en passant...
gravitas \GRAV-uh-tahs\, noun:
    High seriousness (as in a person's bearing or in the treatment of a subject).

If the human mind was simple enough to understand, we'd be too simple to understand it.

thriving

My stomach is heavy and my hands are tremulous. I feel as though I could weep rivers onto my chest, but I am too angry to do it. What is to be done? Only to leave, but it is inescapable. This time - I want it to leave me. My internal landscape is musing. I feel fine inside it ... unwelcome, this comes. To say that I don't want this would be a hysterical attenuation, for it is altogether insufferable.

Taken aback into gardens and mossy ponds, I stood wearisome with inquisition locked tightly in my chest. Green had deluged every surface, it built around us like the heavy walls of a haven, and bits of ivory, deep reds, and yellow obtruded eccentrically. A conversation balanced. My dress blew quickly at my legs. Crickets and robins gave every effort to provide wholesome music. It may have been the pause in my speech which granted me the look, or the look which granted me the pause. I felt exhilaration pervading my insides, seeping through my fingertips and neck. I had just seen brilliant blues and contours of the most divine beauty. I wanted suddenly to stay there always, with someone of equal intellect and imagination, irrepressible and irrefutable - no longer alone, nor with company, but in our haven of time and gardens.

Yesterday, on a mountaintop which grew thousands of Christmas trees, I sat deep within the fir amongst a circle of white flowers. A curious doe watched me as she passed. I could hear only the wind.

dentist gave me a gold-coloured owl ring with white eyes
suction with make-shift pinstripe straw
counting the mismatched sides in the light and syllables in the songs playing
aquatic theme
my tongue feels fat

we waited for the deer to cross, but he didn't show, so we couldn't wait any longer
it takes a long time, y'know, for a deer to write down on little notes that this is where he crosses
Pud Pud
track you down and kill of your fucking family
inbred rednecks
scottish man with chiseled mustache
woman guessed that I was a size 6 with my thick cardigan over a v-neck and thick sweatpants
brown leather shoes with a hole at the toe
Grace just sent me a telepathic message saying "I love you"
shaking
Nick said I have the best father in the world
Then I left him on his own and he stormed off

The United States Merchant Marine is made up of the nation's civilian-owned merchant ships and the men and women that crew them. The merchant marine transports cargo and passengers during peace time. In time of war, the merchant marine is an auxiliary to the Navy, and can be called upon to deliver troops and supplies for the military.

applause on the fruit flies, apple sauce from the insides
apples?

Then I look at you and the world's alright with me

mummies

If you will not be a lazy sod, then that makes you a dark lord worshiper, which puts you in direct correspondence with the death eaters.

Giles: Everything's terrible. Total catastrophe.
Buffy: Giles, what's wrong?
Giles: Have you seen the new library? There's nothing but computers. There's not a book to be seen.

I meant to include that, on hot days, I only walk Watson barefoot. Before I first introduced him to my home, I read in a puppy health maintenance book that the paw exterior, which is a keratinised, pigmented, hairless epidermis, is fragile, and if, when barefoot, the ground is too hot to walk on, then it is also too hot for your puppy.

In his mind, we have been great buddies for all eternity.

perfect weather

I walked outside barefoot to bring Watson on his territorial route and I noticed immediately, the weather is perfect.

8:15 in the evening

Cloudy
79°F
Feels Like
80°F
Updated Aug 15 08:00 p.m. ET

UV Index: 0 Low
Wind: From WSW at 4 mph
Humidity: 58%
Pressure: 29.95 in.
Dew Point: 63°F
Visibility: 9.0 miles

It's as though the only way to get into Heaven is by neatly parking your car in the lot and paying a membership fee every month.

venter, ventilate

Why did the raspberry chocolates taste like yogurt covered raisins?
tea whistling from the brass kettle


mystique in fury, I suppose
haven't the time insured
hours, years of preparation, dedication
no avail! I remind you - she moped about with small aches
vicinal prime! celebrate, they wailed - the baleful ale succumbs
sum becomes obscure
my senses oppose; she chose the shows, prose unsure
to compose the details and glory of a rose
the thorn, bitter and bitten beneath the veil
importance ignored as a cataract sees a cataract creeping
born on the back of a whale
for the lucid tale which tells about the pale moppet and her pearl
wrecked in her gut because she wouldn't unfurl her thought

I met an artist today. He creates jewelry as cryptic mazes of gold. They unfold, unclasp, and untwist to reveal rings, bracelets, pins, and necklaces within their larger form. He engineered each item to fit as a puzzle, only to open with clever intention. A hummingbird made of opals, gold, rubies, sapphire, and brass was placed on the glass box, he said, "Try to take this apart." I touched the corners of the wings and the circles which I knew would create a bend, then began undoing it to reveal a slender pin with an opal atop it like a staff. "I'm impressed," he said. "That usually takes most people a while to do." He fed my quiet curiosity with more goldsmith problems, then brought out clearly focused photographs of his archived work on wood and wet surfaces. His son took out his pottery and I told him what they look like. "That looks like a boot, house, landslide teapot." He laughed, "I dabbled with pottery a while ago. These are all by hand, I was horrible with the wheel."
"This looks like a whirlpool."
As I left, I aptly quoted Ralph Waldo Emerson, smiling, and they all smiled in return. "Very nice."

My first sting

My father had curiously shuffled through the bin for ten minutes before I tread up the hill to find blue fans, tarot cards, and worn woolen sweaters. Singular items, plentiful in mind. To be dipped into the treasure chest, my hand of all seeing fingers was in eusocial wasp brigade. Like all other nearly identical groups of being, they believe I am plotting a vicious conspiracy which renounces their true individual self as the upholders of mass uniformity. Naturally, I say. Blast, I say! A nest of hornets rest beneath the corner over which my arm hovered and bodied swords thrust into my skin. I screamed, ran backward whilst in search of my attacker. Another, another! Faster then. My father looked at me with both concern and bewilderment. He came toward me and I examined my arm to find three relatively large holes in the right forearm. "God dammit," I said to my father. He offered to drive me home but I insisted that we walk.
Throughout, I explained that the wretched smell in the kitchen hadn't been a dead mouse, as Mum assumed, but rather, a dead bat which had died while we were at the beach for the weekend. She hurriedly came in, handed me the disinfectant and remembered something she had to attend to outside, which kept her for the five minutes it took me to take the bat in the mouse trap outside, return, wipe down the area behind the toaster, disinfect it, and light a candle. I explained this to him because of his nose; amid his life, fights have broken it at least four times, ergo it became intolerant of the smoke put off by my mother's incense and candles. Upon returning, he would not comment on the heavy waft of apple wax and spiced plums so as to not upset my mother with the disrobed smell of rotten Chiroptera, not because of the stench itself, but because it would keep in her mind that another small animal has died in her home.

"At least it wasn't fifteen," said James.
Henry asked, "Are you in any pain now?"
I looked up at him while painting a matte print of Lake and myself and shook my head.
"That's incredible."
"I've only stepped on bees before, this is the first time they've attacked me."


At the beach, Tim read all but the last couple chapters of The Deathly Hallows. We stayed up after everyone had gone to bed and whispered our opinions and reactions to each other. I had so anticipated talking with him about the book that the idea of it knotted my stomach with excitement. Then Tim softly read to me and I fell asleep on his chest.
I am so proud of Neville. I must have cried every time he was brought into light.

The Many Humorous Colloquialisms of Mum

Whoopy Ding Dong

I gave Lake another haircut today.


"You never wanted your photograph taken. Sometimes I got a few smiles out of you, you fussed. But when Lake was there, in the photograph, all was well."