm so worried it won't work out.

And IF I get the teaching job and IF I can drive, I still don't know if I can do BOTH OF THOSE THINGS~ and start my second Masters degree. Like I had planned, in January, in March, in May, how hard could it be.

I don't know if I'm going to get into the second program anyway, because I forgot to ask my other professors for letters of recommendation and I sort of need them in like four days.

The other stuff isn't hard; my goal statement's perpetually two-thirds written. I just pretend I'm a product and then SELL, SELL, SELL.

I have a high Machiavellianism score, especially for a woman, and a vocabulary adequate for Stanford. Form letters are not difficult. I pretend it's about someone else and BAM! instant go-getter confidence, you betcha, win win WIN WIN WIN.

Also, I've switched pretend faces, and this new one's an optimist. I need to pretend, I need to exercise my fiction muscle, in order to feel balanced and good as a person. So do actors.

I have memories of being illiterate, of still learning what words mean, and trying to spin incredible lies, just to see how thin I could cut them and yet have people believe me.

I've learned a lot of hard lessons about words not being a game, the fine art of words as blunt instruments, as razors and prison bars. But there's still a part of me geared to trill, "Let's see if you buy this one." For the pure...skill of it.

To see if I can do it. I'd imagine that's exactly what pushed Einstein to complete his work on the bomb.

So. I might have an actual job next semester and our main car has four fabulous brand new tires on it.

I am...going to get started with all my West Africa material today. Or maybe tomorrow. I have a fat stack of anthropology readings waiting for me when I'm done. And statistics work after that.

I'm also going early voting and just making a line of bubbles for the opposition to the current majority party. In sociology and communication studies, we call this the "screw you" effect. It's the underbelly of demand characteristics, and a prominent source of validity error in social experiments.

I'd write an essay about government as social experiment based on my experiences as an intern, but that's pompous and gauche, even for me.

I want to write some poems, and I want to decide for sure if the Romulans are barred owls or what; Ayel is a common raven, Kirk is a red-tailed hawk, and FUCK sexual dimorphism, Mandana was a peacock.


And if you actually read this far down, you get a survey thing as a treat.

The rest of you can stop skimming now; that thing you wanted is behind the cut.

O, why fear death? Be scared of living. )


jheti: Inara from Firefly, by Angiefaith. (Default)

August 2012

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