I can feel it in my fingers

Bloodorange and fire lights in the sky never tire of being so high...

I got Jaymins letter Saturday and in it she listed Fictional Characters She Would Marry--here is mine. Abbreviated.

• Mr. Darcy. From Pride and Prejudice.
• Mr. Bingly. Also From Pride and Prejudice.
• Dorian Gray. To appease my subconcious masochism.
• Graham Simpkins. Because he is a weeper. More than any woman I've ever met. (Mormons Jaymin, Mormons.)
• Nino Quincampoix. He's quirky.
• Christian from Moulin Rouge. Yes.
• Fred or George Weasely. The have red hair and are completely ridiculous.

Very abbreviated...lol.

Today was one of those cold early winter days where is feels like you breathe the frost that covers everything, like it seeps into your lungs and blood and you might always feel cold no matter how warm it gets, because its become a part of you. I can feel it in my fingers (*sings* I can feel it in my toes...lov--christmas is all arou--sorry.) as I am typing this now.

Last night my sister and I went over to our grandparents house to help set up their tree. After taping some of the limbs, re-wiring what seemed to be an entire strand of lights, sweeping up glass fragements from one of the ornaments we broke, fighting with the angel to stand up straight and stop leaning on the top and nearly toppleing the whole thing over quite a few times we got it up and it looked very nice--classy. I love christmas. I really do, I would set up christmas decorations as soon as it got cold and not take them down until summer if I was allowed. Hahaha. We set up our stuff at home today. Its very much in the vein of ultra tacky christmas vomit and leaves you with a queasy feeling in your stomach after looking at it, but in that context its rather lovely and was very fun putting up.

I started reading Dante's Divine Comedy yesterday, and finished the first several Cantos. Just as a diversion. I need to find another good book to read, because I think I've read every one of mine twice already. Im thinking about picking up Pride and Prejudice because I've watched the movie no less than 20 times in the last couple of weeks, and think it would be good to brush up on the book. I like the movie because it portrays love like life is. Messy and tedious and biased and frustrating, but in the end worthwhile, unexpected and better than imagined. It makes my heart happy.

This saturday is the christmas party at my Uncle's house in Columbus. I really am actually excited about this one. I think it will be fun--a younger and more diverse group of people than our traditional family christmas parties. I think the only person in my family that is near to my age is my cousin Alex--he's about 3 months or so younger than I am I think, and he lives in California. Come to think of it, I havent seen him in a while, since we were 16 or so, but he was really fun. He has red hair and eats burritos with sporks and is funny and kind of ridiculous. Most of my family is boring and only talks about varying degrees of disgusting health ailments, the gaining or losing of wieght about everyone in the room, and hunting. Yes, family get togethers unfortunately are usually rather dull and its all I can do to drag myself there.

Which I always thought was sad because I really wanted to have a close family, that sounds odd, but I really was a lonely sort of kid (not much has changed, eh? lol) but I always wanted to have cousins that I could visit and aunts that were fun and made cookies and things like that, but it didnt work out that way. Oh well. I guess thats why I have such bizarre and wonderful friends! Now if only they lived closer....boo.

I think I'll make peppermint bark for the party. Yes. That sounds wonderful.

Ah well, I've blathered on enough here for one night.

A Brief Dialogue Between Lovers

He: Sometimes I feel as if I cannot contain all this dire and deceiving passion that ravages my soul. What is lacks in direction or facet is made worse a thousand times by the inconsistency of its presence and the sheer tremulous wantonness of its nature. I feel as a person divided, dualistic and desperately wanting for something more, something grander than the heartache and loneliness of a life so tormented. Yet, am I to live the art I so want to create? Is there a cause for this reckless passion, this untamed spirit that is trapped in my heart? Oh, God, there must be. I am the pen and you are my poetry. The light of your eyes far outshines the pallor of this meaningless and fleeting life. In you I see a million burning stars, I see the fair Venus herself, staring back at this worthless wretch before you—

She: Call not yourself worthless! I will not hear it! You might be a man divided but only so that there is more of you to receive my love. I would not have you change, I will not have you leave yourself, your torment is romance, your suffering—what binds my heart to yours. Poets cry themselves to sleep for want of the love they can only write of. Your tear-drenched pillow is for want of words that you may only live. Say not that you are worthless, for in your spirit I find my worth, and if you art worthless than how low have you made me? Do you so slander my good heart?

He: Never! Your heart is my life, its beating is my breath!
She: Then love me with all of yourself, and it shall never cease or run cold.

"You could be happy, I hope you are..."

"...You made me happier than I'd been by far
Somehow everything I own smells of you
And for the tiniest moment it's all not true..."
--Snow Patrol

Thats a great song.

Favorite things this instant:

• The amazing time with the people from SC and LA this weekend!
• Still the sign that says "You are loved there is hope" in the spare office of the church.
• Hugging people who hurt you at one time and realizing that despite that they are only people and they feel as well.
• Starbucks Grande 1 Shot Soy Raspberry Mocha No Whip.
• Having had talked to Jaymin last night.
• Being melodramatic and very pansy-ish in all of these entries and being completely ok with it, because, well, Im a girl. Hahaha.

If God is not a respector of persons, and if He is love, then it also means that love is not a respector of persons--thus the saying love is blind--and that, dear friends, is what I am counting on.

Blue eyed Circumstance shines bright as heaven tonight, thou art mine by fate or chance--I satiated oh drunk in love's soft light, I would not that light turn harsh and gray--else love freeze as ice on winter's day, oh passion leave not my bedside, let love be poetry forever and flow steadily seductive as the oceans ebbing tide--each new day a well kindled flame discover--fire of love, oh passionate passion!

Odd coincidence it is that passion has a double meaning of suffering--it is clever and cruel. Thus love both inspires and injures the very core of our souls. There is nothing so agonizing as loving without return--reciprocation. But it is in the fires of this hell that we are made perfect and pure and able to understand the full weight and consequence of all that it is to die to love, to be completely consumed with it for one other than ourselves, and for that I am grateful for heartache.

Sorry. I am enamoured with love and all its meaning. I fear my only true passion is the want of passion, therefore I am not very good at anything but talking nonsense.

Thus with a kiss, I die.

"I felt I was on fire, with the things I could have told you
I just assumed that you eventually would ask
And I wouldn’t have to bring up my so badly broken heart
And all those months I just wanted to sleep
And though spring, it did come slowly, I guess it did its part
My heart has thawed and continues to beat"
--Conor Oberst from June On the West Coast.

My head hurts. I'm tired. I spent most of the day with my grandmother whom I love dearly, but she was in terrible sorts today and it was a miserable awful time. Ugh.

And then I got to thinking.

And Bright Eyes played through the speakers in my car as I drove around the dark cold city. And it is perfect.

I am choking with things I never say to people. I am suffocating on sorry's for what I never said. For what I should have said.

In that spirit, I will write more later, its freezing here, and I can barely feel my fingers or think straight. The cold has always incapacitated me in one way or another.

Goodnight.

Later...

I've just finished watching Shakespeare in Love, and I might state that it is always bad for me in the most wonderful way to watch or read anything even involving Shakespeare. It seems to me that he embodies the passion and the feeling of all that it is to be human--to laugh and cry and love. A passion that is no longer present in our modern lives of productivity--it seems to me that the Industrial Revolution did more than mechanize the world--it mechanized our lives and the way we think and how we act. We are machines, with no time or care to see the beauty and tragedy of life in all its aspects.

I feel that if I were born a little under a hundred and fifty years earlier I would have fit well with that age. The sheer decadence and celebration of life and love, the decay of the past rotting beautifully, poetically with the tragic modernization of the present. No wonder so many great thinkers and writers came out of the late 1800's and le fin de siècle. It must have been magical.

I think that is the real difference between art and fingerpaintings, between scribbles and sonnets--its the total embrace of every aspect of life--the good the bad, the celebration of being human and unashamed to feel and to think and to be. We are not machines. We are not engineered to perfection or vastly productive robots--we cannot find our true worth in how much we make or live up to the high standards we have created for ourselves--and for this we are guilty and shamed for simply being human. We have suppressed the very spirit that makes us. God did not make us mechanical, he made us flesh and bone and heart. Above all heart, and love. A machine cannot love. It cannot think, or feel. I am glad that I am not one. I am glad that I dont ever want to be one.

I can take people thinking Im unproductive, or a failure by their standards if it means that I know the true nature of life, the magnificence buried by debris and love it passionately for all that so many never see.

I am free, I am tragic, I am alive and terribly morbid.

Thou art tedious, Hypocrites
O god of all modern men!
From thou winged wisdom flees--
And fair Patience is streched thin!

I've been feeling rather poetic lately, maybe its just because I've immersed myself in it. I guess I have just been needing a feeling, not words of comfort or words of wisdom, just the feeling that I am understood. Enter poetry. The perfect albeit lonely companion.

I think those opening lines will be the begining of my first ever epic poem. I've never tried to write anything like that before, but I do rather like what I came up with there.

Today has been a crap day really. Really crap. I wont go into detail, I am much to kindhearted for that, but suffice it to say that I spent a great deal of today staring blankly out of the big picture window watching the fiery leaves fall while secretely fantacising about throwing myself off of very high bridges (ah--rush of air--so alive--tearing through my lungs--ripping through my hair--ice on my skin--the sky above so blue--mirrored by the shallow water below--I am free--I am tragic--I am amazing--splash! crunch!--I am alive and terribly morbid!) and popping the remnant of the bubble wrap that was from the first box Jaymin sent me. Yes. One of those days.

We did get the curtains up. Yes. It gives the livingroom the feel of a hotel really. Im not quite sure I like them, but at least they keep whatever strange people that might be meandering by in the middle of nowhere from peering into our windows and watching us do such fascinating things as watch movies, practice the Soulja Boy dance or pick our noses. So, one thing accomplished.

Oh well. Tomorrow is a new day. Lets hope for a good one, shall we?