The sporadic ramblings of Emily C. A. Snyder - devoted to God, theatre, writing, and much randominity.

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Location: New York, New York, United States

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Thursday, July 20, 2006

Cockiness

Makes for mehgrump that even dancing and very high singing can't cure. Add to that - thecarsaga and "If I Can Keep Myself Awake" has great relevance. Not horrible - none of it - but mehgrumpinducingness. Whiteboards. Lots of them.

'Twas to be expected, and is hardly as bad as it might be whatsoever, and time is to be had and all is falling in place and all shall be well (even with vacations and camps and flights to CA and alarming thoughts about bank accounts). I feel drawn to do some poetry, or possibly interpretive dance. I am hardly obscure. Insert noises here. C'est ca.

Ich bin nicht so frolich. Pas de tout. Oh, for fluent Reyjori. I should like a Sable Valentine very much right now. The Silver Hoarde from Interesting Times is all well and good, but hardly swashbuckling escapism. Escapism, check. Flights over rooftops, nicht so much. I am in that place like when at the Ice Cream Station, behind the store, in the strange little cul-de-sac that the driveway and the half-tarpulined shed created - stealing a few minutes from the despotic Song, from the incessant chatter of inane customers who couldn't discern chocolate from vanilla - stealing a few moments to look upwards to an unremarkable view of slate and brick and tarp - and stealing my mind away to the city of Renquois, and the adventures of Elspeth and Poityr as they steal over my heads into wonderful adventures of their own. Sometimes, there is the need to slip into the poetry of More... a la post-#3/4 of Les Mis with Krissytina in the back of the crowded bus. There, there for a moment - where stakes are real and shadows come to life and stairways store secrets for the taking. There, there! just for an hour, a day, a week, a lifetime in a moment's breath - where one is not only observer but participant. To do, not merely to be. C'est ca. Ridicule. Choices stink, but there one is.

Oh, silly, silly girl. Regarde l'heure! C'est le temp pour dormir, pas pour l'ennui existential! Folle! Petite chere - dort. (Qu'est que le conjugation? Ah! Pauvre langue! Je te mort!) D'accord. Je vais. Bon nuit, tout le monde. Je t'aime, [even] avec tes idees ridicule et les jeunes.

Mood: Ridicule - trop - tres - moi.
Music: "Too Cool for the Room" mix
Latest find: "Boulevard of Broken Dreams" - not the Green Day one, but a cover by Randy Greer and the Robin Nolan Trio. Sehr gut. I think it will make its way into next year's cabaret-oneact-thingummy.

3 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

...help...

2:48 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

seriously... coffee is gooooddd

3:45 AM  
Anonymous Anonymous said...

BAHAHAHAH STILL HAVE 12 HOURS TO MEMORIZE

4:30 AM  

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