disturbing dream

uhm. i think i may have just had the grossest dream... ever. in the history of dreams that i have had.

ok. first of all, i think i was the omniscient narrator. i fact, i'm pretty sure i was God, watching this happen, or actually, having watched it and telling about it. the upshot is that this girl was a poor, broke little maid, and a psychopathic killer (but a v. rich high society one!) got her to marry him. the peak of the narrative was when they were walking through the bathroom downstairs and she looked up and saw a blood stain on the white ceiling.

her: there's a red stain on the ceiling in the bathroom.
him: *jumping* there is?
her: yes. maybe--
him: oh THAT. that's from, uhm, spilled paint...
her: it didn't look like paint... could it be... (duh duh) blood?

( the gross part! ew! ew! )

quotes overheard in airports that sound like the lyrics to country music songs:

#3, 688, 452.

"well, i think the clinic made him better, but he still talks too much."

overheard by the enchanting ravie.

in other news, am utterly enamored of wax (along with everyone else, i know. but not really! i'm not like the unwashed masses).

there can be no explanation or excuse for such things.*

*ok, so i lied. more of the madness that comprises my conversations--and my metauniverse--with hollsk. let's just say we had two spare characters hanging around... and it was a match made in heaven.

(she's a bitchy young britney-spears wannabe with perfect skin and her own talk show. he's a character from an existentialist novel by tom stoppard... no, wait, he's a character from one of the oldest works of literature... a mythological figure... er. the Son of God. THEY FIGHT CRIME! bwahahahaha.)

what's with these "survivor" type songs? they all seem to rock. oh well.

ravie, my cohort and the devious author of restless (viggorli nc-17) now has a journal.

whoo!

dorkorific

milo, open your eyes; look around you and see...

when i'm in school, all i wanna be is out.

when i'm not in school... i wanna be someplace else.

everyone says it's such a big wonderful world. how come it seems so... small, and empty? --milo, the phantom tollbooth

it smells like garbage in my room, and i've already made myself cry by watching a video-photo-album of the extended version of my high school clique. complete with quotes from winnie the pooh, dave matthews, georgia o'keeffe. gahhhh. miss snuggly friends.

the players tried to take the field; the marching band refused to yield

i love this song.

yay for nostalgia.

um. yeah. this song was popular when my MOM was a kid--it's timeless.

i have written maybe a page today, but i've got inspiration simmering. also another cup of lemon tea. whoo.

also a gip. a present! ee! i'm a cherished consort, not a neglected one.

she's a neglected one, but i'm not

Ravie my cohort and the narrative was God. She's a neglected one! Procrastination! Ee! I present!

with the randomness again

icon as per request, for the ex

(lyrics from tori amos, "blood roses"; painting "the knighting" by edmund blair-leighton)