fanfare.

some people need to remove the stick that is embedded into their rectum.

on a side note, it's a windy 51˚ today following the beautiful 72˚ yesterday and proceeded by the 35˚ tomorrow. i don't understand it. but, i guess one will never understand north texas weather.

my to-do list:
1) read The London Merchant
2) learn lyrics to Respect by Aretha Franklin (pretty easy)
3) rehearse with Derick and write a rehearsal report
4) memorize the last few lines of grip top sock
5) read The Great Depression
6) work on song with Adam
7) maintain friendliness with all people

body parts i treasure:

clavicles.

slender hands.

jawbones.

eyebrows.

cheekbones.

hip bones.

hi dallas.

back in good old dallas. i was welcomed by a fog so think you could barely see the street signs. now that, ladies and gentlemen, is a welcome that can't be beat. i adored it, i simply adored it! it's 12:43 am at the moment--my first class tomorrow is at 9:30. i doubt i'll get much sleep; i still need to put all my clothes away on hangers. oh how i wish i could just hang everything up. drawers can be a dreadful hassle. i'm currently listing to hauschka. what a beautiful artist; i strongly recommend to anyone who enjoys the occasional simple, modernist music. it fills me up with reassurance, listening to it does.

it's a wonderful thing to say that you're happy. i don't feel completely comfortable saying that statement as 100% genuine, but i am definitely making progress on the scale. for being the "glass half empty" human i am, i'm desperately holding on to the positive things in my life. perhaps this time i will not fool myself.

my tattoo is almost completely healed. it is still sensitive to the touch, but the for most part it stirs no trouble.

i feel like i'm truly making the adjustment into womanhood (as cheesy as that sounds.) i've always been an old soul even as a child, but recently i've noticed newly formed habits:

-taking my rings, watch, and earrings out every night

-wearing my silk robe

-keeping shoes in boxes

-maintaining perfect posture

-reapplying lipstick throughout the day

isn't it terribly silly? i should say so, but who cares!

family analysis.

i could care less how cliché this sounds, but i need to be more thankful for my life.

i'm getting an education, training, housing, food, and connections. i have a great relationship with james. i have little to no health issues. i am still so incredibly young.

whilst taking maxine for a walk outside, all the blood was leaving my hands and rushing to my head. the leash was cutting off circulation due to her pulling and leading the way. she obviously does not respect me--i'm never home, so why would she know to obey me? for all i know, i'm just another plaything in the house to her. anyway, i was thinking about my dad.

he's having a terribly hard time looking for a job. without a bachelors, so much isn't available to him. he has to take care of maxine, a 11 month old puppy (that my mother insisted on getting and doesn't take care of). she's chewing up the house. i know it's merely a phase for her, but my dad tries so hard at keeping the house in good shape. then he's got his mother. and 80-something nut who took over my room when i left for college in 2009. with her food, her pills, her pain, and her insanity, it ages my father to be her caretaker. he's the only son (out of 8 sons total) to make an effort. i commend him, i just wish my mother would feel the same way. having a rocky relationship with her own japanese mother, i detect a bit of jealousy thus leading to resentment in regards to my dad taking care of his mother. she can't stand her. she doesn't ever go into my grandmother's room to make small talk. it's as if she possesses a blind spot.

i just wish my mother was still in love with my dad. she clearly isn't, but she's too afraid to ever leave him. she never had a father, so this whole male dependence concept is too present in her conscience for her ever to leave him. i love her and i sympathize with her greatly about the hardships she's endured, but this cold, disgusted outlook on my father affects the way i perceive her. sure it's been going on for years, so i suppose this is just a broken record...but it saddens me to imagine that love isn't real for some people. she's a wonderful mother who is so precious to me.

kitty lips.

tonight you belong to me.

my dreams have been especially emotional this past week. they co-star people of my past and i wake up with this sense of wanting to reconnect with them--a peculiar, empty feeling. the people that i immerse myself around now are always substituted with other figures, even though they represent the same people. if that is clear. it probably is not.

it's 9 in the morning. if only i woke up this time every day. i mean, i suppose i do for class, but i'm saying i wish i voluntarily woke up at this hour. there's a certain something about the morning that i most certainly fancy.

maxine is making it especially hard to type. she's licking me and harassing the kitties and smelling my coffee. i absolutely adore her. you can tell her wooliness is starting to form. german shepherds are quite dazzling. i'm listening to a banjo right now and maxine is cocking her head back and forth, marveled that sound is coming out of my lap.

i feel a longing. i don't have longings for people often, so when they do occur, it takes me by surprise how much my heart can hurt.

my tattoo is in the peeling stage. i've been taking impeccable care of it, and now my dead skin is flaking off like corn husks. nasty, right? the color underneath is brilliant. this is definitely a sammy tattoo.

my thoughts are scattered, as it is apparent through the amount of paragraphs.

i'm ready to go back to dallas.

PLAYLIST FOR TODAY:

henry mancini - lujon

pet shop boys - what have i done to deserve this?

la roux - i'm not your toy

phillip glass - etude no. 2

the bird and the bee - tonight you belong to me

freedom tickler - hot tub

the outrunners - mirror shades

hauschka - brooklyn

hear hums - cerebellum

future islands - vireo's eye

beach house - white moon

i want to live somewhere rainy, drizzly, cloudy, overcast, damp, verdant, foggy, dismal, inclement, gray, crisp, atmospheric, bountiful--

ANY WORD TO DESCRIBE IT.

FREEZE FRAME

i am a sophomore at SMU studying theatre.

it is currently January of 2011.

the year does not feel fresh.

i am itching to go somewhere and do something.

i should not shell out advice until i take it myself.

it's funny how i enjoy helping people take the optimistic route in desperate times, yet i cannot bring myself to take the same measures.

I’m on the hunt.

I’m on the hunt for THE play to direct.

A play in which my senses absorb the text, music, and overall feel of the atmosphere. An abstract atmosphere—heartfelt, intensely emotional, engaging, and thought provoking. I’m not concerned with the plot so much as I am with the development of characters. Of course, there has to be some sort of cohesiveness, but I’m mostly looking for a play that opens up a orb or channel to the inner gooeyness of humans and their fears, insecurities, and guilty pleasures. Ethereal, cerebral, yet remaining somewhat nebulous, I want the audience to take the performance with them and dwell on its underlying theme.

Now, where to begin finding this play? I’ve been to the arts library, unlocking countless plays…but I’m so picky. It’s almost as if I go with my gut instinct on titles of plays—I’ll admit, I judge a play by its title. The ones I chose yesterday were: How To Disappear Completely And Never Be Found, Silence, and Soap.

Depressing and eerie, right?

I have to find THE play that matches all of the above criteria. Wish me luck.

All Wrapped Up

One of the torn tabs of perforated paper floated across the sidewalk like tumbleweed. It was swept onto the road, only to meet a set of tenacious tires stamping it into the pot-holed road. The streets of the city sported bumper to bumper vehicles rushing impetuously to drugstores for valentines. An aggravating cloud of love always seeped through the city like eternal fog in the month of February. She desired his company. It wasn’t what she really wanted, but he was better than nothing. However, it was hopeless. No one paid attentions to missing signs. She continued to staple the sheets of paper with her Beloved plastered upon the page accompanied with seven big bold numbers. His face reflected off the paper directly into her eyes; it was as if this picture was his mug shot and she was warning the neighborhoods to avoid this violent male.

It had already been six days since his last appearance. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to leave the house and not return for even a week, but this time there were no visits from his dead friends or the loud vocals he would shriek throughout the city, reassuring her that he was nearby.

The sun slowly trickled into the horizon, leaving a rosy aura around downtown. At the midst of her walk home, she recalled a time where her Beloved came to the door, drunk with lack of sleep and near starvation after his eight day escapade. His hair was disheveled and his ribcage seemed more apparent than ever. He smelled of cheap perfume and cigarettes, though he wasn’t a smoker. It was these moments when she feared he was fooling around with some other woman, begging for her hands and the soft touch that a woman provides. Denying the paranoia that crept into her psyche, she took him again. As usual, he picked up another lifeless friend who he expected her to mother. It was hard enough pampering one irritant who acted as if he owned the household so she routinely escorted his friends onto the street for traffic to stumble upon.

Sipping her chamomile, the young woman gained full consciousness of how lonely she was. Her eating and sleeping habits were dissipating by the second.

No calls had been received regarding her Beloved. No calls from her Beloved.

The afternoon sun was glowing. She eyed her coat and scarf and could not resist going outside into the busy streets, posting more disobliging signs. The voice inside her head urged her to contact the police, but why would they care about a girl’s problem when they had murders and thefts to exacerbate their forehead worry lines? Maybe if they knew how many deaths her Beloved was responsible for, circumstances may be different, but she didn’t have the heart to turn him in. Without that bit of knowledge, the police had no concern for him. They wouldn’t consider her Beloved missing.

Afternoons in the city were the most cherished times of the day. They consisted of couples strolling in the park hand in hand, looking at each other with doe eyes, and stopping at the occasional eating booth. She was just gray matter in the colorful world of love, going about her own business. People gave her odd looks as she posted the signs of her Beloved. Why wouldn’t she rightfully advertise the missing whereabouts of her love? It didn’t seem fair. Of course, no one knew the relationship she had with him. They were too thick headed in their own cloud of love to see anything past bliss and happiness. She laughed at their naivety. Love wasn’t just pure delight. It was surrounded by misery and sacrifices. Never before had she hated and treasured the concept of love so deeply. Her Beloved had changed her entire perspective.

Lost in the translation of the matter, the woman stumbled upon a shelter. She didn’t think he would get himself mixed with such vagabonds, but she was desperate for success in finding him. Depression overtook her as she stepped into the territory of the homeless. Their zombie-like statures were basically rags with toothless grins, roaming the shelter and begging for change or some soup.

A man with massive dreadlocks stopped her and held his shaky palm out, “Please miss, do you have any extra cash on you?”

“I’m sorry; I’m a little preoccupied at the moment. I don’t have any change,” she lied. She had twenty dollars stashed in her pocket, but if she aided him, bums would come flocking towards her like pigeons in a park.

As she furthered herself down the alley, in the corner of her eye she saw a cat scurry across the street. Her Beloved always hated cats. Several months ago, she contemplated adopting one from the animal shelter, but he put up a fight in order to dissuade her.

It was those stupid flashbacks that sickened her. Why did she care so much for a creature who just abandoned her whenever he pleased? He obviously didn’t need her as much as she needed him. Though…she actually didn’t mind being alone. Cooking for only one made it much easier on the grocery bill and quite frankly, her pad wasn’t as much of a mess as it was when he had lived there.

At that moment, depression veered to anger. Here this woman was tripping over lowlife, vile individuals who pathetically threw away their lives and didn’t possess enough initiative to improve their living substance. Even if her Beloved was piled somewhere inside the blob of hobos, she could have cared less. It was his choice to leave, and she obviously didn’t represent herself enough as a caring person who loved him. Instantly, she left the homeless and returned home.

Her eyes sunk in their sockets. The apartment was in shackles and open tea packets were scattered across the counter. She was kidding herself. She hadn’t been eating or cleaning, so why did she say life without him was easier? God, she missed him. His independence had gotten the best of him and that was what drove her mad the most. She could never hate her Beloved no matter how badly she wanted to.

The clock struck two o’clock am, and she eventually brought herself to bed. Sleep was an old friend she hadn’t encountered in a few days. The moon percolated through the blinds and formed horizontal lines onto the wall, causing distractions as she tried to reach her dream fantasies.

There was an imbalance of the bed. He always slept to her left, drooling and wheezing in his light sleep. Perhaps if she slept in the middle, she could find a comfortable position and catch a few z’s.

A rainy Valentine’s Day welcomed her the next morning. That feeling of gushy love surrounded her presence as she wandered about the house, trying to clean up a bit. A muffled engine resonance trailed down the street, pausing frequently for the mailman to distribute personal mail. There was something about mail that would forever excite the young woman. She often ordered clothes off catalogues and would receive her magazine subscriptions. Having gained enough energy to go down the steps of her apartment stoop, she unclasped the mailbox and found a gift wrapped box. The box’s lid depicted calligraphic designs and the words: ‘From your Beloved.’

The beating heart enclosed in her chest sank. Suddenly the world seemed brighter and love was a nearby neighbor, showering its goodness around her. Trumpets blasted their upbeat tunes, birds chirped, and confetti sprinkled itself onto the streets. Dark clouds had shifted their positions, revealing a gleaming sun. She briefly took in the imaginary setting and swerved back into the reality.

It was still drizzling. The rain was the only audible sound and the only object sprinkling onto the ground. All of the birds were hidden inside the twisting branches of trees and the heavy clouds owned the sky. Her fingers slowly slipped themselves under the lid and exposed the contents of the present.

She choked on her own breath.

The world stopped as the lifeless doll eyes of her Beloved glared at her. His severed head lay limply inside the box. In the space where his tongue should’ve been, there was a note wrapped in his plucked whiskers. His fur was mangled and heavily coated with blood. Every emotion possible rushed through the woman’s mind. Her precious dog had been tortured and decapitated as some sort of sick joke.

Sadness overwhelmed her. Her knees crashed to the ground as her sobs reverberated throughout the city. Pathetically she tried to bring herself up, but her weak bones lacked the strength. She lied on the sidewalk, absorbing the rain and her atmosphere. Who would do such a thing? Who was sick and twisted enough to commit such a horrendous deed?

She would never have his company ever again! No more making him special dinners, no more dead animals in his mouth, no more vacuuming all of his fur!

No more vacuuming all of his fur.

God, she hated his horrible shedding habits. Ha! She could actually buy black clothes again! Lord knows how his white fur just plastered itself onto all of her wardrobe. Maybe she could actually date again! He always snarled at men who came into the apartment, in fear that they would steal her away from him.

Yet who was the one always abandoning the other? Him! That’s right, him! He deserved this hellish death because he simply was just a stupid dog.

She paused her mind from continuing to process these mixed feelings and found herself right back to the beginning. Her Beloved was gone. His last hours must have been filled with brutally painful agony. Had she kept all the windows down and locked, he wouldn’t have escaped!

She stopped again, remembering the message enfolded in his mouth. Without hesitation, she ripped his lips open and dug her fingers inside to grasp the note:

‘Your old Beloved wasn’t good enough to you, leaving you alone on Valentine’s Day. But I, your new Beloved, will never abandon you because you are my Beloved. Happy Valentine’s Day, sweetheart.’

It would be expected for that note to come off as insanely creepy and psychotic, however, a tiny smile appeared in the cracks of the woman’s mouth.

“I now have two Beloveds,” whispered the ill-headed woman.

Mail never failed to please her.