(no subject)

I'll be gone from Livejournal for a little while.
Actually, probably a lot longer.

There is a whole lot of real life stuff I'm having trouble handling.

This message is not because I think people care if I'm posting or not.
It's just to make it seem more final for me.

(no subject)

So I found a prom dress!

And hopefully, tomorrow, I'll actually own it -_-

But. It's black.

I searched for color, I did. Vibrant blues. Soft greens. Brilliant reds.

But no go.

So I got black instead. It's pretty. And there is a lot of white and diamonds. Well, not a lot of diamonds. A few. And they aren't real. Come on.

But I'm happy.

And look!

The Queen is happy for me too!

Photo Sharing and Video Hosting at Photobucket

Yeah, you bet she is.

(no subject)

in hidden caves beneath blanket tomb 
with faces of thieves I’ll never lick 
in a bed at night while fingers bloom  
dreams of freudian, the dreadful sick
to find the lost arabic bubbles 
among paper stems and prints of grey 
left to join with the poor girl’s troubles 
but to fight and drift another day  
an african queen floats on ocean 
rafts with fish hooks tied onto her toes, 
and measureless mouths match motion 
pictures while coleridge – only god knows – 
snorts up crushed aspirin off her eyelids, 
discuss coming months after a fashion
with ivory wine that tongue forbids
to speak with only utmost passion;
the keys that stick from out the mud
tuned toward the flashing flood
strike the chord of cancer blood
	I fantasize at night some times
	that I were but a single cat
	blind to all unknowable crimes
	parachuting peaceful combat
	left to consume alone a plague
	swept borneo a mournful cheer
	empty heads so dry and vague
	with the ground impossibly near
Boris Karloff

(no subject)

Ok. So, let me tell you all about my serious addiction.

It's more like a compulsion. An affliction. When I'm around them, or near them, brain activity either shuts down. Or jump starts. It feels like both.

I am addicted to purchasing classic horror movies.

It started out when I was about 15, maybe 16. On Halloween, Wal-Mart was selling old horror movies for a dollar each in cheap, plastic boxes like the ones AOL would send you, begging for you to use their free trial. The paper could have been printed out from someone's computer.

I bought a bunch. That was just the beginning.

Then, maybe a year or so ago, Suncoast was selling box sets of different genres, 10 movies for twelve dollars. Westerns, martial arts films, the Marx brothers comedies. My friend bought one completely devoted to Blaxploitation.

I bought horror classics. I watched them during hurricanes. House on Haunted Hill with Vincent Price kept stopping when the power flickered, and I nearly cried.

But today. Oh, today. Today was the best. Or, perhaps, the worst.

For twenty dollars, I just bought fifty horror classics.

There are some repeats, of course. It has things that I already own, like The Phantom of the Opera, The Invisible Ghost, The Last Man on Earth, Dementia 13. I now own three copies of Carnival of Souls. Three original Little Shop of Horrors.

But oh. This set. It has it all.

Metropolis. The Hunchback of Notre Dame. White Zombie. The Killer Shrews. The original, silent Nosferatu. Oh.

They are all in a little cardboard box. Each of the 12 dvds in nothing more than a paper casing. All gloriously sitting on my lap. All of them. Vincent Price, Bela Lugosi, John Barrymore, Boris Karloff, Lon Chaney Jr., Fay Wray, Tor Johnson.

Such squee. She knows no bounds.

Heroes - Sylar


Right. So. Grad Nite, for the stupid, is a night where all the seniors go to Magic Kingdom and stay awake all night riding things and stuff, and then ride back home for what is probably the most miserable experience of their life. But up until that, it was really fun.

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And then Saturday night, I think. Or maybe Sunday, I don't know. But. The Walk! With Brett! Yay!
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Planet Terror


So, yeah. I stayed home from school today because I had a whole bunch of FSU things to sort out and because everyone else in the world does things smoothly and God hates me. Incidently, if there is someone on my flist who got into FSU and also waited like an IDIOT to register for Orientation, I'll be there June 12, and if anyone else is, just let me know.

ANYWAY. So, this is a long overdue pic post, according to some people. And by some people, I mean Allie.

Warning. Lots a pictures. If you have dial-up? Well, I'm sorry. It's the new millenium, buddy. Get with it.

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Whew. Okay. That's it. Splitting this up into more than one post. There is too much here.

(no subject)

I finally got a copy of the DVD from the NYC poetry trip last year.

I can't believe it's been a year.

I don't like to think about it.

It hurts to think of anything that good not being constant.

It wasn't even the poetry, per se. But New York.

But the poetry was always good.

Well, not always.

It's been so long since I've done anything. Since I've been thrust into theatre by accident.

It's not that much of a change.

I'm behind the scenes. Or reading someone else's words.

At least there is no soul-crushing fear in theatre. I enjoy it.

It's just weird to think that that stage in my life is basically over.

The club disintergrated. New York City is far, far away.

All I have is this dvd of me, rushing my words with a lisp I never noticed before. With the creepy guy who made it only highlighting my bit about porn, and nothing else.

All I have is this dvd of me, fucking up one part and stuttering over the next.

And the words, still floating around in my head. I think I'll know them until I die.

Last year was the year of poetry. This year is the year of drama.

The year before was the year of nothing and car accidents. The year before that was the year of friends I now hate and Wal-mart.

Like the photographer in this book I'm reading.

Just give me progress.


Give me patience.


Give me rhymed meter.


Give me a break.