Log in

Luzdestrella y Nosiendo

(de 莊子)

Little Bat



November 4th, 2012

A color that evokes an emotion, isn't that all colors?
Well, this one's special, I guess.
It's the one that the bees share. You know, like glass.
More fiberous than you could ever imagine.
Tenuous in its rapture,
it could break down into madness at any second.
At any point in its travels.
I think the point of rapture is simultaneous to that of madness. Can you hear whatever you want to hear?
Are there sound pathways like gulf streams through the night sea?
Are there ways for only the cry of a wolf to travel?
And what would that be called?
Try to translate it intuitively. That's a good way to do these things.

What is this existence in which I can have parmesan cheese, and cheddar cheese, and spaghetti, all at the same time?
This is amazing.
You just try to show me an existence that is better than this one, in which parmesan, cheddar and spaghetti are in my bowl. Just try. It just ain't possible.
This next thing is an inquiry into the state of existence. Are you what? What is that?
And can you elaborate?

Hi, datascroll.

DS: "Just do your damndest and run with the result."

oh leave me alone.

I'm trying to explain this. I can't.

Is it going to turn out horrible if I try now?

Sam is a golem,
he eats warm earth.
I listen to the hammers and strings
and everything sings
Sam likes to come home on the city bus
beside the stormy coast
I'll think about him when I enter the tree-tunnel
filled with motion

Someone I wish existed
or the golems that exist in me
or in other minds

Sadness taps from inside the stone angel
moss collects in the streams of water
rapture collects in the water
stone divides from mind

I want to start the fires
and sure, that is my place
I want this thing to stay
this thing that can't not stay
it's my sunshine in a way
you're my sunshine in a way
only when shade lets moss grow
that gentle kind of exposure
all the time
every day


Hello there.
I am feeling very buzzy, you know, like, argh! I need a fucking outlet! But my hands are shaky from adrenaline so this is my outlet right now.
O gods spelling

I think what I need is to listen to nice people talk while I draw pictures. I will go to the park tomorrow and do that. I don't think anyone's there now.
Would you like to hear of my dream, lifejargnet? Well, not hear, as you don't have earen, but here you go.

I met a man in a dangerous situation -- he and his friends were holding up a building where I was. When I saw him later on the street, where the acorns collect on the sidewalk on the Northwest corner of the street Cafe Artist is on, I felt fear as he walked toward me and prepared for a fight, but he told me not to be afraid, and that he was sorry for earlier, and that he wouldn't use force. For some reason I let him say all that. He showed me the engine room that was below the Menil around the site of the Rothko Chapel.
I knew her, I had met her before, the Engine. I told the man that she reminded me of the Tardis when she chastized while remaining unerringly polite.
We traveled to his planet, which I recognized as looking a lot like my earth, and he told me about his people as we walked among his city. He said that everyone could fly. Or that's what I heard. The actual ability was non-translatable to my mind so that's the simile it came up with to fill in the blank. He said, though, that people like him would trade this ability in order to do what he did on our planet.
He said he wished he didn't. He said that what he did was like thought, flying was action. Action is joy, he said, joy is division. Another fill-in-the-blank.
Although I got the general meaning. Their people can do something like dividing their whole to make two parts that communicate with the world in between. We can do that too. The dimensions involved in this division are neither temporal nor spatial, and the further apart the divide is stretched, the greater the communication, if done correctly. It also has something to do with how we traveled to his world.

October 28th, 2012

(no subject)

There was one time in history that must have been bliss, taken for granted. I imagine that time again, as we are- but without enemies, without fear. I am one of the few who do. Most have erased the past in their minds, the little we know of it. It doesn't hold any value except as wonderful old stories, the kind that hurt because you know it's only as good as your imagination. I suppose, then, that I enjoy that kind of sad pain. I enjoy my imagination.
    My grandfather, Soloul, is well protected because he is so well experienced in life. He too has an imagination, but it is part of only one of the Grandfather Solouls that I know. The other is a trained warrior with a kind of mind that will hold no imagination-- it is the sharp, fast-moving sort in which delicate thoughts like past and imagination would be torn apart.
    There are people everywhere. Do you ever think about that? Most of them are young, or babies. The babies are safe-- they don't go out.
    When I go out, I go out in the daytime. Most prefer the night, and the protection it offers. I avoid the crowds. I stay alone as often as I can. People think they're safer when they're together, but the truth is, large groups aren't even as safe in their homes.
     I went out about a week ago. I had to travel a long way, what would be twelve hours on foot, but I have a bicycle, so it only took about seven hours, resting along the way. We live in the middle of the desert. A dangerous place if you don't know how to live here.
    We live underground, my father, my grandfather, and I.
    We used to have a dog, a grey twelve-year-old, a few years younger than I. He used to open the door of our small house back before, and come and wake me up with his cold nose at dawn, when we would go out to the marsh and look for frogs, or whatever. Now I imagine maybe he learned the cry of a coyote, and I can hear him sometimes at night.
    Our house is small and dark, built like a cellar. We get what water we can from cacti grown beside our home. They capture the poisonous rainwater and make it pure enough to drink. On the way to my usual food and water source, one of me was being vigilant and his mind was grinding like a sharp-edged machine. The other was kept far away from the first, imagining. He thought about accomplishments that could be made were they free of their constant fear, constant slaughter. We could do more writing, make more music and stories. People would use their imaginations more. People would be happier. We would travel the heavens where our tormentors had come from long ago. There must be better things among the stars, or at least less harmful-- as there are many animals on earth.

(no subject)


Rubbing my forehead like a .... thing that rubs its forehead.
I'm sitting here, wearing a red-and-white checked gingham dress...
No, I'm not.
I'm sitting here, reading an old livejournal of an old friend's on the internets, and laughing for five hours at the comicals... shut the fuck up and stop judging me and I don't even care anyway because no one even reads this one anymore and furthermore...!

Seriously, looking back, I feel a lot saner than I used to feel. This doesn't mean I am, of course,

So anyway, a lot saner. It is better for me, and I really do hope it's better for other people and I'm not living in a happy delusion whilst destroying everything in my path. I mean, that would be lame and horrible. It would totally fuck up this thing I'm trying to have going here. With my life and all.

These things are mostly for my benefit, I mean, I put them on the internet for convenience and I also don't care if someone else reads it.
I would like to translate this feeling.
It is like pigeons.
They are very beautiful.

Spending time alone and in the cold, I figured out what I actually need, what the priorities are all about.
And this person that I know won't know for a while, probably, how deeply the emotions connected to them run, and how long my neural pathways have been subtly altered by their presence, and how much I remember and what I think about the truth. How it doesn't matter what kind of state I am in, whenever I see them, those neural pathways connect before anything else can happen and invariably they cause fantastic chemical reactions and spasms of face muscles that arrange my features in what I imagine, if I think about it, to be some kind of goofy wide grin. How that kind of brain program is integral to the system, it doesn't go away. It's there forever. It's like some peoples' visual response to cockroaches: before the image of a cockroach is even processed in the visual cortex, fear response is induced and the brain panics automatically. Except, you know, something totally different from panicking.
How some concepts that used to seem unfathomable somehow make sense to me now. And I always wanted them to.

But really, that's ok. I can tell them later.

October 27th, 2012


I am drawing a Chilla.
Also, important note to myself: do not carve whilst drunk. This seems very obvious, but definitely don't. I was sharpening my pencil just now with my techniedge. No. (didn't cut myself, fool bitch.)
I need to find my basswood. Tilia. Limewood. Lithewood.
Finn has the awesomest lumps.
Yeah so, I have this hat. I wrote a love-letter to the cat lady who made it (it was a very short love-letter, probably five words, said "looooove it.") I write a lot of love letters, mostly to one person. One time I was accidentally tripping balls and wrote love letter(s?). I think I said I wrote them to many people, but I may have exaggerated a bit. I think I'll look it up right now in my old e-mails.
...yeah, just one.
There are ducks on my wall.
Also, I know now something I thought I didn't know but actually knew all along... you remember Lumagius Orion? Ha, well, you do if you're me. Or if you've actually read entries in this online JARNEL OF LYAFEE, you person, I doubt you exist. There are a few about Lumagius Orion, I think.
Like a poem about a window...
I am getting off-track.
Do you remember how ever since I can ever remember, I've had some words in my head, two words, that didn't seem to mean anything in English or any other language in which I tried to look for them (WHAT EVEN IS THIS SORRY EXCUSE FOR A SENTANCE)
A while ago I found out what one meant, and now I know what both mean. And I know I've known them both all along. I would like to study this from some kind of Psychological standpoint, but I can't be my own subject and I probably wouldn't believe someone else's study. Maybe I'll just think of this as some kind of highly integrated delusion. But my juice-filled heart, of course, will just think of it as the truth, until it is weighed on a Jackal's scales in the deepest part of the Earth.

October 21st, 2012

(no subject)

Being happy is so distracting. Is that what it is?
Along with finding something out about mind nature last night, I also think I found out something about a word I've been carrying around with me, for a long time. I think so, I'm not sure. The idea occurred to me gradually.
What kind of distractification is this? I've been trying to look up this one line in a song for two hours. Is this what being on meth feels like?
"But when you reappear, I see Nepturnian blues that eyes forgot."

I need to rest. I also need to find something. What the fuck is that painting, anyway? I think I will change it a bit.
Oh, today I saw a falcon, it was very beautiful from the underside of grey and white, giving the impression of softness on wind.
I want to be clearer on this thing, the consistency is like lumpy porridge. Wait, I like lumpy porridge.
So anyway, what I want to say is that... I need to find something.
I'll be right back.

October 20th, 2012

Today is the day I found out I am three.

(no subject)

I would really like to tell you something but... I have to tell this one person first. I hope I can translate it ok.
Powered by LiveJournal.com