okay with/fond of:
peaches peace peers pablo neruda promises kept post-impressionism phonaesthetics penitence prophet protect personality pacifism pronunciation pissed off punchup at a wedding prisms primus poetry primary peregrines penguins philosophy pollock photosynthesis pomegranates paris pinot grigio pot pots priam phallic paco de lucia psilocybin predictions publicity privacy pretending permitting pushing pulling paranoia paraphrase pursuit pop tarts pop art preacherman portentouswoman proactivism passenger side pigeons pleasing plants pearls photographs paint paintings perseverance pascal paradox pearl jam paternal instinct pathetic pathos pancho villa (dead or alive) pretty positivity patience patterns particular packages possums pun punk punkrock prosperity politics paraphernalia phosphorescence pretension passing pandas preference potato pens pumpkins people pages proof providence pain passion park physical pillow populism pleasure picasso pride progress protest promise  phighting phucking phorgiving phorever

My desire to take a vow of poverty conflicts with my love of haute couture (sp?) fashion. Really. And I've been thinking about this right since the afternoon. Caitlin wanted to buy an extremely fabulous pair of sunglasses. ray bans. I really don't like ray bans. I liked these. And truth be proclaimed, on her face they were fantastic. harsh truth be proclaimed, they're fecking expensive. And I could only half-heartedly give the "material things are meaningless" rap. Because IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII sympathize. Even more so, I empathize.  Ladies with expensive tastes. Not because we're vain or shallowhollow or all about dem $$$$$$$$. Not because we're the Pavlovian-programmed consumers, love-lovings it because the adverts say we should. Not because we're silly&vapid. But because it's fucking fabulous, dammit!!! FAB-U-LOUS! I mean, honey pies, I ain't in it for the labels. If I was, with the cash flow I'm wetting my financial whistle with, I'd be a fucking billboard for abercrombie. Or Gap.  But I don't shop there. I like my consignment shops and secondhand stores and bouncing around the sales bin at NY&Co. occasionally. I've got my style and I make my statement with it via the means within my reach. It's for the fashion, which is gorgeous which is fantastic which is fantabulous because, really, it's art! Think about it. Cliché it up: our body is a canvas and the clothes are our materials.  Which is why I don't go walking around in a red shirt and red pants because I'm not making a statement about blood clots. Unless that day ever comes up. Which I hope it doesn't. Reallytruly.  The A&F, the A&E, well it doesn't really do it for me. I mean, compare that with Prada. With Givenchy. With Dolce and Gabbana. Bitch, pleaseeeeeeeeeeee. And yeah, I'm well aware that some people drape designers all over themselves for the label rather than the look. People don't buy Coach bags because they've got a thing for the letter 'C'. But when it really comes down to it, high fashion is high fashion for a reason. It's gorgeous, it's classic, it's stunning, it's radiant, it's marvelous, it's fabulous!, dammit! It's art! That you can live in! Love in! Leap in! I love that! Style, babies, style!

But it's so fucking expensive. And I loathe the fact that it's so fucking expensive. So if I become a Givenchy girl, an Oscar de la Renta yenta, I have to spew out a fountain of cash. Cash that could completely be put to better use. Unquestionably put to better use. And I'd far rather have it be put to that better use. But I still want my red high heel manolos. They'd make my legs look so damn good.

la di da. Ohhh, the things we have to reconcile.

RI = absolutely fabulous. Being home makes me happier, as Mike used to say, than a pig in sunny mud. We have adventures. Literal adventures. It's fucking rad. And sometimes it's classically rad or hill-billy rad or johnny rockets rad, but at the center of the core, it always comes down to fucking rad. Caitlin&Camille&LauraMarie&Me. Glorious-ity.

took out some grande literature from the library too. Faust (because that women is a-coming to lecture on it), The Tao of Pooh (because I like to follow fads five years after the fact), and Marat/Sade (because I do occasionally judge a book by its cover). Dad said something I really liked today about that book. As he was holding it, he asked me, "Don't you feel like, when you take out a book like this, that you're saving it? I mean, when was the last time someone read this book? It's just there, sitting on the shelf...I took out a book the other day, no one had taken it out in like thirty years. And it's great." It was great. And so's the book. Which is actually a play. A really intense guillotine in your gut play. Ah Marat! And Charlotte Corday, with her lilywhite neck. The girlish assassin you'd never suspect.

Piece of advice. HUNK of advice. DO NOT PURCHASE LISTERINE DISSOLVING WHITENING STRIPS. They're fucking terrible. In the sense that they're an ENORMOUS pain in the ass. Any driplet of moisture and bam! the dissolving action kicks into high gear. And then you've got whitening gunk running amok in your lower lip. Such hassle. Crap product. Capitalism: money exchanged for goods and/or services. Fuck it up a little more, Listerine. Seriously.

I think it's time to get ready for karaoake...at snooker's. awwwwwwwwwwesome!

Whenever someone says, "They don't make'em like that anymore", I always want to reply, "Sure they do. You're just not looking hard enough"

So I've been nestled in my bed for the past week, coughing my way into rock hard abs! It's been tough. The washerboard stomach though (I must admit) is some consolation. Mum also got me new lipsticks which are applied via precision precise brush application. And I like that. I get a great shape out of my lips, but it's only when my hand stays steady like a draftswoman. That's kind of rare. But a brush helps 90% of the time. Plus the colors are really red. And I really like that. What's the use of being a scarlet woman if you can't advertise?

School days slip away like a greased weasel now. Speaking with an old freshmen friend (he's old, the friendship's not yet), but not really speaking, more like him ticking down the days left of the semester and slightly tocking up my levels of anxiety. Spring break in two weeks, Easter break in a few after, then one zippy month then adios. 'And it'll be summahthen, thank GAWD'.
Thank you, God? For the May? Oh May. Frightment and Excitement. Same time, same thing. Crossing the great gulf that divides Assumption from the real world. There's still though, the need to live in the now, now. So thus. Now I suppose though I'll cross that bridge when I come to it. And then decide if I need to burn it or not. Or will they do it for me when they realize I'm not giving them any more money...? ha-ha

I can't burn bridges. Can't burn bridges and can't let people go. Oh no oh well. I can't and I choose not to. I don't think I'd want to be able to after all things considered. Cross your fingers and kiss your elbow.

I can hear the mice living scurrying in the walls. Country living, boy, you rest your heart but not your cheese. amen.

ten more days until assumption. absolutely fine by me. break has lost its shiny happy appeal. Rise, read, tv, read, tv, read, tv and bike, feed, tv, read, intarweb, feed, tv, read, rest. BORING AS SHITE. I do enjoy the read, and I do enjoy the feed, but I am sick of tv and monotony. And I can't pretend to enjoy MadTV any longer. Spy vs Spy? Are you fucking kidding me??? AH. Hopefully the symposium accepts my presentation...atleast then I'll have something to work on. Although, I've been filling out lots of applications lately. Volunteering ones. That one for Americorps certainly takes a while. I should be working on my resumé as well....how am I lazy even now? Oh, ennui. My secret laziness. It's a peculiar fig.

I owe the phone company a shitload of money. That ought to buy Planned Parenthood a bunch of condoms. Quality condoms, I shall see to it. None of that Durex nonsense. Trojan Trojan all the way. From me to le pené, courtesy of Credo Mobile. Aw yeah.

And ps, it's true. Clockwork Orange has been banned from the Assumption College library. Just did a search of the catalog....nowhere to be found. Hmm. What word am I thinking of??? Ohh, yeah. FASCIST.

It's on. It is on on on on fucking ON. Prepare thy fucking self, villain. It's ON.

what a prick.

anyway. I should be off my feet right now and I'm not. Not smart. Apparent trend of mine these days. so it goes.

someone in the house bought a josh groban christmas cd. josh groban = no. And the picture of the front cover = creepy. I know the original goal = josh groban = handsomeville singingman/angel...but the foundational equation cannot be overcome. Or repressed. josh groban = no. always. but now josh groban = watching me. I do not approve. Even slightly. Not much improvement on the back though. His shaggy head bent ever slightly down, like, 'ohmigosh, that POWERHOUSE VOICE OF GODDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD!!!! is that mine? noooo. i'm just josh. well hey and teehee'. The lighting is some sort of heavenly. Apparently that's a bulb type. that you can buy. but all of these kind of singers are lit like that. I'm guessing to emphasize how God given their talent is. Everything else about them popped out courtesy of mum and dad, but the voice came floating down from heaven. in a convenient-sized box. and popped! itself right into the throat. la garganta.

I'm fed up. I BELONG ON THE STAGE. But right now I'm in a chair. Eh.

Today I saw a bumper sticker that said: LIBERAL: n. A person who is so open-minded their brains have fallen out. Immediately after that I saw a bumper sticker that said: Republicans are irrelevant. And while there is no such thing as an irrelevant person...yeah. I'm a freak for supporting Planned Parenthood, but Mitt Romney wanting to double Guantanamo Bay and Huckabee not believing in evolution, this is normal. totally normal. epitomizes american. you're not a freak for thinking that's okay.

I caught a bit of the o'reilly factor and before my retinas exploded with my cochleas following after, I again had the chance to be reminded of something very wrong with the country. The news piece had to do with the terrible flaws in the judicial system which foster the criminal element rather than eradicating it. Judges slapping child molesters and rapists on the wrist, this sort of horrible thing. And O'Reilly's narrative listed the vicious transgressions of one specific criminal...like this: "and the judge simply decided to let him go! *Iforgetthename*, a pedophile, a murderer and AN ILLEGAL ALIEN TO BOOT!" With no "Slack border control allows such evil to enter" sort of connection. Just OMGilleeeeeegal! He lives his life brutally wrecking the lives of so many others, even to the point of death and yeah, hey that's pretty bad no argument here BUT OHMYGOD HE CAME HERE ILLEGALLY. AKSJHAKLJHSJKA. DEVIANT. LEVIATHAN. CRETINFUCKINGBASTARD! AKLSHALKHSLKJA.

And Carla just walked in the door.
Me mum tía rosamaria abuela carla and ryan.
You can't swing a cat in this house without hitting a mayan
¡awesome!

I love Antonio Aguilar...always on a horse. singing in way that moves mountains. in spanish. with a gigantic sombrero. so cool. I'm going to marry a man like that. Amen, baby.












verte desnuda es recordar la tierra
(lorca)

Haven't posted in Forrrrrrrrever and when I finally do...it's something like this. Because I could never resist these things. Sad but fun!

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE,
WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?

1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, etc).
2. Put it on shuffle.
3. Press play.
4. For every question type the song that's playing.
5. When you go to a new question press the next button.


Opening Credits:
A Sorta Fairytale~Tori Amos

Waking Up:
Crown of Love~Arcade Fire

Falling In Love:
Roll With It~Oasis

Fight Song:
Share the Land~The Guess Who(awww, pacifism to the end)

Breaking Up:
Union 7~Rusted Root (meaning there's probably some break-up sex to be had)

Making up:
Samson~Regina Spektor

Life's okay:
Heart Shaped Box~Nirvana (life's...really not okay, apparently)

Mental Breakdown:
I Think I'm Paranoid~Garbage (APPROPRIATE!)

Driving:
Casimir Pulaski Day~Sufjan Stevens

Flashbacks:
Give Peace a Chance~John Lennon

Happy Dance:
Brown-eyed Girl~Van Morrison (Perfect :-))

Regretting:
Salty Dog~Flogging Molly (regret with guinness...the best kind of regret)

Final Battle:
Summer in the City~Regina Spektor (most emo final battle EVER)

Death Scene:
Renegades of Funk~Rage Against the Machine (going out with a bangBANG)

Final Credits:
Old Whore's Diet~Rufus Wainwright (aha...ahahahaha)

I will marry someone who can fly
who flows like jazz and
comes alive like Christmas
a poem, a free verse rhymenotrhyme
a morning bell, a beacon, laughter in a free land
who hears the cry of the poor and adheres
who will take my hand to pull the rest of me in
who will let me in
and never lift a head nose hair higher than mine
but will look me in the eyes
to say without saying
'how I love you, love oh love, oh how I love you you yes you, how I love always love you'

does this mean anything:
Lorem ipsum dolor sit amet, consectetuer adipiscing elit. Maecenas feugiat consequat diam. Maecenas metus. Vivamus diam purus, cursus a, commodo non, facilisis vitae, nulla. Aenean dictum lacinia tortor. Nunc iaculis, nibh non iaculis aliquam, orci felis euismod neque, sed ornare massa mauris sed velit. Nulla pretium mi et risus. Fusce mi pede, tempor id, cursus ac, ullamcorper nec, enim. Sed tortor. Curabitur molestie. Duis velit augue, condimentum at, ultrices a, luctus ut, orci. Donec pellentesque egestas eros. Integer cursus, augue in cursus faucibus, eros pede bibendum sem, in tempus tellus justo quis ligula. Etiam eget tortor. Vestibulum rutrum, est ut placerat elementum, lectus nisl aliquam velit, tempor aliquam eros nunc nonummy metus. In eros metus, gravida a, gravida sed, lobortis id, turpis. Ut ultrices, ipsum at venenatis fringilla, sem nulla lacinia tellus, eget aliquet turpis mauris non enim. Nam turpis. Suspendisse lacinia. Curabitur ac tortor ut ipsum egestas elementum. Nunc imperdiet gravida mauris.

it's the seemingly nonsense text used for samples. but i am rather curious to know: signify it anything in latin? latin scholars, hop to it!

ugh, i feel like a pudding. and i don't want to go to work tomorrow. i want to go to the ocean. i should learn french. and how to play the harp. or the violin. the viola? both. but atleast i have many fabulous hats. many.




Ou est mon maitre le prince rebelle?
-rufus wainwright

So. I am Captain Planet no longer. No longer am I Captain Planet. I've been offered and accepted a job at Fossil Fuels United Inc. I start tomorrow, with a salary of $3.4 million a year and a baby seal club all my own. I hear Thursday's wacky tie day!

Or I'm just going back to Sodexho. Making salads with tomato roses. Ahhhh fuck. It's money that I really need. And I feel like such a jerk for saying that. Truth of the matter is still the truth of the matter though. And I was only going to be Captain Planet until June 29th when my summer class starts. And, you know I have to be thoroughly honest with myself (especially in my livejournal...C'MON). I absolutely do not like asking people for their money. I felt like such a salesperson. The Willie Loman of environmentalism. With a clipboard and a carefully designed rap to ensure they fork it over. It makes me feel extraordinarily uncomfortable. Spread awareness, raise consciousness, talk face to face for hours--I'll do that. I'm your lady. Throw in the line "Members make small monthly contributions from a credit card or a checking account SO GIVE ME YOUR MONEY NOWWWWWWWWW" and it's goodnight, gracie.

So needless to say, it's been an enlightening humbling experience. But I did get a sweet t-shirt out of the deal. And a pin. ¡Olé!

Weaver and Kaes are getting married!! Oh life :-)



and i like how andrew bird's music makes every anxiety worry sadness splitwideopenheart situation thing okay


we sailed away on a winter's day
with fate as malleable as clay
but ships are fallible I say
and the nautical, as all things, fades
-joanna newsom

One of the funniest things I've ever read in my art history-ing was about  Helen Frankenthaler. The excellent difference of opinion concerning her work. Particularly Mountains and Sea which Arthur Danto has declared to be "as beautiful as painting gets" while Lee Krasner proclaimed: What the fuck?! It looks like that bitch took out her tampon and wiped the canvas with it.

woooooooooooooooooooooooooooow

So first day being Captain Planet, well, let's be frank, it kind of sucked ass. Sweaty footballer ass. With possible signs of rash. To the 23rd degree. Absolutely brutal cold weather, relentless whipping rain and blowhard winds. In the middle of May, for fuck's sake. So of course I put all my cerebral wrinkles together this morning and decided that SHOES with fucking HOLES in them would be a smart decision. SMARTTTTTT.
And so sometimes, I hate myself.

Molly ( a pure and deartrue champion of LIFE) and I stood out in this witch's-teat-cold weather for *5* hours in front of the Brown Bookstore. Armed with our dinky clipboards, spunky pins and chipper do-gooder grins. Making a bloody difference in the world. I amassed $30 in donations, wonderfully far off from the $100 minimum I need to keep my job. I amassed one pick up, and it was a damn GOOD ONE, an incredibly handsome winking brown-bearded brown-eyed boy from VT, clearly intelligent clearly hilarious and CLEARLY INTO ME. Molly may or may not have RUINED THE ENTIRE THING. May or may not have. But I enjoyed it. A sweet respite, certainly much better from the usual interaction:
"Hi! Do you have a minute to help fight global warming?"
*cue crickets*
or
"Hi! Do you have a minute to help the enviroment?"
'No, it's too cold out'
'No, I'm busy'
'No, I have to feed my cat'
'No, I have to finish my ship in a bottle kit'
'No, I have gas'
'No, I have bunions'
'No, I have MY HEAD UP MY ASS AHAHAHAHAA!!'

But there were very nice people who took the time to listen to me and my fervent environmentalism. Like tall blond charmingsophisticate oldermanhandsome Christopher (Kristopher?). Who replied, "Oh my God, you're out here in this weather? That's absolutely amazing. You know (and I did)since you're so dedicated to this cause, I *will* give you a minute and more of my time". And wow. He sure did. Fantastically. And took a brochure. Because he realized that this is damn important. For if we do not clean up our environmental act, RI will literally be the ocean state (lacking capitals for a very obvious and pertinent reason). It drives me out of my head, how much people simply don't don't do not do not care. Laziness coupled with selfishness. You know, the legislation we're rallying (attempting to rally) support for will employ the bare minimum needed to ensure we all don't diediediediedie. What is that?? Where's the action? Where's the GANAS?? Virtually no one not a one wants to listen. That's just how it goes and goes, I suppose.But in no way can I and in no way will I stop. Indifference is the most awful thing in the world, and I'd rather be Lynn Cheney  that be that. One cannot be all word and no action, and bugger off if you are. So thus therefore therein:
 I will continue to be Captain Planet (sadly without  the mullet...someday).
Except for this whole making quota thing...it smacks of selling and corporate culture. I don't know...I love what I'm doing but I don't know if I'm too mad for how I'm doing it...I don't know

Yesterday night, and I mean night, a dark 1:30, the house was so still and the rain was falling like music all around my windows room, sparrows over birmingham and memories of scott flew out of the stereo, life was so peaceful, I was so tired, and it was just the best thing ever. I had to say it out loud to myself. quietly "this is the best thing ever" And just like that, again, how happy I got. Being alive. God in Heaven, it's lovely.


Oh so, now we're all grown up and we can criticize our parents? Well fine. Just wait til you reach out your dirty hand and I say 'Oh, I'm sorry. I spent it all on the dog'
-r.brian fox

So what's going on? My butt's getting bigger (which is a better than good thing), Mitt Romney emphatically proclaimed he wants to and would!!! double Guantanamo (which left me dead inside), and apparently what the US has been doing *isn't* torture but "advanced interrogation techniques" (Fuck.YourSELF.). Also, I have a new job as Captain Planet aka Field Manager in Training for Enviroment Rhode Island's Campaign to Fight Global Warming Now Summer 2007. Which apparently, as I skim through the information packét, I receive health insurance for. Awesome. The office is literally right off of Thayer Street. Which is amazing. I love the east side of Providence. Every time I turn around, I fall in love. It's wonderous.

You know (and you do!) what I really love is that the méc who was interviewed before me was (is) a political science graduate from Brown and a former COMMANDER in the ISRAELI ARMY. And they hired me! I work in a bloody coffee bar! For minimum wage! And I study three *insertmyfavoritehandmotionOHYOUSHOULDKNOWWHICHONE!* subjects at some tiny freak ass college in the middle of Massachusetts! I can point out Israel on the map! And they hired me! Probably because when Molly the interviewer (an unbelievably sweet peachpie girl) asked the question: Why should we hire you? He replied, with a knowing forward lean and look, Let me ask you...why shouldn't you hire me? Hmmm. Probably because you asked that question. You ASS.
And so I start tomorrow. *EXCITEMENT* I get to be that college co-ed who goes door knocking and asks, when you (still hungover and in your jammies) answer the door, "Hi! Do you have a minute for the enviroment? Like, omgawesome thank you!!! GIVE US MONEY, GREAT CAPITALIST SATAN" And if I don't make $100 in donations each&every day, they sack me. It's going to be great.

And finally, the term "maiden name" is a patriarchal, repressive, and reactionary crock of shit term. Maiden. Oh! for the time when I was pure and virginal and my father controlled my life! Until I married this asshole here and started poppin' them out. Yes. My maiden name. Atleast now it makes an excellent password for my Yahoo! account.

Annnnd the brownies are done!! Beautiful.











War is delightful to those who have had no experience of it
-Erasmus <3

Abortion-Age Survivors. "Does abortion only affect women? THINK AGAIN." How crass and disgusting can you fucking get? Did you really survive an abortion? Did the quack with the coat-hanger fuck up? GOD. You don't understand the issue. Go ahead and make it seem like all women who get abortions are these superficial selfish little flitty things that care more about an orgasm than human life. Keep on adding to the stellar image of women within this paradisical patriarchal world. But ask yourself this question: should a woman truly have to sacrifice herself on behalf of a fetus, of an barely formed organism without consciousness without a mind (religious arguments don't apply here, remember SEPARATION BETWEEN CHURCH AND STATE SEPARATION SEPARATION SEPARATION)? Can we so casually sentence a woman to death? Are we so willing and eager in the name of righteousness to go back to the times of coat-hangers in dirty alley ways, hacks with scapels, thousands of women dead or living mutilated in mind and body and spirit? Does the state have the right to sentence a woman to death in the name of motherhood and sacredness of its position and all that high and mighty shit they spit out but haven't the slightest idea of what it means? I could go on and on and on and on about this.But it does come down to this at its most ultimate: Does the state have the right to force this upon a woman? No. No and No and No and No. No for as many times as we can say it as loudly as we can proclaim it.
Keep abortion safe legal and accessible. 
Period. 
End of story.


Abolition of a woman's right to abortion, when and if she wants it, amounts to compulsory maternity: a form of rape by the State
-Edward Abbey

Supporters of [the Human Life Amendment] are often eloquent in their defense of the fertilized egg but are seldom willing to aid the woman whose body nourishes it
-Carole Anderson and Lee Campbell

Those of us who are pro-choice are also, passionately, pro-life. Most of us love babies, love children, and love our liberty—not to mention loving sex and our right to have it when, how, and with whomever we choose...I'm pro-choice because I couldn't fully enjoy sex were I consumed with worry about the potential consequences. I'm pro-choice for all my friends who've had abortions and gone on to do great things, who are better women for being childless (for now). I'm pro-choice for the new moms and dads I know who were able to actively choose to become parents. I'm pro-choice for all those babies... born knowing they're 100 percent loved and wanted.
-Rachel Kramer Bussel

Thank JAYSUS tomorrow is my last 4-12:30 shift. It's throwing my head for a loop. Although positively, the night crew guys are absolutely fantastic hombres and my boss is a bit on the dilf-y side. It's a pleasant enough time passing time. I cut fruit and listen to Radiohead. All good all fun fun

¡Dos más días hasta Asunción!

OH! OH OH OH!!! Emily has decided to go to Galway in the fall. WITH ME! We'll be in Galway this autumn. TOGETHER! And that, my kids, is excitement. ¡Yay!

I'm bringing upside down question marks and exclamation points at the beginning of sentences into english. Clearly they are superior forms of punctuation. ¿What? ¡YES!

I figured out how to get myspace in spanish. It rules. So hard. Superguai. Superemocionada que I finally know how to spell that word.

It's time for a glass of water. Rock!




I'll draw three figures on your heart
-Wolf Parade

Dispatch has come back to save the world. I have found the world's most beautiful watch. My nose, I fear, will never stop running. The perfect way to part my bangs has been discovered. So has patience. Today, I elected a new (half) frame of lilac glasses. I lost a little faith in a friend. A tiny bit of horribleness has been discovered in myself, accompanied by a mountain of fright. I feel old and pulled apart once more. I will join the Peace Corp because I cannot take the crumbling away of world joy and peace apathetic and lying down. France has horrified me in the deepest way possible. My skin is slowly smoothing back to good. I have scribbled poetry

Me amaste
Un momento
Te amo
Más que este


I feel so sad that I can't and frustrated that I can't and angry that they won't listen when I try to and guilty for being angry at them when they don't listen when I try to and guilty overall that I can't but hopeful that still I might be able to comfort everyone, let them understand that we're going to be okay. We're going to be warm and smiling and peaceful and lovely. The world will be a fine place.





came at this timecoloured place where we live in our paroqial fermament one tide on another
-James Joyce

Last travel journey entry de España. Excerpted from my funktastic journal with the siglo XVII German map del mundo on it

1st class, baby!
Airplane over international waters
23-12-2006


What a harrowing trial! No hay otra manera de describir el 22 de diciembre. Atleast not without dancing through my treasure trove of 4 letter words. I should really refrain from that though. It is Christmastime after all.

Everytime I travelled in España, the journey was riddled with astounding inconveniences (sp? Never can spell this word). It always ends up with me getting stuck in Madrid for a ridiculous and horribly long stretch of time. What a way to force personal growth. Self-independence (redundancy!) and maturity. Good in the end, absolutely awful while actually occurring.

What I would have given to have seen John and Will striding towards me like before in the Estación del Sur. I think that was the most painful thing about it. Granada was over and my grief still raw, but I had nothing to comfort me. My family was an ocean away. John on a jet plane. Will still in the city. Kristine scrambling around Granada. Everyone away. Instead of being able to pick up my old estaunidensa life, I was trapped in an interim, a cold apathetic meaningless space. And how unfair is that?

Yet. The great word. Yet, you know, it had to happen. I feel like it was a test. And now, sitting in first class, 2 hours away from Philadelphia, I've passed.

God, thank you. Thank you thank you, for the chapel priest in Barajas, for the sacred space. Without Father, I would not...I was quite honestly drowning with a head full of memories eyes overflowing, a sagging heaviness all through my body. And the father came, with understanding and strength, to raise me out of it. He came and carried me. How beautiful the world is! God bless him. I'll never forget. I'll carry too. I promise.

I remember telling John how afraid I was of leaving. Not just afraid though. I was terrified. I was so sure, so sure that I wasn't going to be able to say goodbye. I would leave without the happiness of closure but instead with a mountain of regrets and an inner fountain of sadness. But the result...how peculiar our predictions turn out in the real end. I have no regrets, but happiness. I'm sad (naturally naturally), but I have no closure. AND! and for once in my life that's such a good thing. I'm so glad not to have closure. Granada is not finished. Granada is not over. And what's really not over, really nevereverending, is what Granada means deep down in the most important part. The spires of the cathedral reaching up into the sky. La Casa de los Tiros. Orange trees exploding with color. Kristine's warm patient affection. The crazy at-times-infuriating clusterfuck of Recogidas at six in the afternoon. Passing through the door of San Juan de Dios with the joyous faith of the churchbells singing like mad, forehead wet with holy water, mass pure and peaceful in the heart. Will, waxing poetic, looking at me with eyes warm and old. Kissing Jakob in the middle of an empty bar, then again in the middle of a midnight street in the rain, then again against a palm tree, then again and again and again. Vineyards and mountains and wild horses and wine and roman bridges and sketchy old men and singing voices and insane travelling (11 hours on a bus! 9 hours in a bus station!) to arrive at the end of it with a sister in Rachel. Sitting el Ojo de Granada with Will and Hallie, listening to the crickets chirp telling us to just "be be be be". The wordless awe and wonder of the Alhambra, rushing water, with roses everywhere. The view from the top of the entire city and beyond. The Albaycin, the peace of it at sunset. The Sacromonte and the dark. La muralle anciana. "Fox, a human being with this stone..." The happiness of seeing the mountains at midnight, knowing they're covered in snow. The very fact that the world is free enough to allow a twenty year old unchaperoned biracial liberal woman to even have this experience abroad. Laurin's secret hilariousness and our dorky times together. Jen's strength. Brett, my brother from beginning to end. Helen Marie, my ever lovely one. The serenity on the bench next to Lorca's house, under his trellis covered with ivy, in front of his trees. Solitude with nature. Smoking pot to feel existence with Hallie on the grass by the water. Jose Javier, who speaks English like a sophisticate and Spanish like a river, who held the door open for me and looked at me with an expression devoid of any mockery, but filled with seriousness,confidence when I said "Well, ultimately...I want to write". Running down Calle Elvira, because somehow astoundingly I am late for a 4 pm class. Donatella's smile and sweetheartness. ¡Mata al panda! socks and cuatro chupitos for the american irish mayan drunk. Wacky comradeship in the streets. The top rated music of Will R. Kearney. The high purewhite pillars of the Cathedral. The tombs of the Reyes Católicos and the quiet shock of seeing them. Touching the black stone in the Abbey in the Sacromonte for love that will come within one year. Pere Pons. The living marble of la Cartuja. The tragedy of those paintings. The holiness, deep and profound, of the Mezquita Catedral de Córdoba. The red and white arches that fulfilled seven years of studying. Will and I watching the sunset into the mountains, being perfect and so wonderfully together, my friend who knows. The tears watching the knife plunged into the head of the bull over and over over again (they're so enormous, bulls. I had no idea they were that enormous). El Fahndi waving the red matador cloak, all masculinity and passion and power. Granada at night at the Mirador, the Alhambra illuminated. Defending my country at botellon. The gorgeousness of the Morroccan market. Letters from home. Spanish, flowing from my throat rolling off my tongue. Eva and I triumphing over pettiness. Inma, who took me in and forgave me, and was my friend through and through. The Darro, singing under rock bridges. The deep call and pull of flamenco in my heart. Turning the corner en el Paseo de los Tristes to see the Alhambra, more majestic and beautiful than any photograph. Ching-ching! glasses filled with Rioja. Jigging which turns into a Hanukkah celebration in a bar filled with Spaniards. Hearing that trumpet sound on the way to art history, up so early the sun hadn't even rose. Schawarma at seven in the morning. Helen Marie's noises of life. Art on every wall on every where. Singing American Pie with my Spanish girls in the streets at 5 in the morning. Fountains and flowers everywhere. Dirty hippies with the most beautiful eyes. The stupid joys of bad Spanglish. "Viajero" en la Hospital Real. Jack, my one cat friend ever. Dancing flamenco in that tiny practically empty cafe, the dancer sweetly smiling her approval. Enormous hugs from my dearest Trippy. Sara's RI fantasticness and sass. Ohmid's oddly endearing pretentiousness and dear heart. Shun-chan, such a good man. Molly's journey. Ines' faith in us. Lugares Comunes with its pain and truth of lucidity. The swallows flying in time to Ave Maria in the Alpujarra mountains. The endless expanse of Vigo's ocean, connected to New York. "Guernica". "El tres de mayo". Aurora with the white star on her marble forehead. Tintoretto. "The one who loves, the one who sings, the one who strikes, the one who adores, the one who sins, the one who forgives, the one who hits, the one who endures". Hallie's real and honest wisdom, Hallie who pulled me out just by being there. "El Entierro del Conde de Orgaz" and the sanctifying smell of that church. 'Altazor' en voz alto. Pissing in the street with Molly, laughing all the while. Connecting with Katie the last night. Coffee with Jose Javier. Watching the sun sink sitting on the wall with Alvina. My silly lovely Russian girls and our discoteca adventures. My ardent feminism in the face of machismo. Carrying Sara from bar to bar piggyback style. Do-it-yourself flaming tapas. Granada at night lit up for Christmas. The loveliness of the ocean as one horizon, the mountains rising high as the other. Dancing by myself in the street in the middle of the day. Skipping rocks with the boys into the surf at Nerja. Everyone's love of the pausa. Random people met in the street who turn into friends. Open air markets. Diego, my little dog with the enormous Napoleon complex. Trekking lonesomely home only to find John walking in the street, under the christmas lights. John. Ogden. Arnold. Whose friendship I can't cover with description right now. But, the entry's long enough anyhow. Because we did, in fact, get to everything. And kept going.

That and the plane's almost at Filadelfia AND JEEPERS! I need to use the bathroom. The flight attendants have been plying me with Bailey's and milk (estoy bebiendo mi tercer!)




Granada: REMEMBER TO REMEMBER ME STANDING STILL IN YOUR PAST

Ah, you're never still. Because I'll be back one day. Te promeso. Te lo juro. I promise, I swear. One day.







Un muerto en España está más vivo como muerto que en ningún sitio del mundo
-Lorca

	Kristina Fox was the only person that the aliens would communicate with.
	... afterward, Kristina Fox became an ideal and disappeared.
	'How will you be remembered in history books?' at QuizGalaxy.com

PS I fucking love Spain

What a cold and lovely lunes it is. I feel extraordinarily Christmas-y and very comfortable with life.
A mere month is left in the hour glass of Kristina's Time in Granada. Actually, it's probably less. How scary is that now? Jeepers. Don't know what to think of that. Do not know whatsoever. But there is still time yet to keep it out of my mind's forefront, thank goodness. I'm going to keep on keepin' on and aprovechar as much as possible. This includes leaving the country. I really really really am going to try and head out to Ireland for a visit with Señorita Hannigan. Make a pilgrimage to the Fox Family Root of it All. Smooch the Blarney stone. Greet people with "Top of the morning to ya". Do they even still say that in Ireland? I severely hope so.


Half an hour left time til POE and my fabulous presentation on TomKat's fabulous wedding. Exciting times! I think everyone will get into the discussion. Besides, this gives me the opportunity to say 'Vale' and '¡Venga!' a boatload of times. Loveee it.

Blah. Well, kiss your mother and hug your neighbor and have a beautiful day.

Ciao ciao

This is my journal and as an aspiring writer I should be disciplined and write daily and write thoroughly and write originally and write colorfully and blah blah blah blahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

Oh well. I´m in Granada and becoming a lazy granadina. Which is a beautiful beautiful thing.

Hablo español de puta madre. You know what: SOY de puta madre. That´s correcto. Y me voy a mi clase ahora para aprender. ¡Olé!