?

Log in

Wicked: [entries|friends|calendar]
Emily

[ i always tell the girls, | never take it seriously. ]
[ if you never take it seriously, | then you never get hurt ]
[ if you never get hurt | then you always have fun ]
[ and if you ever get lonely you can just go to the record store | and visit your friends. ]
[ userinfo | livejournal userinfo ]
[ calendar | livejournal calendar ]

A poem by Sylvia Plath. [13 Jun 2010|11:43pm]
Never read it before today. Lovely gem.

Admonition

If you dissect a bird
To diagram the tongue
You'll cut the chord
Articulating song.

If you flay a beast
To marvel at the mane
You'll wreck the rest
From which the fur began.

If you pluck out the heart
To find what makes it move,
You'll halt the clock
That syncopates our love.
every 6 second(s) |a woman is raped

[16 Oct 2009|02:26am]
Why the hell does a movie review have to make me feel more like crying than going to see a movie?

"We tell ourselves childhood is a time of joy, of play, of wonder. We tell ourselves that because, if we didn't, the pain of childhood, in our memory, would be unendurable. We spend childhood at the mercy of large, distant adults who define a world we don't understand, unable to speak to the feelings that swell in us and come and go with the intensity of summer storms. Childhood can be a wonder, but it can also be a wound. And great children's literature, great children's film making, understands that simple fact and speaks to it. "Where the Wild Things Are" is a great film because, for all of its wonder and magic and delight, it also knows about confusion and reality and sadness."
a woman is raped

[14 May 2009|09:38pm]
"We are turning into a nation of whimpering slaves to Fear—fear of war, fear of poverty, fear of random terrorism, fear of getting down-sized or fired because of the plunging economy, fear of getting evicted for bad debts or suddenly getting locked up in a military detention camp on vague charges of being a Terrorist sympathizer."
—"Extreme Behavior in Aspen," February 3, 2003
a woman is raped

[08 Mar 2009|10:40pm]

p. 180, Chapter 9

“In a symbiotic relationship, each symbiont must be capable of metabolism and reproduction, but the degree of dependence in some relationships is such that one symbiont cannot live independently. This may have been the case with Proterozoic symbiotic prokaryotes that became increasingly interdependent until the unit could exist only as a whole. In this relationship, though, one symbiont lived within the other, which is a special type of symbiosis called endosymbiosis.”

The world in your arms is so warm-it’s a great height scaled from lying down next to your very being; a kiss on the cheek, or a cupping of a face, it’s a tenderness drawing me to you carefully and completely. That’s why when I have to come back to reality, I cannot remember anything good. I cannot remember what it is to smile. Because I do not know it anymore. The only thing keeping me going is the notion that I will come back to those arms at the end of it. And I am protective of it because I could not stand for anything to get in the way.

a woman is raped

excerpts of significance. [04 Mar 2009|11:10pm]
I got love for my brother but we can never go nowhere
unless we share with each other
We gotta start makin' changes
learn to see me as a brother instead of 2 distant strangers
and that's how it's supposed to be

We gotta make a change...
It's time for us as a people to start makin' some changes.
Let's change the way we eat, let's change the way we live
and let's change the way we treat each other.
You see the old way wasn't working so it's on us to do
what we gotta do, to survive.


-2Pac, "Changes"
a woman is raped

[01 Mar 2009|02:01pm]
"In the broadest sense, evolution is merely change, and so is all-pervasive; galaxies, languages, and political systems all evolve. Biological evolution ... is change in the properties of populations of organisms that transcend the lifetime of a single individual. The ontogeny of an individual is not considered evolution; individual organisms do not evolve. The changes in populations that are considered evolutionary are those that are inheritable via the genetic material from one generation to the next. Biological evolution may be slight or substantial; it embraces everything from slight changes in the proportion of different alleles within a population (such as those determining blood types) to the successive alterations that led from the earliest protoorganism to snails, bees, giraffes, and dandelions."

- Douglas J. Futuyma in Evolutionary Biology, Sinauer Associates 1986

a woman is raped

[06 Oct 2008|11:27am]
Now a level 50 lock with a felguard. Is it nerdy to want to do it with your demon?
every 2 second(s) |a woman is raped

[08 Aug 2008|01:46am]
You know how sometimes when you start to miss something, you might wonder if you have something of it left somewhere, like in a picture, but it's funny, when you look, it's pretty hard to find. You start rummaging through everything in hopes that maybe it'd be there, even if it was just in the background of the focal point in the image or something---anything.
And that's when it starts to get really sad.
Because when the fragments of your memory cannot be found or made tangible, then that thing really does cease to exist,
and having it die is bad enough.
every 1 second(s) |a woman is raped

[03 Jun 2008|04:02am]
I like to torture myself by venturing to places that I know will hurt. I hate to know that assholes are succeeding, but I plant myself around their prospering life.
every 4 second(s) |a woman is raped

repeat. [01 Jun 2008|03:26am]
Last night I realized that music is the only thing I know of that still blows my mind constantly. Of course, I can sit and look at tilemen and be so utterly dismayed by how they work, and later wonder how roads were created over normal land, and how virtually everything on the planet was created from something, and have it blow my mind, but music TRULY just makes everything more precise and insane...and complete. Most of those other things I will never understand, but music just seems to understand ME. Lately I've been looking at old pictures and trying to place memories, and trying to figure out you know, what goes with what. I listen to music and it's my time travel and everything comes together in it. I watch Gino playing the guitar and I'm more into him than ever, watching his fingers move from fret to fret memorizing strings, and ascending and descending upon the neck; being amazed at how he can remember everything, and I start thinking about how people can remember even more than that, and they can create their own ideas and manifest it into music, just like he does, and it'll create sounds that'll echo and resonate in my mind, and relate to something else. And so I go down, because something that still hits me on a daily basis is the "oneness---" feelings of everything having to connect to me like a dream while I am living. When I am sober it feels like I am on drugs, I can't even stand it. It scares the fucking shit out of me half the time to have things relate back. Certain ideas or thoughts that occur to me end up revolving around in my head and making sense later again, as if pieces of a novel fitting, and you would think the fact that it makes more sense would be helpful or useful, or make me less tense, but it just disturbs me all the more. It makes sense but at the same time it makes NONE. Things just connect for me, but I can't understand why! Like, for instance, and this is rather small, for no reason at all, I felt like looking up pictures of Laura Nichol, seeing how she's coming along as she is still one of the most metal women (to me), one that I greatly envy as well. And reading this stuff, I don't know, it makes me feel less like I'm connected and more like I'm just one person who is the same. We all want to be different but nothing's more insignificant than knowing you are not very different.

http://www.revolvermag.com/content/guest-blog-light-city%E2%80%99s-laura-nichol-0

And the idea of "Space Euphoria" still pisses me off. There is nothing different from having been to space or not, (though obviously there's a difference in your action), it's just that the things you think about up there can be thought of down here, because I have thought them, and I imagine a lot of people have. And there's no reason why it should be studied because it's simple, and it's been said over and over again. Like there's a reason why people make comparisons, such as what I heard the other day about "seeing stars" being just an expression. How could you say it comes from being into space? You devoted your entire life to studying the brain and you still can't wrap yourself around SHIT.
a woman is raped

[08 May 2008|03:22am]

God, all I want to do is go to sleep but I sucked in this deep breath of air that was stifling. Who would have thought an inhalation would feel closer to suffocation instead? Just staring at the clock while the minutes pass seems to make me feel all the more desperate, as if stupid red numbers on a rectangular screen somehow signify so much more than the passage of time.

If you sleep well, you must be pretty guilt free.
Or drugged up.
Or I don't know, but I'm happy for you.

a woman is raped

This is freaking crazy: [17 Apr 2008|04:52pm]
http://news.yahoo.com/s/ap/20080417/ap_on_re_us/polygamist_retreat

By MICHELLE ROBERTS, Associated Press Writer 17 minutes ago

SAN ANGELO, Texas - A court hearing to decide the fate of the 416 children swept up in a raid on a West Texas polygamist sect descended into farce Thursday, with hundreds of lawyers in two packed buildings shouting objections and the judge struggling to maintain order.

The case — clearly one of the biggest, most convoluted child-custody hearings in U.S. history — presented an extraordinary spectacle: big-city lawyers in suits and mothers in 19th-century, pioneer-style dresses, all packed into a courtroom and a nearby auditorium connected by video.

At issue was an attempt by the state of Texas to strip the parents of custody and place the children in foster homes because of evidence they were being physically and sexually abused by the Fundamentalist Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, a renegade Mormon splinter group suspected of forcing underage girls into marriage with older men.

As many feared, the proceedings turned into something of a circus — and a painfully slow one.

By midafternoon only two witnesses had testified, and both only to lay the foundation for documents to be admitted. One witness, a state trooper, was cross-examined by dozens of attorneys, each of them asking the same question on behalf of a child or parent.

As the afternoon dragged on, no decisions had been made on the fate of any of the youngsters.

Texas District Judge Barbara Walther struggled to keep order as she faced 100 lawyers in her 80-year-old Tom Green County courtroom and several hundred more participating over a grainy video feed from an ornate City Hall auditorium two blocks away.

The hearing disintegrated quickly into a barrage of shouted objections and attempts to file motions, with lawyers for the children objecting to objections made by the parents' attorneys. When the judge sustained an objection to the prolonged questioning the state trooper, the lawyers cheered.

Upon another objection about the proper admission of medical records of the children, the judge threw up her hands.

"I assume most of you want to make the same objection. Can I have a universal, `Yes, Judge'?" she said.

In both buildings, the hundreds of lawyers stood and responded in unison: "Yes, Judge."

But she added to the chaos as well.

Walther refused to put medical records and other evidence in electronic form, which could be e-mailed among the lawyers, because it contained personal information. A courier had to run from the courthouse to the auditorium delivering one document at a time.

"We're going to handle this the best we can, one client at a time," Walther said.

Little evidence had been admitted by midafternoon. The first attempt to admit evidence resulted in an hourlong recess while all the lawyers examined it. The rest of the morning was spent in arguments about whether to admit the medical records of three girls, two 17-year-olds and one 18-year-old.

Department of Public Safety Sgt. Danny Crawford testified to DPS's discovery of a church bishop's records taken from a safe at the ranch that listed about 38 families, some of them polygamous and some that included wives 16 or 17 years old. But under repeated cross-examination, Crawford acknowledged the records contained no evidence of sexual abuse.

State officials asked the judge for permission to conduct genetic testing on the children and adults because of difficulty sorting out the sect's tangled family relationships and matching youngsters with their parents. The judge did not immediately rule.

Amid the shouting and chaos among the lawyers, who came from around Texas to represent the children and parents free of charge, dozens of mothers sat timidly in their long cotton dresses, long underwear even in the spring heat, and braided upswept hair.

In the satellite courtroom, about 175 people strained to see and hear a large projector set up on the auditorium's stage. But the feed was blurry and barely audible.

"I'm not in a position to advocate for anything," complained Susan Hays, the appointed attorney for a 2-year-old sect member.

Outside, where TV satellite trucks lined the street in front of the courthouse's columned facade, a man who said he was an FLDS father waved a photo of himself surrounded by his four children, ranging from a baby to a child of about 9.

"Look, look, look," the father said. "These children are all smiling, we're happy."

Walther signed an emergency order nearly two weeks ago giving the state custody of the children after a 16-year-old girl called an abuse hot line claiming her husband, a 50-year-old member of the sect, beat and raped her. The girl has yet to be identified.

Authorities raided their compound April 3 in the nearby town of Eldorado — a 1,700-acre ranch with a blindingly white limestone temple and log cabin-style houses — and began collecting documents and disk drives that might provide evidence of underage girls being married to adults.

The children, who are being kept in a domed coliseum in San Angelo, range in age from 6 months to 17 years. Roughly 100 of them are under 4.

FLDS members deny children were abused and say the state is persecuting them for their faith.

The judge must weigh the allegations of abuse and also decide whether it is in the children's best interest to be placed into mainstream society after they have been told all their lives that the outside world is hostile and immoral.

If the judge gives the state permanent custody of the children, the Texas child services agency will face the enormous task of finding suitable homes. It will also have to decipher brother-sister relationships so that it can try to preserve them.

Over the past two weeks, the agency has relied on volunteers to help feed the children, do their laundry and provide crafts and games for them.

Gov. Rick Perry would not say how much the case is costing the state, but said: "Does the state of Texas have the resources? Absolutely we do."

The sect came to West Texas in 2003, relocating some members from the church's traditional home along the Utah-Arizona state line. Its prophet and spiritual leader, Warren Jeffs, is in prison for forcing an underage girl into marriage in Utah.

a woman is raped

[03 Apr 2008|09:19am]
 

Anyone rebelling against society and culture will be partaking in a great trip.

every 2 second(s) |a woman is raped

"I was wrong. I was wrong. Now I'll never see your face...anymore." [02 Apr 2008|01:41pm]
 

There are some things you will never say, and some things you will never share, and certainly, the other half of yourself will never even know-but will have a vague idea. They will sense an attitude in your nature, a reality that they themselves cannot realize; they will wonder extensively and wander even longer, but still be almost entirely unaware.

I hate myself for the way that I was. I sometimes push people’s buttons way too far, and hardly ever appreciate what they gave me, take advantage of their noble personality, and still, I will wonder why I am at a loss when others cannot appreciate everything that I gave, which was my all.

This entire time I complained that I went underappreciated, and here, I failed to appreciate you-simply because you were always loyal; for that, you may always lie alone.

That is unfortunate, and I am sorry…

I guess that's just the way things are.

Fucked up.

a woman is raped

trivial expectations. [01 Apr 2008|10:07am]

You ever travel to a place in your mind that is so depressing at times that you wonder why you even venture there anymore? Why the charade? More importantly, why even bother? You are overgrown; these chairs you once sat in are far too small for you now, this cafeteria you once walked through is much more suffocating than it ever was before, all the tables you used to gather your marbles underneath, staring up at the gum lining all the bottom surfaces of every rectangle you sat below, is a place for new children to sit at, to replace you, and surpass all of your supposed growth. But we still go back there every year, Natalie and I- it is almost as if we are drawn to it, or feel an obligatory sense of need---I did not feel that this year. The old feeling was almost entirely gone. The truth is, it gets exceedingly worse every time; not because the place really changes, but because I do. Because I can no longer see any point in trying to get something back that is long gone. I have since tired of fighting it, and can see that everyone around me has also. It's just that part of you wants to be remembered-I always wanted my teachers to remember me, I wanted to be that child so memorable that they could remember small things about me, such as my name, or my shyness. But those teachers retired, moved away, departed. This school is now a place so strange to me that it is almost as if it were an assortment of memories made up in an effort to feel like I once belonged. Hanging from monkey bars, hiding in tires stuck into the earth, drawing circles with a stick by a tree in grey dirt; first really meeting Natalie. I see the blacktop that used to have red dots on it where I would fight Shannon Tatum for the one in the front, and hated the 50 yard dash competition (I have never been particularly competitive, I would rather sit in the sidelines). I remember walking past the windows with the fresh windowsill plaster keeping the window intact, and I remember us children walking by and pulling it off, sticking our fingers deep into the wet surface (I am not sure if you can still see the imprints where our fingers pushed through to this day, but you could a few years ago), rolling them into balls, then just discarding them later. I remember that Eperson girl once said the word “sex in 2nd grade homeroom when the teacher had left the room and explained that was how you said six in German (well, she was almost correct). That was the same time that I learned to spell raccoon, I went home and told my Popo. I remember doing a report on Faberge eggs (those are so damn cool) and making a concoction with ammonia; I still remember the smell. I remember dressing up like a pilgrim, and getting my photograph taken as I sat aside a bright red bush (when it was in bloom); making an elephant out of clay, getting nosebleeds, and yelling at Jeremiah. I would see the pictures other students had drawn placed up on the walls; I once fell in love with the way one of my peers had drawn lips on a girl-I wanted to draw all of my lips this way, and would practice often.

What frustrates me most is that I do not have proof of anything, no certainty of my memories, nor the capacity to entirely retain what went on, though many things that occur in youth become a sort of obsession, or a bliss that seeped through my veins and spilled out somewhere as I continued along. But I go back there every year in some vain hope that I will find something, like one of my lost yellow marbles with the white splitting through them, and I wish I would see one person-just one person-from those days. Someone to tell me they remember when wed catch grasshoppers, or they remember how we'd pretend we were picking cotton for dress making or throwing sticker burr seeds in the air. It's a really dumb thing...I go back there and I want and EXPECT everything to look the same. I want the vanilla ice cream with the wooden spoons and I want the library, always a place of refuge, to have the same librarian, and I want science to be a great joy. I want the excitement of youth. I want that feeling of being new. But its so old. So old, its nothing but a very sad sight and accumulation of moments spent reminiscing. You can only stay there so long before you start missing out on your new life. It's silly to want one example, just one example, as a sign that you existed. To reflect on the fact that the problem does not change as you "progress," but only grows stronger, sucking every strength and desire out of you. It's like the school is merely a metaphor for an old lover, the one you spent so much time with, the one who you thought was undeniably and entirely yours. The relationship did not last, and now you still have to somehow return to this lover after years of separation in hopes they still pine over the loss of you; they do not. Even worse, they never did.

As I get older, it seems as I continue to leave places and people that my memory will continue erasing them, and as they are erased, so I will be. But it was something I had to do to live.

a woman is raped

the sorrow of love. [27 Mar 2008|11:12am]

THE SORROW OF LOVE

by: W.B. Yeats

      HE quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,
      The full round moon and the star-laden sky,
      And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,
      Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.
       
      And then you came with those red mournful lips,
      And with you came the whole of the world's tears,
      And all the sorrows of her labouring ships,
      And all the burden of her myriad years.
       
      And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,
      The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,
      And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves
      Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.
a woman is raped

It's hard to avoid the spring... [03 Mar 2008|07:25pm]

every 6 second(s) |a woman is raped

[07 Jan 2008|12:10am]
 
Nervousness, back in my day, was supposed to be associated with good things-the good "butterfly" feeling (I call it the "elevator" feeling). But I have since realized that people whom you are AFRAID of, in general, can create the same sort of feeling. Therefore, the people you love are not very far from the people that you hate.
Sometimes...
a woman is raped

[21 Dec 2007|12:50am]
So today we went to Schlotzsky's, Natalie and I (before Kim had gotten there with us), and the guy at the counter was all, "I love your hair. You look like Bettie Page. I'm a fan of hers."

I wanted to be like, really? Because I haven't heard that a million times in a million other places, and neither has any other girl with black hair and bangs, or even just bangs for that matter. She didn't own bangs, you know. So I can't really understand how she managed to 'coin' the image. I'm sorry that you associate them with her, but I think she's an awesome person. It's just sad that you automatically think any girl with bangs and black hair is going to look like her-we don't. You should try to change your statement there a bit, like, "your hair reminds me of Bettie Page." But even still, it's like, nobody's going to say, "You look like Clara Bow because you have bangs," or "You look like Theda Bara." They were around BEFORE her. Or how about when you don't have bangs, because a lot of people have bangs and a lot of people don't. So there are a lot of actresses without bangs, but just because they don't have them nobody gets associated with them. What about when your hair is red or blonde or in a beehive? Who do you look like then?

And then we went to the __________ _____________, and the guy at the counter was looking at my wallet, and started talking about Emily Strange, and how my name is Emily and how I have her hair. Wonderful. He was terribly perceptive.

And you wonder why I think I would be nothing without my hair.

every 3 second(s) |a woman is raped

[17 Dec 2007|11:31pm]

That feeling when you have been itching to write something, to say everything that needed to be said---the desire so great that the words are tumbling out of your mouth, your thoughts are stark raving mad, naked, waiting to be clothed by a piece of paper. Then you've wrapped everything up so tight, elegant and graceful. That feeling when you've been waiting so long to express something, and then you sit back, and you see the great work. It is done.

I love that feeling of completeness. But it's also great when you're being reflective on how you didn't think it could be created, and it was.

a woman is raped

navigation
[ viewing | most recent entries ]
[ go | earlier ]