head_cheese (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} head_cheese) wrote,@ 2005-10-06 16:21:00 |
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Smoke rings
I may be atoning for my sins in an awkward situation somewhere near you. Get excited. Get prepped. Flagellation may occur!
Entropy
I can't help but feel that my life is slowly blowing away leaf by leaf. I think I get this mainly from my room. I'm almost out of clothing to wear - most of my wardrobe is on my floor, or piled on my unused desk chair.
Anarchy
I recently auditioned for 3 Chair 2 Cubes, a festival of student written plays. captainhightop is directing, and she was very nice to audition for. The other room acted like they hated me, but I think it was just them. I was originally going to write for it. In fact I have about 10 pages of a play about anarcho-syndicalist dwarfs that secretly live under our feet plotting revolution. The thing is, and the reason I haven't updated in a while, is that my laptop suddenly lost track of its operating system. I took it in for repairs, and last I checked they had sent it to boot camp.
I was also recently taken in for repairs. It all started with a softball game against the Brown Dems. It was obvious they were all ringers, one of them was huge and wore cut-off sleeves. But somehow we won. I swung for the fences and missed, but in doing so over-extended my back. It really hurt for a few days, but was gradually getting better. Then on Wednesday morning, walking to class, I realized I could not breath or take a step, so I lay down on the sidewalk. I wasn't able to even sit up for 4 more hours. Moving face up on the stretcher I noticed several pairs of shoes hanging from the trees in Wriston. I ended up at the hospital where they x-rayed me and took my pants off. I guess they wanted to wiggle my piggies. Anyway, three hours later they agreed with me and the EMT that I had pulled a muscle in my lower back and it was spasming. They gave me some painkillers and muscle relaxants, as well as a prescription to more painkillers and valium. The next few days were very hazy and drug-induced. I could smell colors. I predicted much oxygen in people's futures. I liked to play with small objects, and laughed heartily. Now I'm better.
"That's the thing about the golden era of Dutch painting"
I recently performed in a "piece." I've always disliked that word. Now I understand. It culminating in each person chasing everyone else around and slapping them with paint. Byron's shoulder is green. Natalie's hands are blue. Jessica has a red tie. My shoulder is still orange. I went to the rest of my lectures that day with a giant red hand print on my face - I think people thought it was blood and left me alone.
THE CORRECT PROCEDURE FOR SMOKING A PIPE
Assembly
1. Pack the bowl with your tobacco blend of choice. It should be dense but not over-stuffed, with the consistency of a carpet.
2. Hold the pipe with your teeth in your mouth. Light the pipe while breathing in through the pipe, pulling the flame down into the bowl.
3. Draw a few times on this and then let your pipe go out.
4. Use your pipe tool to tamp down the tobacco, putting more pressure on the sides than on the center.
5. Light again.
6. Breath through your nose. On every third breath, breath in through your pipe as well as your nose taking care not to completely inhale the smoke.
7. Breath out through your pipe and nose. Your nose will fill with the flavor of the tobacco blend you are using.
8. If your pipe goes out, use your poker on the pipe tool to bring up fresh tobacco.
9. When you have finished your smoke, tap out what ash you can. Use the trowel on your pipe tool to scoop out the remainder.
10. Run a pipe cleaner through the neck to absorb any extra moisture.
11. Remove your smoking jacket.
Becoming a man
I just asked a girl out yesterday. Well actually I said "Do you want to do something Friday night?"
"Probably" she said.
I've never asked someone out who I wasn't already dating.
What's within walking distance that's not boring?
Lost works
The play I wrote may or may not be lost. In some ways it reminds me of a cat in a box. In my Philosophy of Fiction class this would be quite an interesting dilemma. Rather we'd spend a lot of time arguing about whether or not the characters still exist in my mind even though the physical object that creates them, my words, are lost and they are known only to me. Frankly I find these things rather inconsequential to fiction as a whole. What interests me is the imagination. How does the reader collaborate with the writer? What control do they exert. What makes Hemingway a better writer than me for everyone but better than Joyce for some?
London
Last night after auditions a cloud covered the Main Green. The lamps pushed out through the fog. I was on the lookout for zombies, or at least a Jack the Ripper or two. I ran around some trees and lights. Maybe someone enjoyed it.
I may be atoning for my sins in an awkward situation somewhere near you. Get excited. Get prepped. Flagellation may occur!
I can't help but feel that my life is slowly blowing away leaf by leaf. I think I get this mainly from my room. I'm almost out of clothing to wear - most of my wardrobe is on my floor, or piled on my unused desk chair.
I recently auditioned for 3 Chair 2 Cubes, a festival of student written plays. captainhightop is directing, and she was very nice to audition for. The other room acted like they hated me, but I think it was just them. I was originally going to write for it. In fact I have about 10 pages of a play about anarcho-syndicalist dwarfs that secretly live under our feet plotting revolution. The thing is, and the reason I haven't updated in a while, is that my laptop suddenly lost track of its operating system. I took it in for repairs, and last I checked they had sent it to boot camp.
I was also recently taken in for repairs. It all started with a softball game against the Brown Dems. It was obvious they were all ringers, one of them was huge and wore cut-off sleeves. But somehow we won. I swung for the fences and missed, but in doing so over-extended my back. It really hurt for a few days, but was gradually getting better. Then on Wednesday morning, walking to class, I realized I could not breath or take a step, so I lay down on the sidewalk. I wasn't able to even sit up for 4 more hours. Moving face up on the stretcher I noticed several pairs of shoes hanging from the trees in Wriston. I ended up at the hospital where they x-rayed me and took my pants off. I guess they wanted to wiggle my piggies. Anyway, three hours later they agreed with me and the EMT that I had pulled a muscle in my lower back and it was spasming. They gave me some painkillers and muscle relaxants, as well as a prescription to more painkillers and valium. The next few days were very hazy and drug-induced. I could smell colors. I predicted much oxygen in people's futures. I liked to play with small objects, and laughed heartily. Now I'm better.
I recently performed in a "piece." I've always disliked that word. Now I understand. It culminating in each person chasing everyone else around and slapping them with paint. Byron's shoulder is green. Natalie's hands are blue. Jessica has a red tie. My shoulder is still orange. I went to the rest of my lectures that day with a giant red hand print on my face - I think people thought it was blood and left me alone.
Assembly
1. Pack the bowl with your tobacco blend of choice. It should be dense but not over-stuffed, with the consistency of a carpet.
2. Hold the pipe with your teeth in your mouth. Light the pipe while breathing in through the pipe, pulling the flame down into the bowl.
3. Draw a few times on this and then let your pipe go out.
4. Use your pipe tool to tamp down the tobacco, putting more pressure on the sides than on the center.
5. Light again.
6. Breath through your nose. On every third breath, breath in through your pipe as well as your nose taking care not to completely inhale the smoke.
7. Breath out through your pipe and nose. Your nose will fill with the flavor of the tobacco blend you are using.
8. If your pipe goes out, use your poker on the pipe tool to bring up fresh tobacco.
9. When you have finished your smoke, tap out what ash you can. Use the trowel on your pipe tool to scoop out the remainder.
10. Run a pipe cleaner through the neck to absorb any extra moisture.
11. Remove your smoking jacket.
I just asked a girl out yesterday. Well actually I said "Do you want to do something Friday night?"
"Probably" she said.
I've never asked someone out who I wasn't already dating.
What's within walking distance that's not boring?
The play I wrote may or may not be lost. In some ways it reminds me of a cat in a box. In my Philosophy of Fiction class this would be quite an interesting dilemma. Rather we'd spend a lot of time arguing about whether or not the characters still exist in my mind even though the physical object that creates them, my words, are lost and they are known only to me. Frankly I find these things rather inconsequential to fiction as a whole. What interests me is the imagination. How does the reader collaborate with the writer? What control do they exert. What makes Hemingway a better writer than me for everyone but better than Joyce for some?
Last night after auditions a cloud covered the Main Green. The lamps pushed out through the fog. I was on the lookout for zombies, or at least a Jack the Ripper or two. I ran around some trees and lights. Maybe someone enjoyed it.
