"Blue would still be blue."

Such a mess! I'm not even sure all what, just that it's all bad. Just got my LSAT score back today and guess what happened--it indicates that I'm just exactly as average as I would have thought. Such a bummer. I was aiming low too! I was like, "Okay, see here universe, let me have at least a score of *blank*, and I'll be satisfied. I don't need to be no superstar, but seriously, at least a fucking *blank*, k?" Well shucks, just about missed that there target by 10 freakin' points! And on a sliding scale of 120 to 180, there's a whole lot of room for disappointment from one to ten.

But what? What's such a mess as all that? Come on now, girlfriend, even before you took the ridiculous test, you'd all but convinced yourself it was pointless. Not because you had such an unrealistically low estimation of yourself, but because you knew you couldn't choose to go through law school anyway, if it meant turning down the writing program at Sarah Lawrence College. So where's really the issue? Well, the fucking issue is that so far I don't know if I'll get into either program, so to have it be such a suddenly fat chance that I'll get into the one, less preferable option, means that I'm riding way heavy on the hope of the other. God, I hate that feeling. The one of insecure expectation, where you know you're more invested than you ever meant to let yourself be...

And then there's the mean time. Right now. Sitting cross-legged on an upside down painted-metal trash can, finally writing something other than excuses for why I'm barely writing at all these days. When it comes right down to it, right now, while listening to Guillemots' Sao Paulo without having any idea how the song is suddenly almost over, I want to be able to believe in the fail-safes I've built up throughout this process of subscribing myself wholly to an abstract and finite amount of possible futures for myself. I have no idea what all the fuck is going to happen in my lifetime. And honestly, at some point I learned how not to take issue with this fact in the slightest. What throws me off is when I put some stupid specific expectation out there on the real world--somewhere out there outside of myself, where I have little to no say on how things are unfolding. So really, I should just quit guessing my way into cheap misery--or at the very least, get back to guessing myself out of it.

Whatever. Faretheewell folks,
-Talthea (2/27/09)

"And he would go to picture galleries they said and he would ask one, did one like his tie? God knows, said Rose, one did not." -Woolf

What is this? "Promises kept" that are our lives perhaps--unduly given? [Think of the steps in between...how we take them the same, as is our existence this equivalent.] "Narrowing" like guarded eyes, but with breath ever thinning down to our given finitude. Unawaiting any acknowledgment.

[How the fuck do you express a tree?! Happiness like a concrete picket fence?]

Walking past a house today & I saw that the front door was open. From the street the TV was in view. It was showing a commercial for the truck that was parked in the driveway.

"I make my kids read the Declaration of Independence every night." [Weed-ridden footpaths and bike trail unbeaten, tease out parallels unrealized alone.]

Faretheewell folks,
-Talthea (2/19/09)

For when the gu zheng rings a holy sound...

The state of this space rings with content. Rain falls light and clangy. Jasmine invading the apricot tree, symbiotic and welcome in the winds of this season. Days later, only a moment has passed. To look out, the sky as dark; the wind as howling; the black striped yellow streets wet. For a small time only, the sounds make no difference. They sound like sleep-preparations. They sound like timelessness, every night pretending itself the same as each come before, each following after. Innocent like silky curtains, fluttering in the wintry glow of a companion. Almost quite forgotten; the float of anticipation, not promising tomorrow.

Faretheewell folks,
-Talthea (2/15/09)