| I can't stop thinking about when we were at the park the other day, you peeking from behind the tree, with that flower (curse that flower, I feel like I should call you a liar because of it, but I don't even want to think about it, not a bit) and that smile. I wish I could've gotten a picture of it, so bad...the mental picture is stuck with me. There are Jack Russell Terriers on the beach. Remember how we were going to get one? I still will. They're so... alive. Maybe they're contagious. I've had two prayers answered in my life. One, the answer took years and a lot of effort on my part, and I'm not sure God had anything to do with it. The second was a snow day, and I had to bargain and promise to do my unfinished homework on that day. Now the first one is ringing true and applicable, in a way, but I don't have years, and my efforts seem more futile than anything. My prayers, now, without fail, are being made impossible, as I (again, without fail) find out the next day. My prayers- all of them, different ones, not just one repeated, all of them- are being answered by a resounding "no". I'm afraid to pray anymore (not that I usually do so much anyway,) afraid to ask for anything I really want or even say "protect my family" because I'm afraid the "No" will rip something away, be it a loved one or my chances at all my feeble dreams. I see all the tan pretty girls in tanktops at the resort and I'm pale and in a sweatshirt and I think, "I'm too English, I don't fit in here," and also "there's only a certain kind of person who can find pale, thin girls in sweatshirts atttractive." I'll need to find some Englishmen, or perhaps Irishmen. Or perhaps I'm misled. Perhaps there's only one person around who finds skinny pale British Isles girls (England, Ireland, Scotland, Wales, they're all the same) attractive. Damn. I couldn't sleep early in the morning because a mockingbird kept letting out long piercing high pitched shrieks, again and again. When I did get to sleep again, I had dreams about killing this bird. I'm beginning to see the foreshadowing. It's too bad you never reocgnize it for what it is until it's too late. The sand here is cold. What is this? It's beautiful, but all the beauty (at least here at the resort and the ajoining tourist town) is so fabricated and preplanned that it loses a lot and is not nearly so interesting (especially from a photographic point of view) as the busted up, falling down shacks where people actually live. The birds scream like babies and the babies scream like birds and half the time you can't tell the difference, you just hear screams. Note to self- rent Tin Drum the movie. It won an Oscar. Haha. (best foreign 1980). I'll have to check the blockbuster or hollywood video in Ann Arbor. I'm interested to see if it's any good. Seems like a difficult movie to make. Will you watch it with me? Other people can come too, of course. The birds, they chirp out random sets of notes, familiar to me from one song or another, but always out of tune and always simple, ascending or descending or one, long, blasting, shrill, desperate and (it seems to me, but I have unskilled ears) slightly sharp note, perhaps a G, but definately off key. I have a rainbow on my wrist from the ground and not sky and tropical bracelets from my landlocked mall. What is freedom if we can't do what we want to do? Only criminals have freedom but it's still limited, depending on what they want and the wills of other people, if those other people desire to give them their freedom or not. For example- even a criminal cannot have a romantic outing with someone who has no romantic interest in them. They can force a person to go with them, they can force sex, but they can't force romance. So if what they wanted to do involved romance or love of any kind, on the part of both members...then they cannot do what they want to do, and theefore cannot, even lawlessly, have complete freedom, which does not exist and cannot unless we learn to control the minds of other people perhaps, also, nature, weather. Even in the case of the criminal, as soon as someone's gone wild, demanded their freedom and in the process intruded on the meager freedom of others, we take it away. I'm not saying it's wrong. For everyone to have somewhat equal freedom it can't be complete. And it's just that. Not complete. People can be happy beautiful or sad beautiful or occasionally empty beautiful, and people can change between them, but don't so often, and I wonder which we want, in ourselves and other people. I more often notice sad beauty and occasionally resent and look-upon-with-dismay the other types, but perhaps this is because I'm sad and wish I could be the other types. There are other times when I see happy beautiful people and, while still slightly jealous, I don't resent them but rather enjoy and admire them. This doesn't happen so often, as I seem to be losing my appreciation for happiness, but I wish it did. I want to be a good person, isn't that almost as good as being one? I know only a handful of happy beautiful people, and I wish I were like them. I know many more empty beautiful (lovely head but nothing in it- if you're empty you have to rely on physical characteristics) and rather content mediocreish kind-of-beautiful people. I, with no one to argue the prescence of any sort of beauty, am just a "sad", or perhaps a "tired and jaded and bored but puts on a good face for the audience." In the past I've been called happy beautiful and sometimes sad beautiful as well, (what, me?, with my dead flowers that I keep in a tin box? Dead flowers are sad beautiful.) But you're only those things if someone believes you are, percieves you as such. Maybe someday I can be sad beautiful again, or even, if I'm really lucky, happy beautiful. The maid, who is a few feet away, is cleaning our other cabin. She is sad beautiful. Perhaps also there's crazy beautiful (isn't that a movie?), a terrifying mix of happy and sad beautifuls, like Angelina Jolie, or maybe Amanda from Canada, though she also might be sad, I haven't decided yet. I'd have to look at her eyes, since that's where all the emotion and beauty lies in everyone anyway. Adam is crazy beautiful. Rory is happy and sad beautiful but never mixed together, never crazy, just very subjective. Kelly is happy beautiful, as are KTP and Morgan, though Morgan's been corrupted by JP and has lost something, perhaps innocence. You don't want to be a "bad girl" Morgan. A true happy beautiful person is still happy beautiful even when they're sad. A sad beautiful person never really is that happy, so I'm not sure about them. I can't think of any more sad beautiful people at the moment, perhaps I know my friends too well to label them one or the other. Mrs. McGuinness is. There's one. I see sad beautiful more often in strangers. Tristessa, in my book, is sad beautiful. She in fact made me think of it. Triste in French means "sad." I wonder if it's similar in Spanish. Dolor is pain. What does that mean for people named Dolores? |