perfect day.

it rained. all day. but of course that doesn’t matter because boone is still perfect. i always end the day completely satisfied with my happiness.

classes went great again. shot a roll of film. might get to process it tomorrow. went to free baptist dinner for the first time. nothing like eating with real southern baptist elders and toddlers. spent some time at the park. ice cream. THEN WE PAINTED. brandon, jenks and i made this beautiful masterpiece. at least in my eyes. we prayed and then just painted what we saw. it was amazing. i can’t wait to hang it up in my new apartment. now finishing the night with tea and a book.

we found an outline of a little girl in the paint. you can’t really see it now but maybe i’ll take better pictures of it later. she’s saying “oh to be found…”

the rain is now coming down hard. with my candles lit and a warm cup of tea in my hand, this moment is perfection.

While angels wear a wakeful attitude
disguise beguiles and mortal mischief’s done:
never try to know more than you should.

For deadly secrets strike when understood
and lucky stars all exit on the run:
never try to knock on rotten wood,
never try to know more than you should.

-sylvia plath

it’s good to be home.

i stand there by the sea stopping to scratch one ankle with one toe, i hear the rhythm of those waves, and they’re saying suddenly “is virgin you trying to fathom me?”

I loved being at the beach but I’m glad I’m back home. my mom made me a vegetarian lasagna and I got to ride in my dad’s new porsche. tomorrow, Ikea and shopping!!! (and hopefully picking up the canon ae-1)

exhaustion

I think tonight I may stay in, drink tea, and read. I deserve a break. but I wish I could relax by my bedroom window at home.

Killing Yourself to Live, pgs 61-63

I finally stumble across a guitar shop called Coleman’s Music, so I park the Tauntaun and step inside to ask for advice. I am greet by a man behind the counter with a gray ponytail and a Hawaiin shirt that’s open to the fifth button; he is conversing with a bald patron and a dude with radically long hair who looks like he should be in the fucking Doobie Brothers. Ther person behind the counter is the owner, Chip Coleman, I ask him my query.
“What I always tell people when they ask me this- and I’ve been asked that question seven or eith times a week for the past 18 years- is that you have to listen to the rest of the lyrics.” Coleman says. “The lyrics mention being ‘way down by San Antone’ so it’s about a China Grove that’s located in Texas. But I tell ya what, that song is popular. When a guy from Japan walks into your store and wants to know if the Doobie Brothers wrote about this town, you start to realize how big of a band that really is.”
Coleman is one of those charming ‘rebel types’ you sometimes meet in small towns. His father was a minister. He tells me that the whole town hates him because of his long hair, but I can tell he doesn’t seriously believe that.

Chip Coleman is dating my aunt. I read this today on the bus and thought this description fit him perfectly. He lives in China Grove. He owns a guitar shop called Coleman’s Music. He has long hair and always wears hawaiin shirts. I immediately called my aunt at work and told her about my discovery. She freaked out almost as much as I did and went to buy the book on her break. We don’t think he knows he’s in it so she’s showing it to him tonight.

SO WEIRD.

[so later on, aunt lori told me that he did know about it and that he has a copy somewhere. he said that it was "not something that high on his cool list." I guess it's just not as cool as touring with the eagles for a summer.]

no thank you.

I really don’t want to be in the library right now. I’ve been studying/working all day. I’d rather be in my bed, reading, and drinking sweet thai delight.

anybody looking to buy a Nikon D80?

no one belongs here more than you.

life is just this way, broken, and I’m crazy to think of something else.