By Nous

                          Late Spring 2005


MARCH30: DREAM OF MAGIC SHOES

The library is my only friend; my only friend has betrayed me.
I've mentioned I'm doing a research paper on Howard Hughes --
which I've been planning on not doing, but I think I will.
Well, I went to the library to work on it and apparently some
jovial god thought it would be funny to make me extremely
awkward.
I sat at a table near the back of the library, facing the
auditorium, with my back to everyone. As I'm reading and
feeling very fidgety, I hear a voice saying something about
something. I think to myself, "That sounds like Roxie Prince."
WHAT?
Did I just say that in my head? Did I just say that the
voice I just heard sounded like Roxie Prince?
No, it SOUNDS like Roxie Prince. It's still talking.
But of course, as we all know, it couldn't be Roxie Prince
because Roxie Prince is the girl from sixth grade math
class who sat in the same group as me and Tricia -- or as
some very mean-spirited peers called her, "Trasha."
Ah, yes. Roxie. The very same girl who started the "Ferdy"
thing. You know what I'm talking about, Everyone. And I
certainly know what I'm talking about because I assumed
that after Roxie, nobody would ever think of that again.
But it was thought of, Friends. It was thought of by many
a person.
Anyway.
Back to the story...
It SOUNDED like Roxie, but it couldn't very well be Roxie,
because, my god, that would be insane. I've come to this
library so often in the past nine years and NOT ONCE have
I seen her there. So why now? Why after all these years?
True, I had her in seventh AND eighth grade. And yes, I
had her in some classes in high school -- a lunch period
or two. But it's been a long time since we've shared even
that time together. So why now?
Well, not now, really. Because it isn't her.
So I decide my research paper isn't going to get done and
rise from the table. As I turn, I'm going to confirm that
it isn't Roxie Prince behind me walking around, but some
young man whose voice has not quite developed.
But of course it is her, isn't it?
Yes, there she is, with Rubi Molina -- a benign girl, but
one I've never really liked.
Natural aversion, I guess? Whatever that means.
So what can I do? They haven't really spotted me, so I
pretend like I'm looking at books and dash into one of
the hallways of books.
I don't know how long I pretended to look (fifteen minutes
too long, apparently, since when I got home, X-Files had
already begun to get rolling). But after a while, I peeked
out and didn't see anybody, so, holding some books up to
hide my face in case they were to my right (for some reason
I didn't think they'd be on my left), I walked toward the
front of the library. And there they stood, with their backs
to me, luckily.
I dashed over to the movie section and got behind one of
the shelves, kneeling on the ground.
Wait a minute, Nousy. What are you doing? Why is it so
dangerous for them to see you? Why does it bother you that
they're here, really now.
I don't know, I guess I didn't think about -- fuck! Here
comes Rubi.
On the opposite side of the shelf, Rubi called out to Roxie
that she wanted to get a movie on Tae Bo.
Pleeeeeez, leave me alone.
But Nousy, what are they even doing to you?
Shut the fuck up, okay? If you don't understand, then you
don't understand.
They are there for a long time, and I get tired so I just
make a dash for the front of the library. I'm sure they
saw me and wondered what I was doing besides pretending
(obviously) that I hadn't seen them.
As I ran to my vehicle and drove away, I could see them
leaving the library.
I almost crashed into a cop.

APRIL3: REGARDLESS

Tiny needlepoint paintbrushes probing indifferently
at my body gleaming with sweat. What color clings to
their tips?  A variety of greens, reds, purples --
dark colors. The pastels have been chased away by
the jealous sweat.  But the dark ones -- the primary
colors especially -- stick to me like bandaids
stretching over some unpleasant wound, not healing,
only hiding. With wounds as deep as mine what can
one do?
Well, I suppose he can refuse to be covered up and
silenced, eh? I suppose you're saying that in your
mind?
You are the colors, Retard.

TIME

My early 8 o' clock awakening is now a 9 am
stirring. Daylight Savings?
Daylight Damnings.
No time for a shower.
My hair is so shaggy now, what's the point? And
I haven't shaved in a while.
I can't stop using a rhyme scheme I "made up."
      bum budum budum bum
bum budum budum budum bum
bum budum budum budum bum...

APRIL4: My

Heidi Klum has a lovely accent, actually. Quite frankly,
I think you're jealous.
No, it's ridiculous to think that it would be great to
be married to her, but I do think that it would be very
interesting.

I've said this before, though probably not in these rants:
As a director, I would like to be known as the second Ed
Wood. Glen Or Glenda was ridiculous, yes, terrible. Still
enjoyable, I must admit, as sleepy as I was while watching
it. Considering my talent -- or lack of talent, I guess --
there's no way I could NOT be considered the second Ed
Wood, unless I don't do anything with my movies, which
I suppose is very likely, as I don't se the point in
anything anymore.
Life is, as I've said, a game in which one's sanity is
whittled down, finally leaving only a piece of wood shaped
like Bob Hope's nose.
Heehee.
Anyway.
Now that I've finished entertaining myself.
Listen to me, I'm an alien.
I'm getting sick and tired.
Also.
Terri Shiavo is a lucky bitch.

What?
Terri Shiavo?
Where did that come from?
I must be a writer for a late night talk show.

I haven't been going to English for two weeks. Research
papers are not for fags, but note cards are. My mind is
a room littered with empty Sprite bottles and papers with
footprints on them. I will organize it when I organize it.
Until then, please stop calling my house and telling my
parents that I've skipped school. I already told them that
I didn't want to do the paper and I probably wont. But I
will work on it, because working on a research paper isn't
going to hurt. All I want to do is learn the process on
my own without having to worry about a grade.
What the fuck is this buzzing in my ear?
No, not like when those little hairs that help you hear
when they die. This is like a buzzing in my brain. Something
metallic, like a tuning fork in my mind.
But still, I went in to see my english teacher because she
set up a little meeting between us, like I needed her
guidance or something. No shave and no haircut (haven't been
to the barber in a month).
I hesitated before I said "barber," because I actually
go to a stylist.
I didn't hesitate at all actually. By now it's impulse to
say barber instead of stylist. I don't want to get called
a fag by all of you first graders. I've learned my lesson.
And the lesson is that I've got to apply myself, because
I'm a really bright kid. I'm a great writer and I can
catch up to the rest of the class if I just hustle.
Fuck you, Lady. I'm sick of everything.

Okay, so I like antiques. Is that a reason to live?

Garage sales too. Love them. And those cartoon DVDs they've
been selling a Wal-Mart, Dollar General, and elsewhere.
Fuck materials. Just kidding. I hate possessions. Only
joking.

Was it two years ago my dog died? Terrible loss. Remember
that song that I dedicated to him? That song still makes
me tear up.
Somethings are just tough to handle.
My mind is the mind of an infant. My soul is the soul of
a grandmother.
I can't help it that I'm leading myself to a place I can't
comprehend.

Anime is my new obsession. Why is it so good?
Nearly all of it fascinates me. Those damn Japanese and
they're weird ideas.

I still love you, Sarah Niedermeyer, and look forward to
seeing you again.

Grandpa Ganja says, "Toke up!"

APRIL7: WHITE TRASH

WHYite trAsh MyopIc Shell tOrToIse REtro'D out, y'all!

In case you didn't know, the above string of words says,
"Why am I so tired?" IN CODE!
I'm really good at speaking in code. Actually, that's a
lie, but something equally cool is that I'm learning
divination.  I've been reading up on runes, and how to
cast them, etc --  really interesting and I'm learning
quite a bit.
I hope that, unlike other things I study, I learn stuff
that isn't completely unimportant. I tend to retain the
information that really doesn't mean anything.

WE INTERRUPT THIS BROADCAST

to offer a link of little importance; the page it takes
you to will show a picture of a girl scout who sold more
than 5,000 cookies:

www.freewebs.com/southernlaintment/ebwhite.jpg

That's Elizabeth Przyborski, and why does she so closely
resemble a fairy?
The answer, on a very special episode of Head of the Class.

I have no strength in my bones...