antid0te: (Carpeted)
https://theprintshop.club/

Oh. Wow.

Printshop is what got me into A LOT of trouble when I was in the 5th grade.

The days when we had Computer Lab, they kept the one Apple IIe with a color monitor on a rolling cart in a small back hallway behind the 4th grade quads.

One lucky kid always got to use it during lab because they were short one machine for my class. Well, one day when I was the lucky kid, the color printer was also back there. We had a similar printer at home, so I kind of knew how to use it because I'd seen my mom print financial reports on ours...

Anyhow, the teacher that day—the dreaded Mrs. Simpson—had shut the door to the 4th grade quad, and had forgotten to tell me that class was over. I noticed everyone shuffling out, but chose to ignore it because I was a sneaky asshole of a kid. Well that, and we also had recess after Computer Lab, so I knew nobody would notice my absence for a while.

We had been learning Printshop to make cards for the upcoming winter holidays that day, but I was not satisfied with a measly card. No! I would ​make the biggest, the bestest, the longest-ever banner ever! (be still, my inner child)

I cannot recall what my misbegotten banner was to have said, but I'd not anticipated just how long it would take to print it out, nor just how loud the printer would be. So, after I started printing it, a 4th grade teacher came back to inspect, and I told them I was allowed to be there. Unconvinced, they walked over to the 5th grade to inquire about the truthfulness of my statement.

The now fuming and dreaded Mrs. Simpson stormed into the back hallway, unplugged the whole thing, and asked me exactly what it was I thought I was doing!

Never one to admit being in the wrong, I tried to pretend that I'd not realised class had ended. As it had been quite some time, my obvious lie only made her angrier. She tore my half-printed banner from the printer, grabbed my arm, and dragged me to the principal's office.

Strangely, I can't remember anything else about that day after Mrs. Simpson left me with Mrs. Mackay, the principal. I can't even remember if I had been crying, but I'm sure I was. I've always been quick to cry, even when in the wrong, and especially when the 'jig be up,' as my mother used to say.

Anyhow... That's my Printshop story. Apologies if you've read this far. I do have a tendency to ramble on a bit.

PS: I've not proofed this because I am desperate for a coffee, and simply cannot be arsed. Please forgive any typos.
antid0te: (Default)
I just watched Trainspotting again the other evening & was reminded just how much I love this song.
antid0te: (Default)
I like Mike Gunther... I also seem to have a fondness for being REALLY random.
antid0te: (Default)
I have a hard time choosing if I prefer this version or the original by Kate Bush...
antid0te: (Default)
If I ever get married, this is the song that I want as the first dance...
antid0te: (Default)
Febbi and I are hanging out. We just ordered a pizza, and are going to watch television...

...isn't that exciting?

Oh! We went to Unique Thrift today, and I got a pair of ice skates for $3.48! We were planning on going ice skating tomorrow anyhow... whee! Of course, they need to be sharpened, but I'm still going to try them out. I've been needing to replace my missing pair for a long time now, so this is very exciting to me.

Time to go figure out what we're going to end up choosing to watch.

*muah*

OH! and another thing. Febbi is playing catch with Roku (one of the kittens). It's so cute. I've never seen a kitten play catch.
antid0te: (Default)
apparently yesterday
it snowed, but i didn't
see a single flake.
soon it will be the time
of the
minnesota winter waddle.

..and a little tipsy we fell
asleep,
I think the cat slept between our legs
all night.
woke up before my 5:30
AM
alarm, and she was there
licking my leg.
so I went to sit on the shower
floor.
hot water stream in a
circle around me, and one
random clumpy stream
to fall right down
my face...
blink blink blink
dead from sleep...
..ahhhh, morning.
hello moon.
antid0te: (Default)
I seem to be good at asking absurd questions when I meet famous people:

"Hey Ronan..." I say as he's RACING to go use the restroom.

a second later, he comes out:

"So, this guy Steve I know in London...he's in a band, Revolution By Night...He was wondering when you're going to be done with the remix.."

"Mark, you have GOT to come here, you are not going to believe this!" (meanwhile Mark is busy elsewhere)

"Steve and Bryon asked me to ask you about it... they're harassing you..." *smirk*

"Well if Mr. Weeks keeps harassing me about it, he's not going to get his remix" (But he was in a good mood about it, don't worry) and then he walked away to go tell Mark and speak to his adoring fans.

Heh. I think that was probably the LAST thing he was expecting to be asked by a girl who was in the front row taking pictures of him the entire time.

I had fun. :) I'll write more later. Todd is waiting for me to get off of his computer.
antid0te: (Default)
She stares up into the blackness of the ceiling. The glow-in-the-dark plastic stars blurring through her silent, body shaking tears.
"Are you crying"?
"No"
"It feels like you're crying"
She doesn't respond. She feels so far away from this place. Covered to the neck in her pajamas, like a Victorian housewife. One can always tell if she's upset by how much clothing she wears when she crawls into bed.
She stays as far away as possible, his arms wrapped around her, holding her close.
His foot touches hers, and she moves to keep her extremities from doing what her mind doesn't want her to do.
Trust can be such a fickle thing when someone still hasn't said sorry yet.
After awhile, he gives up and rolls away too. "Goodnight, I guess"

Numb. Hurt. Scared. (Goodnight I guess, Goodnight I guess...over and over and over... NO! Things cannot get like this!)

...Wanting nothing more than to turn him around, and take him into her arms and kiss and cry and make love and know that everything really is okay. What happened tonight? What made things get like this? Why do I still feel like this, wasn't this resolved? Sorry is just a word, he's said it in action... get over yourself, you're being stupid.

And she tells him that she wishes that he would just say sorry. And he tells her sorry.
Are things really okay? Are they? Are they? Are they?

They embrace, and she clings onto the hope that all is well, that she has not lost the one that has finally stolen her heart. He isn't going to toss it back, unwanted...

at least not tonight.
antid0te: (Default)
This early morning death-fog is going to be the death of me today. I had a pretty long nap yesterday afternoon, but three and a half-hours of sleep, even with a nap, isn't enough.

I fell asleep on the bus on my way to work, and almost missed my stop. The CD I was listening to had lulled me to sleep, and the song that was playing wasn't helping. The Somalian woman who slammed herself into the seat next to me, although all the seats on the bus were pretty much empty, did help though. I was jostled awake, and just made my stop before the bus pulled away to leave the city (mine is the last city stop). I think I need to be more responsible on nights when I have to get up at six. We started watching "M*A*S*H" (the film, not the show) a little on the late side, and I fell asleep halfway through. Happygun stayed up to watch the movie, but the volume started to get to me, and I couldn't sleep, and ended up getting cranky, something that he didn't appreciate much. I apologized for my crankiness this morning, and he forgave me though, so I guess it's okay. I'm PMS'ing anyhow, so I suppose on a bell curve of how some women can be when they're about to get their periods, I've been pretty well behaved, hormone-wise.

I need to do some talking to Nicole about her usage of space in the apartment. I'm tired of tripping over her many pairs of shoes she finds necessary to leave right in the middle of the bleeding hallway. I stole one of her breakfast drinks anyhow, so I guess we're even. I'm going to buy a bunch more when I get my loan check though, so.. oh well.

Damn, I'm tired.
antid0te: (Default)
Letter to Sandra Alper Berrigan
By Ted Berrigan

Sunday afternoon on the East Side of New York and out the window kids are playing on a giant fifty-foot mound of sand in a building area. I want to go play too. I wish you were here. I wish, I wish you were here.

Dear Sandy,

I found a picture of a beatnik today in a history book. What do you think?

He's the captain of the Monitor which fought the Merrimac in the first battle between armored ships. Probably wrote his poetry between battles or during. (He must be a poet, look at his hair and beard. Probably was a horrible narcotics addict too.)

I wish I knew what a beatnik was so I could be one.

I've written three poems in the three days I've been here. O happy New York. And all the time I feel you. My writing is new, and better, and I know it's because of love. Which means you.

Last night I saw a bad opera based on Goethe's story "The Sorrows of Werther." Do you know it? It's the story of a tragic love ending in suicide. The opera was bad, but Goethe is great. Werther was the first romantic, or something like that. These days though, we who feel who live who love romance understand it through John Wayne's eyes. Which is good. (What am I saying?) I'm not really incoherent. I'm in a kind of trance from reading Henry Miller's "Tropic of Capricorn." It is so great, I have to stop every few pages and wonder. After speaking of killing birds to eat (a fantasy) he writes:

If I killed a little bird and roasted it over the fire and ate it, it was not because I was hungry but because I wanted to know about Timbuctoo or Tierra del Fuego. I had to stand in the vacant lot and eat dead birds in order to create a desire for that bright land which later I would inhabit alone and people with nostalgia. I expected ultimate things of this place but I was deplorably deceived. I went as far as one could go in a state of complete deadness, and then by a law, which must be the law of creation, I suppose, I suddenly flared up and began to live inexhaustibly, like a star whose light is unquenchable.

Sandy, my beautiful, innocent wife, Miller has just said simply much of what I have been struggling to tell you. If I eat dead birds in vacant lots, it is not because I am hungry, but because I need to discover Tierra del Fuego, the land of fire, the fiery earth. I people my poems with nostalgia. They are in part my bright land. And through the past few months, and most of all through loving you, through marrying my soul, my self to yours as we preordained, I have now flared up like a burning rose, like a dove, and begun to live inexhaustibly, like a star whose light is unquenchable, good to eat a thousand years. Thank you.

I send you this picture of a man. The faces of saints shine with a light that reveals them to you, and to me, and to whomever has eyes to see.

Camus has been dead two years. Dead at mid-life.

Tonight Dick and I and Joe are going to "Breathless" and "L'Avventura" in a double bill. You and I will see them again when you are here.

Breathless is so frantic, so nervous, so controlled anyway. So alive. L'Avventura is like a dying life. Days take minutes. Seconds sometimes last for hours. In both pictures, from opposite sides of the coin, marvelous things are done with time. To rip out of the mind of human beings the dead concept of time as mathematical .. time is not arithmetical. Nor is it geometrical. It is magic. It is unexplainable, like the force of life, the elan vital, the primal drives. The revolutions of the Earth deceive us. Life is Space is Life. Einstein is the supreme poet.

Korzybski is his prophet. Bergson and Whitehead went to the desert and came back to show us the way. Everyone does everything himself. All those who are going to make it will, all those who aren't won't. Miller writes:

And now here I am, sailing down the river (life) in my own little canoe. Anything you would like to have me do for you I will do - gratis. In this land, the bright land, the spermatazoon reigns supreme. Nothing is determined in advance, the future is absolutely uncertain, the past is nonexistent. For every billion born, 999,999 are doomed to die and never be born again. But the one that makes a homerun is assured of life eternal. Life is squeezed into a seed, which is a soul. Everything has a soul, including minerals, plants, lakes, mountains, rocks. Everything is sentient, even the lowest stage of consciousness. Once this fact is grasped there can be no more despair. At the very bottom of the ladder, chez the spermatozoa, there is the same condition of bliss as at the top, chez god. The river starts somewhere in the mountains and flows on into the sea. On this river which leads to god the canoe is as serviceable as the dreadnought. From the very start the journey is homeward.

Honey, keep faith. They can't touch you, us, after all.

I'm waiting, waiting to hear from you, to hear what is going on, what is happening, what is going to happen. I am at an impasse, because I can do nothing until I hear from you, or your doctor, or your parents. I have no money, only New York, and Dick and Joe and always and ever our love. And because of that this life is all good. The hospital, your mother and father, the deputies, the Negro clerk at the Norfolk Hotel, the private detectives, the people outside I have not yet met, it's all somehow good in spite of itself. We have love, you and me, and that makes even separation be good. To be together is the same as to be separate when there is love that is love. No one can touch that love. We are never apart. I am with you, you are here even when we are not thinking of each other. Love is before thought, beyond thought. No one can understand that we ran off after five days. How can we expect them to understand that we loved each other before we even met? I loved you in Pat, and in Anne Kelper and in Dick and Dave Bearden, and Jim Sears, and in my mother, and in Rilke and Whitman and Mozart and Harpo Marx. You knew me as Dick and as Lenny, and as Leslie, as your father, as Stone, and Doris, and Antoine St. Exupery, as Ed Kaim, and as Hayakawa, and John Wayne, and Khatchatchurian. When we met when knew each other, had known each other for a million years. When you feel pangs for Lenny, it is because he is me, and I am him, and yet we are two different husks of body and to have one seems to be to lose the other. But it isn't to lose the other. I love him because he knew to look at you. My small mind may be jealous, but the me that is me know that we are all one another and one soul. I love you because to me you are everything, the good that is in everything. My sweet, my dear, we, the world, are all in love with you.

-Ted Berrigan 1962
antid0te: (Default)
and
febbi makes spiders
and bugs out of
pipe cleaners
and glue and
boggly eyes (so cute).
and
he said to me
"your family
was right"
and i wonder what he
meant
by that??
he wants
$1,500
says i owe him
says
maybe he'll be the
first ex
to actually
get paid pack
"you're a bad person.
you're
not normal,
jillian."
as i brush
my teeth.

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