Yeah, I love ‘em. Anyway, today is my best friend’s boythday! WOOT WOOT! We watched Paul Blart, Mall Cop, and had pizza, popcorn and ice cream, and plus we talked about slutty movie characters. Like Megan Fox. Does anyone else think that she got, well, uglier between the two ‘Transformers’ movies? I mean, she still looks  the same and everything, but in the second movie she seems to wear a lot more makeup and behave more seductively, making her way less attractive. I’m not saying everyone has to be sweet and quiet all the time, but come on, lady, not everyone wants to see that kind of thing. Like 15-year-old girls. We want giant robots, not strippers! Well, I do.

While we’re on the topic of disturbing things… Were you ever sitting in your room and writing your blog while some random lady screamed bloody murder on the other side of the basin? Yeah, that’s happening to me more and more often lately.

I was frightened the first time. Here I was, just dozing away in math class, having completely forgotten that I hadn’t checked the infernal test before me.

Then there I was, stark shivering nude in a pasture God-knows-where, with the wind steadily, stubbornly pushing itself into me while all around these entirely unconcerned sheep just munched away. I didn’t understand – for a second my mind froze stock-still, for what was there to think? No part of me had any way to react to this… Until something just clicked and the answer came – I’d fallen asleep in class, and now I was dreaming. Okay, now things made sense again. But I was still frozen cold, and really hungry, and this shepherd boy was looking at me with his mouth stretched down to his chest, so I decided to try and wake up. I dug my teeth into my arm, hard.

“Afgghh!!” I screamed before it was even half out of my mouth. What the? The shock of not feeling anything should have… I checked my fingers – my God, there were ten of them. The ground was there, stable, clear. I could feel pain. I was awake. The shepherd, who had taken off when I bit myself, turned around just as the sky slid into my vision and I toppled onto the…

Sheets? I dug my way out of the little cloth cocoon and surfaced at the foot of my bed. It was pitch black, and very stuffy, and I was naked. I don’t sleep naked. Oh, God, what was happening to me?

Here is me. The house is positively silent. Dorrit, who I have finally managed to tire out enough that he’s not biting me.. AY-YAH! Okay, scrap that. Whom I have almost tired out enough so that he’s not  biting me, is sitting nearly calm and completely selfish beside me, watching me write. I don’t want to go to sleep. *sigh* Stupid adjusting circadian clock. It’ll be givin’ me hell tomorrow. My dA identity actually has watchers, this girl named Paige (kyokyolu) adores my stuff, which is ridiculous parce qu’elle est douée. I mean like, beyond gifted, and she’s funny too. It’s really good to know that my being good with words isn’t all in my head. I mean, my mom’s an English teacher and she loves my stuff, but sometimes it just gets hard to believe, because I don’t know any writers besides her. 

Ah, here it is. I know what wants to get out of me now.

I’m watching them change, from chilly to somber to blazing to calm, all the different greens in his place transforming within seconds with the wind and the sun, completely natural yet entirely artificial, shifting colours and shapes through the power of some unseen imagination. 

Clark is out cold, I believe, but you can never tell with him. His calm bothers me sometimes – it hasn’t hit him yet, the power this gives us, the danger it’s placed us right in front of so we can be fired at. He’s just lying here, completely still, with his body doing its nigh-normal business and his chest raising the top quarter of me, bringing it back down, waves dragging me right out to sleep. 

I’m treading frantically so keep my eyes won’t slip shut, but it just wouldn’t feel good to sit up now. I do this way too often, pass out in this forest for hours on end. I guess it makes sense, what with all the sleep I missed when I first started traveling…

And now I can sleep. Yay.

Soooooo… Hello again. I don’t want to go to sleep. It’s midnight. Hooray.

Well, what do I want to talk about? Idk, I’ve got little bits of topic that want to be possibly written about, but it’s too late to do anything interesting. Oh, I just finished watching ‘Music and Lyrics’. The guy who played Alex (what’s his name, Hugh Grant? Eh, I’ll call him Alex), well, I’m kind of considering kidnapping his character. It would be so awesome to like, have him around on a leash to be witty and do funny dances and make me feel good when I am being battered with evils such as school and lip gloss. 

You know, I used to write songs. They were cute, and I think some were actually good. In fact, I was going to do an album, the only problem is that people are necessary for albums, and people frazzle me. Not like, all the time, but I just don’t feel comfortable with – you know? If I had the option of  working with a whole bunch of people my age who didn’t know me, then maybe we could get a thing going, you know, because I wouldn’t much care if they hated it or not, but with my dad I just get nervous, even though he really liked the one song I showed him. Maybe I could be the first to make my own solo solo album?

Meza is feelin’ good. Camp is coming off really well this year, and even though my kids don’t love me like the last group, they’re still pretty great, smart, varied. It’s nice to watch them change and become actual people right before my eyes. Some of them really suck at writing, though. But that’s the adults’ fault for not letting them learn to learn on their own, which I shall screen-scream about a little later on. 

So today we went to a salt pond, where we did some learnin’ and picked salt and ate brine shrimp (me) and sank knee-deep into black mud despite the enormous ditches of footprints past (little idiots). I was terrified they would be bored like last year, but we were given the tour by Laurie instead of his (yes, his) father, who is an old dude who kind of makes it a drag with his reminiscing old-guy voice. No offense, Mr Gumbs.

Then I came home and watched the end of Michael Jackson’s memorial. I told my dad I was going to have to make an After the Bucket’s Kicked List, which will include ‘get the planet to come to my funeral’. You know what my father said? He said that Michael had no control over his life – he was born to obtain that kind of power over people, and bear the burdens that came with it. Do you think so? Would it have been impossible for Michael to become a truck driver or blow out his larynx singing too hard or write bad and boring music, because it wasn’t his choice to make?

It would seem as though I’m writing in the middle of the night. Right after working out. Huh. Think maybe I was meant to be nocturnal? This new theme is a lot less cramped, more idea-flow space. I can’t believe I didn’t realize how much I needed a change – my gosh, it’s almost embarrassing. Also, this theme has a green header, which happens to be the colour of my soul and my favouritest colour of all, and it involves travel, which is basically what I plan to spend most of my life doing – going to new places, coming back to old, making a bunch of little nests across the planet from which I can spread the enormous indelible Cannelle splatter across the planet. 

Now on to less selfish discourse – Michael Jackson is finally, finally dead. My God, I am so upset and happy, because the man spent his entire life being chewed up by the world. He needed release, and as far as I know, he was strong and brave enough to let it come, instead of yanking it towards him with a gun or a bottle of Tylenol.

But I didn’t know before. All I ever knew of Michael Jackson before now was that he wrote ‘Speechless’ (retch) and ‘You Rock My World’ (happy wiggle), tried to turn white and was accused of molesting a little boy. How was I supposed to know that he truly deserved to be a music legend – I’m only hearing his songs now! This is fickin’ ludicrous, an injustice of immense proportions. The media concentrated so much on the bad, no wonder the man is fickin’ dead now!

Well, he doesn’t have to deal with it anymore. Thank God for that.

I know why writing in this blog suddenly seems so unattractive to me! Part of it, yeah, is that it never gets read, but what I really need is a change in decor. I’ll do that ASAP and be back full force before you know it.

Omgosh it is actually SUMMER! Ooooh, j’adore l’été! They canceled the last week of school, so we have nine whole weeks! I’m going to catch up on all the stuff I’ve been missing – French, knitting, photography, writing, dancing, piano and trumpet, massage practice, Kyle XY, my evil theory of invisibility… I’m going to really get moving on my activism too, so I can go on one of next year’s MetoWe trips, and donate a whole bunch of clothes and things. I’m also going to get back to getting down to seventy-five possessions in my quest to be anti-materialistic. Which might be hard with my mom around wanting me to be normal and everything, but I’ll figure it out.

Hi, so I just decided to drop a few lines in order to keep the posts flowing. Yesterday I got a deviantart account. O frabjous day, calloo callay! I don’t really consider myself an artist, but I do know that people seem to like what I read and draw and photograph, and I seem to like it, so I guess I’m just a girl who works with the arts.

I dunno if I’m going to tell you what my Deviant name is, though. I mean, I like to keep these expressions private. The Internet isn’t exactly the same as under my mattress, but I just prefer to use these things to talk to people I don’t really know, because it gets awkward when your friends see it. Why are we so scared of being close to the people we’re closest to?

I’m not even gonna ask if you know ‘Your Body Is A Wonderland’. I wish there were more songs like it. It’s totally about sex, but not in a sloppy gross way. It’s actually respectful, you know? And loyal, and sweet, and it makes you wonder why they call that stuff dirty.

I guess what I’m trying to say is, sex is personal, but it isn’t bad. We just made it look so by doing it with all kinds of people who we aren’t connected to, as fun and not expression. And also by making and buying songs that portray it as some kind of happy pill.

I mean look at the Black-Eyed-Peas’ ‘My Humps’. It’s called ‘My Humps’. ‘Nuff said. 

And another thing about the nasty songs is that women are seen as so… useful in them. Like we’re soulless sex toys. I mean, when was the last time you heard a popular song talk about a girl’s eyes? Or anything above the neck? They don’t even look at our faces anymore.

I’m not saying songs like ‘Your Body…’ are dead, but they are getting much too rare. We girls have to stand up for ourselves. This isn’t the kind of thing we can take – it’s not admiration or respect… sort of like we’re all just giving up on real love. If my boys started liking those songs about our boobs and etc. etc., well, they wouldn’t be my boys no more.