La viuda del balcón

Mon, 10 Jul 2006 05:14:00 GMT

"Did you ever notice that there are two smells for rain?"

"What is the other one?"

"Well,
what is the first one?"

"Leaves.

Grass."

"Freshness?"

"Yeah."

"Yeah,
that's the one that I like."

"What is the other one?"

...

...

"All of the dead earthworms."

Also

Tue, 27 Jun 2006 06:32:58 GMT

*Akilah Oliver's* "lecture" (which was an interview of Bitch from "99 Problems") was unbelievabe. She was both interviewer and interviewee. Began with "Bitch" telling the interviewer to, "Ok, pretend that you are a real interviewer." "Ok." She read excerpts from Alice in Wonderland to a musical recording of Anne Waldman's "The Devil's Working Overtime." It was so creepy. And good.

Also: explored the difference between "Bitch" and "The Woman Done Me Wrong Again." (Rap and blues.)

"But, Bitch, if you have 99 problems, and a bitch ain't one, what are your other problems?"
"Myself...

and 12 other people."

Tue, 27 Jun 2006 06:15:35 GMT

I wrote another one and I made up the tune this time. (I think--so far.) Except that it is about the ocean (and so it is NOT country music). It is kind of a Bad Musical song. So. But I cannot post the lyrics here because they are not about my imaginary friends. (Kind of about the ocean.) I already told you. Goodnight.

HEY! If you came here ACCIDENTALLY and you meant to read SOMETHING ELSE (that might be GOOD for you to READ and maybe
NOT ABOUT ME):

Here is a link to my poetry teacher's blog--ronsilliman.blogspot.com .

(He is my teacher for the week.)

This is a cool cool cool place.

Mon, 26 Jun 2006 00:19:30 GMT

Just realized that I stole most of the tune from Regina Spektor. Oh well. So much for my career as a country music artist. (And she sang at something called something like ANTIfolk.)

Sun, 25 Jun 2006 22:47:10 GMT

Hello, repulsively self-absorbed livejournal.

No, I did not get off easy. No, I will never get off easy again. Yes, I will die alone and miserable.

In other news: I wrote a bad country music song. Which is not about anyone except myself and my imaginary friends. Melody consistent throughout. (Think of something simple, catchy and not too interesting. Until I can sing it for you. Because I have already sung it for myself 10 times. And the other people in the hostel are probably getting annoyed.)

It's called "The dream of a man carrying groceries up a long hill." I will sing it for you sometime. I have two hours until the "Howl" anniversary celebration and no [corporeal] friends and no drinking buddies. Punctuation is not consistent throughout:

Oh, you cannot feel the weight (no)
you cannot feel the weight (no)
you told me and I know that
you cannot feel the weight, but

I can feel the weight (yes)
I sure can feel the weight, and
I’m gonna feel the weight
till you leave.

And I’m walking up this hill.
(And I’m walking up this hill.)
Sun is boiling up my heart.
(It says, “Hey there, lobster heart.”)

Well, I think that you should know
Yeah, I just want you to know
that I never felt relief
till you came.

Now I’m walking up this hill
and I’m carrying this weight.
Never wanted any man
to relieve me of no weight.

But you’ve done it and I know
that you’re willing and I know
that I’ll never feel relief
till you’re here.

You will take up all the weight
and you’ll leave me with no weight.
And I’ll never feel the weight.
I’ll go walking up this hill.

And I know I will feel great.
You’ll relieve me of the weight.
And we’ll walk up all the way
to our door.

But one day I’m gonna find
that you cannot be around.
I’ll go carrying the weight.
I’ll go climbing up the hill.

And it will hurt me more
than it ever hurt before.
I will boil. I will call
out your name.

But you are not gonna come.
No, you will not be around.
And I’ll have to take up all
of this weight upon myself.

So, I’d rather that you left.
Yes, just please go on and leave.
Cause I’ll never be quite safe
till you’re gone.

And I’m walking up this hill.
(And I’m walking up this hill.)
Rain is soaking through my heart.
(It says, “Hey there, monster heart.”)

Well, I think that you should know
Yeah, I just want you to know
that I’m gonna feel the weight
till you leave.

that I'll never feel relief
till you're here.

that I'm gonna feel the weight
till you're gone.

Sappho

Thu, 15 Jun 2006 02:41:40 GMT

So panic, though.

45. If you will come

I shall put out
new pillows for
you to rest on

46. Thank you, my dear

You came, and you did
well to come: I needed
you. You have made

love blaze up in
my breast--bless you!
Bless you as often

as the hours have
been endless to me
while you were gone

99. Must I remind you, Cleis,

That sounds of grief
are unbecoming in
a poet's household?

and that they are not
suitable in ours?

Wed, 14 Jun 2006 04:57:35 GMT

I told my parents I would go to sleep by 12:30.

And I still have to lay out Favorite Pants so that they will dry good no ironing.

We don't IRON at my house.

The dining room table is for books and papers and starfish. We eat out.

My mom says she can SEE it: that I am turning out like her--no presence of mind. "Elsie, what bridge are we going to cross in 3 minutes?"

"And the bridge after that?"

"What are the 5 boroughs of New York City?"

"Ric, you have to QUIZ Elsie. So that she will know where she is."

On Thursday (shhhhh)--I am going to escape.

Flora says, "No panicking about Denver." Which is a really sweet sentence. (No sarcasm.) It made me feel good. She says, "You will be in your element."

Shaant says I win for saying the most things that sound sarcastic but aren't.

We walked from 14th St to almost the top of Central Park and back to Penn Station. That was way back Friday. But the happiest thing I have done allllllllll this time. 6.5 hours of walking minus some bench sitting. "My feets are tired, but my soul's a rested."

I said, "If only it could stay
a'rested."

Then again yesterday: telephone pictionary is just as much fun as they say.
With clean, smart, funny minds. Minds that I miss.
(Will continue to miss.)

My friends talk about real jobs, though,
and I only think about (shhh)
LOVE.

But today I e-mailed this lady about an internship (unpaid), but a nice one with a nice publication, and she said,

"Please do call
when you get to town."

So here's jinxing it.

Here's to sleeping by 1. (Waking up happy,
no panicking.

Beds are for Favorite Pants.)

The world through brown sunglasses

Sun, 11 Jun 2006 22:37:25 GMT

"The ocean is so dark today."

"It is black!"

"I wouldn't say black."

"Dark blue."

"Yes."

"NAVY blue!"

"No."

"The navy--"

"No."

"Naaa--, n--"

"No."

Sappho

Sun, 11 Jun 2006 07:11:39 GMT

To make my mother happy, I have to be an uptight, weak-willed homebody of a person.

I cannot make her happy and still feel good about myself. (I cannot make her UNhappy and still feel good about myself.) This is difficult.

But I will NEVER be afraid of a city.

Was pleased to discover today that Sappho ALSO uses quotations from her friends in poems. (And puts her name into her poems.) I do that, too.

My mom just drove me home and we said nothing to each other. I never imagined that I could come to the end of her screaming. If only I had rebelled as a teenager like everyone else. I could have come to the end of that,
too.

It's no use

Mother dear, I
can't finish my
weaving

You may
blame Aphrodite

soft as she is

she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy

Fri, 02 Jun 2006 04:18:05 GMT

My siblings are snickering in the living room over Narnia. Which we loved as children as books on tapes on car-trips. But "Peter the Magnificent." You know. Church.

On confession:

"'Anything you're ashamed of now--'
'Yes,' Enid said, 'Yes.'
'"If it comes up, I'll talk about it; if not, why mention it?" That will be your attitude. The vicious bipolarity of shame, that rapid cycling between confession and concealment--this is a complaint of yours?'
'I think you understand me.'
'Chemicals in your brain, Elsie. A strong urge to confess, a strong urge to conceal: What's a strong urge? What else can it be but chemicals? What's memory? A chemical change! Or maybe a structural change, but guess what. Structures are made of proteins! And what are proteins made of? Amines!'"

--The Corrections

Dinner with Catharine in New York. She called me "cruel woman." And doesn't even begin to know.

But really--it was very nice to see her.

And I want to tell someone (desperately) that I have read this book before. Not the whole thing (hardly), but one particular section that appeared as "a fiction" in The New Yorker when I was in high school? Freshman year? And how it has been an important passage in my life, and how often I have thought of it since then.

So I am telling you.

"She loved Don Armour for getting up and wrapping his arms around her and not minding that she was a child."

<--That one.

Ok.

I guess that's all.

My brother came downstairs to sing. Commence to consume pears.

Thu, 01 Jun 2006 18:14:00 GMT

Did I tell you that Sophie is moving to Denver with me?
Sophie is moving to Denver with me. This is utterly wonderfully perfect.

We are DRIVING there. Her father is giving her his VAN.

She is doing the same Americorps program [as me] except with high school kids instead of little kids.

We will have a writers club.

She can be in the Colorado club with Roman, instead of me. (And they can capitalize "ORGANIC" in e-mails to each other)

and then we will all go camping.

I am going to drive across the Mississippi.

It's a really tough question, though--
Where am I going to live? (With whom?)

Because it is not as obvious as you think.

[Actually it is not.]

Thu, 25 May 2006 17:16:42 GMT

I'm going to Pennsylvania in 5 minutes.

Finally made it to the city dump today (fever and all). Stood on the edge of a great precipice and threw down some childhood clutter. Of course: this old man wanted to throw my clutter FOR me, and I let him throw one bag.

Now I am back in the attic and I'm going to turn off my computer, but I got my list of poetry workshops and I am very excited. The one that I was scared I might get--I got that one. Not Eleni Sikellianos (sp?) (Ken wanted me to have her), but he also wanted me to have Anselm Hollo, and I will. So. Two of them scare me, actually: Tonya Foster (resistance poetry) and the one that Roman will like too much (about poetry and breathing and meditation). We'll see.

Mara asked me last: about imaginary friends. I always had them. But they were always much younger than me, or weaker--children and dogs. (So that I could pretend to take care of things.) Now I turn my living friends into imaginary friends and I pretend to take care of THEM.

And I never take care of anything.

And they do dance: though Pirate never could before, very well... they feel quite in touch with all the others as they move, and if they are never to be full at ease, still it's not parade rest any longer... so they dissolve now, into the race and swarm of this dancing Preteriton, and their faces, the dear, comical faces they have put on for this ball, fade, as innocence fades, grimly flirtatious, and striving to be kind...

--Gravity's Rainbow

Thu, 25 May 2006 02:32:32 GMT

Ohhh. I swear I wouldn't be this crazy if I had friends. And no fever. I wasn't this crazy on Monday, for example.

Maybe tomorrow--reading W in my grandmother's living room. (I only look at the pictures.) Usually Prada has the prettiest ads, right? My dream of a British boss at Material ConneXion (Andrew) would always show me the (?--name of company to be filled in here when I remember it, but you will know what I'm talking about when you hear it)* ads and says, "Now, seriously, what is going on in this picture?" But his $200 sandals broke the first time he wore them. And he sent me to 5th Avenue to exchange them for another pair.

Martha says there will be no tent-living. Everyone will have a bed.

And hardly any internet.

And walks by the river.

No one can remember: what is an appropriate high school graduation gift?

Tom is going alone to the prom, but he is wearing a tuxedo.

And if I hadn't been reading Gravity's Rainbow with painter-dust clogging the stairs, and no living room and a fever for two days, I wouldn't write crazy e-mails to anyone.

Love (even after all this time), Elsie

*St. John?

Tue, 25 Apr 2006 06:17:21 GMT

Claire and I just walked through the fountain backwards in our underwear. (Isn't that what you're supposed to do?) I mean we weren't in our underwear freshman year. But it seemed more appropriate. Less likely to get our clothes wet.

Also: tonight I sang karaoke for the first time. ("Be My Baby" by The Ronettes.) I messed up the first two chords, and kept accidentally singing backup. But Mara said people sang along. They drowned me out, maybe. Is ok. Either way: I wish that I could be a rockstar. That is my ideal karaoke song. Claire sang "Passionate Kisses"--Mary Chapin Carpenter. Which was wonderful.

Before THAT we had a torture picnic at Gallup Park. Chris chased the ducks. Jesse didn't talk to me. No one brought a kite.

Sun, 23 Apr 2006 03:39:47 GMT

Alyssa has gone to pick up Claire from Seva because it is pouring pouring pouring. Then we will watch Sex and Lucia (which I love). So far we have been drinking wine over "The 'L' Word."

My housemates and I are collectively obsessed with "The 'L' Word."

It bothers me that Flora HATES (loathes) the character with whom I most identify (Jenny). (Though I have never cut myself.) And she says, "Oh no, Jenny--she is going to drop the baby." "It freaks me out to watch her; I don't know what she is going to do." And, "Where IS she?" And Alyssa says, "I don't know. Somewhere being weird."

Well. Now we have finished all of the DVD episodes (in one week). Nothing to do but watch a movie (Sex and Lucia).

This rain is something.

Yesterday I wore such a pretty paper bag/garbage bag/cloth bag dress. Could not compare to the blue book [exam book] dress worn by the other East Quad girl. Still.

Jesse said that I like to be told what to do. He would rather not have his name written here.

A new song has begun and I don't have room in my "music" box. And Alyssa and Claire are home.

Sat, 22 Apr 2006 22:25:03 GMT

So Americorps tells me that I will need foodstamps next year.

Thu, 20 Apr 2006 05:07:27 GMT

1. I have finished college forever. (At 4 PM.)

2. I have seen Dimitri for (probably) the last time ever. (At 6 PM.) Though he made me say goodbye suddenly on a corner. And I was too stunned to cry. He is leaving the US for(probably)ever tomorrow at 2. Which--I knew THAT of course, but I did not expect to say goodbye so early in the evening. World full of men reminding me that I deserve nothing. He is on a date with a new woman right now (told me) and he says that he is not necessarily happy about it. Oh. I am such a non-victim.

This girl (Emily) wants to give me $150 per month to sublet. Which means that she will pay $600 to live here for the summer and I will pay $1800 to not live here. Man. But better than nothing? I don't know how to bargain.

Also: Sadia and her husband have separated. I am glad that I did not tell Dimitri. But he might be keeping the same secret from me (for different reasons). My reasons are strictly pure for once. Probably it is not a secret at all--if I know. Maybe she has only not told him. Would be so understandable.

We got ice cream and he said, "Bell, be serious," and, "Oh! Suddenly we are flippant!" And, "I prefer flippant to sullen." Then I raced him and tied (but he had to go further around a pole), and then walked 2 more blocks and he said that he wanted to part ways. I did not want to go home. Went to find torture girls on the diag and to Zingerman's (sp). Did not have any money or appetite. Ate their leftovers.

I do not want to make friends all over again.

He says, "Bell, grow up."

Anyway. Thesis is finished, poetry book is finished, exams are finished and college is finished. And this entry is finished.

Lyrics from Greek

Mon, 17 Apr 2006 20:43:48 GMT

Elsa, you terrify me.
Elsa, I love you.
Every moment with you is carnage.

Tue, 11 Apr 2006 23:07:28 GMT

Better things:

Some lyrics:
Lord lord mother you're all losin' love.
Lord listen lover you're all missin' mama.
Lord lord mother you're all losin' love.
Lord listen lover you're all missin' somethin'
I don't got.

Three visits to the printer today. (Skipped class-LEO STRIKE. I have promised Ken and Dimitri that I will never go to school during a LEO strike unless I have an exam. Well. In my head I have promised them that. Still--I really couldn't afford to miss Milton today. But the printer was like a giant magnet over town. "Over town" is what they say in Forty Fort, Pennsylvania.)

So. My book :). No problem. The CD was a disaster. I gave them a new CD. Some of the printed words look a little weathered, because I messed with them too much in photoshop. But nothing that is painful to read. I am ok with it. They made a proof and I said ok, and just maybe forgot to ask them when they would have it finished. Anyway, will not be later than Saturday. That is so cool. Then I will maybe color on them. (Have not decided yet.)

ALSO: I got a letter from the Hopwood people today, and it says, "Though your entry has not won an award, it was among the top 5-12 manuscripts in your field sent to national judges, so there will be comments for you to read." Which is awesome. Comments from far away. I can pick them up tomorrow. Called my mom because I was happy about it and she advised me [again] to switch to prose: "If you want that kind of recognition. You have to please your audience." I said, "Mom, some people LIKE poetry. I like poetry." She said, "Well." Also: I have tried prose, and I'm awful.

So the only still-bad thing is my thesis. It has become difficult for me to look at the document. I have enlisted Roman as an introduction reader. Because everything else is ok.

Tue, 11 Apr 2006 03:42:30 GMT

Things that I don't like:

The printer.

The phone message from the printer.

Dimitri at Leopold's with all his friends except me.

The phone message from Dimitri.

My sister knows my music taste exactly.

My thesis (sometimes).

My father cares about Martha's proposal pain, and he doesn't care about my thesis pain. [He must like her better.]

Things that I like:

This band that Martha recommended.

My thesis (sometimes).

Tue, 11 Apr 2006 01:45:18 GMT

Goddamn you glitch-ful printer rot in hell or write my thesis.

Mon, 10 Apr 2006 13:46:28 GMT

I woke up this morning to my alarm clock and turned it off, and sat right up, and whispered (out loud to myself), "What day is it?" This is not a good sign.

Mon, 10 Apr 2006 05:08:07 GMT

How come

I can call an author by his or her last name, even if the author is a professor-critic, like Benita Parry. She is "Parry." But if I have heard the author-professor-critic SPEAK, like Ato Quayson, I only want to say "Professor Quayson." Is this a general rule? People need titles if you have met them? It is like Marvin's first law. (That people exist once he has met them.) I have to be courteous only to the writer who spoke in front of me, and not to the writer with the book.

Lectures are past tense and books are present tense? ("He said." "She says.") Because books keep saying it and lectures don't? Or are lectures present tense, also?

And does the appendix come before or after works cited?

And how do I begin the page numbers on page 5? (Beginning with the number "5.")

These thesis questions and more

on the next edition of my-last-week-as-a-undergraduate-student-oh-man-I-am-sad. Not that I want to stay another year, but I want to go to school again, and I want more time to develop torture class friendships.

Am worried that it will be a pattern: I suddenly have more than two friends in my last months in a place. And then I have to start over. But last time I also had the summer. Oh :). I miss everything (from then and now).

ELSIE: So maybe that is how you [one] stay[s] a good person?

ROMAN: Yes.

ELSIE: By having to make new friends and prove yourself all the time.

ROMAN: Um... By being a GOOD PERSON all the time.

Oh.

Sun, 09 Apr 2006 00:27:00 GMT

I am eating a noisy apple in a silent reading room.

Sat, 08 Apr 2006 03:11:39 GMT

A Hopwood--I am convinced--would have solved all of my [relatively inconsequential] life problems. But I have failed to win one. (Officially today.) That's alright. Roman reminds me that I cannot kill myself because my windows come far too close to the ground, and we only own butterknives.

(Not entirely true: we also own very professional-looking kitchen knives. They only CUT like butterknives. Is hopeless.)

So I have (maybe this time) finished my poetry book. With only seven* rolls of doublestick, and not nine. And lots of scanner/photoshop/acrobat/microsoft publisher grief. I thought that I had finished it yesterday, but the man at the printshop was a lot meaner than the man who spoke with me last time, and I spent 8 more hours changing everything today.

C. J. Danz from my freshman year great books section, who had won a Hopwood in the past for his ficition, won two more Hopwoods today. He was in a class with me last semester. Is kind of an author-type. He has kind of a nervous face. Multiple-Hopwood winners are like movie stars. How can they exist? How can they look at that door and see their own names? Adina did it only once. Erin did it twice, but Adina is a poetry genius.

That is ok.

Tomorrow: an early visit to the (hopefully this time kinder) printshop, and then thesis. And then someday I will buy some novels and swim in the Gulf of Mexico.