general blargh.

i am so. tired.

i slept at 3:30am (couldn't sleep earlier. was romancing viconia.) and i got up at like. 10am? That's 6.5 hrs of sleep, which is good, but i am still. so. tired.

that said, there's nothing more to say. guess this is gonna be another one of my short entries. heh.

well, i guess i could say this: those vision elite pens? god. love 'em. i'm stocked with like 3 of them, which i don't need, because they're refillable and i have like six billion refills for 'em. but i still like having them around. they're puuurty. 3 shiny silvery sleek styluses.

i am the master of alliteration.

no i'm not, but hey. heh. i'm tired. cut me some slack.

this is what i want right now:

pillow, face down, light off, sprawl, sleep. zzz.

that's it! i'd be so easily satisfied. but nooo, gotta drag my ass up and go to appt. fuckin little whiny brats. hahaha.

btw those of you who don't know who tf viconia is, you don't wanna know.

addictive. grr.

keeling over in 10, 9, 8...

no! up! on your feet, soldier! get to work! go! come on! MOVE YOUR LAZY ASS!

...okay, that did not work, obviously, since i'm still here typing vigorously.

ok going to work now. really.

jawdropper, showstopper.

have i ever talked about brianna here? don't think i have. think i probably should, cuz. she's.


yeah. you know what i mean. haha. okay, maybe you don't. see, this is how we met. 12:45pm or so, lunchtime, food court. lotsa yuppie-types, doctors nurses and the whole nine yards. san francisco. not too far from the once-mighty silicon valley.

girl sitting there in a booth. turned away from me right, so i could only see her profile. but dude, she was cute, really delicate, fine profile. so i'm thinking, hey. i go over to the next table, i sit down. eventually i say hi when i see her looking this way, we talk, exchange numbers, and the rest is history.

but all that comes later. what this is about, is the first 10 seconds. cuz see, while i'm setting my tray down, she turns to see who's sitting near her. she turns and faces me and i see her face and.

i swear.

i couldn't breathe for a split second. my breath just stopped dead in my chest; i was staring. i was fuckin' gawking for a second there. she was just. unbelievably.


i mean, she's not a supermodel. she's not big-boobs-big-lips-come-hither-and-fuck-me-stare. she's...fine. she's slender and tall, long thin hands. graceful, quiet, a little shy. she has a very fine, lovely, foxlike sort of beauty. lovely is the word for her. her nose is thin and not overly long, kinda pert at the end, but not button. her face is oval with good cheekbones.

long hair, that sort of reddish brown, auburn. sleek, not frizzy. her eyes are grayish blue, large and always a little surprised-looking. she wears glasses. she wore glasses that day, very dainty oval glasses, and.

she's just very...slantingly, sleekly lovely. beautiful. utterly beautiful. god.


i just reread what i wrote and somehow it came off as being very objectifying and crass. i didn't mean it that way.

i was writing it down because i wanted to remember. jess is accusing me of being negative right now, which is why i didn't write this at first (cuz it's all negative, haha), but i wanted to write down what i saw in her that first day in case someday we get in a bad fight, or break up, or hell - grow old together, and i lose sight of what i had seen in her.

then i could come back here and read my 27-year-old self ranting about her, and the way i felt when i first saw her. then i could remember that she was the girl who, of all the girls i've ever seen in all my life, sucked all the oxygen out of my lungs for a second and left me staring.

two years and machines.

so it occurs to me that my diary had its 2nd anniversary two days ago. 2 years writing on this thing. it's september again, and i think the skies here are always that shade of blue in september: amazing, depthless, hard enough to hurt. heh. heartbreaking beauty. something like that.

i meant to write more, but i'm braindead. i'll just leave this at that. been listening to a lotta music though. strange thoughts in mind. this came up earlier and i'm just gonna c&p instead of like. redoing it.

this is what i kinda thought about listening to theatre of tragedy's Machine (vnv nation remix):

(begin c&p)

okay. well. like, inside this huge...plant/factory thing.

and like - shiny steel. but not smooth. ridged and cut into these grooves and protrusions. all these tubes made out of steel like that, and wires in those bendable - gah, what are they called - those bendable steel things? with all the rings? like, lamps have that a lot. the kind that you can bend around. anyway - wires in those, twisting around these steel tubes/pipes, which are kinda square and etched and at right angles to each other, everywhere

sometimes there are these windows in the steel tubes: inside, glowing green/blue stuff. and flickering rings of that green/blue light kinda skim over the tubes here and there like nerve impulses.

and this whole set-up kinda centers around this central core of blue-green stuff in a big clear container, like a torus, the machine they use to contain superheated plasma in a magnetic field with.

just general impressions. but that whole thing? is like - somehow the physical place where people's consciousnesses are stored. people don't exist physically anymore - they exist inside those pipes, just consciousnesses stripped of body.

the ultimate freedom and the ultimate prison. if you can think it up, it IS - because you're nothing but thought. go anywhere, be anything. at the same time, you don't really go anywhere, and you're nothing at all.

gah, okay, that was a morbid thought.

(end c&p)

jess twinks out!

This is, um, Jess's little imitation of a twink scene. Heh. This will only be funny if you roleplay online.

::she purses her luscious red lips and pouts. shifting her ass enticingly on the chair she looks at him. Ruby Night sighs boredly to herself. she looks at him again and thnsk, why am i alone.::

::her eyes are a striking violet and her skin as is pale like alabaster and pearl while her hair is NIGHT (ruby night) black and when you look in them you see her very soul.::

::she sighs:: "On the rocks, bar tender..."

::she sighs again and thinks, this town sucks.::

::when the studly 6'4 mna comes in with the large buldge under his coat Ruby Night arches her eyebrow in a way which says I know what you are and then she turns back to her decanter of wine and says,:: i didn't ask for this. i asked for a bloody mary. ::the bartender falls over himself because of her beauty and apologizes profusely. Ruby smiles, her wet red lips alluring.::

::she sighs.::

::where are my kindred? she thinks, casting a stunning glance towards Phoenix Knight again and lingering. she flips shining raven hair over her pure white skin and sips her bloody mary like a lady. like a creature of the night.::

::finally she gets up and dances. she moves through the cwrowd like a demoness and her long ravan hair swings just below her perfectly formed ass. she is in a tight black leather cat suit which looks like she can't breathe in it (not that she needs to breathe) and it shows off every curve of her body. her boobs are large and perfectly formed like two ripe melons and her decolleteageu is marred only by a single ruby pendant. her unusual violet eyes focus on YOU and she dances seductively through the crowd, licking the neck of a kine sexily.::

::she pants a little lips parted. her eyes are longing;;, as shje dances.::

::the song ends and she breaks away from her partner with an aloof smile. he tries to hold onto her but she gives him a look and (dominate 1):: "Go away." ::and he leavesr her alone.::

::she sighs.::

::Ruby Night sighs again, her full curvaceous boobs strain against the tight shirt. (App 6)::

::"Who Wants to Live Forever" by Queen comes on and she sighs again looking sad.::

::finally she can't take it any more. who wants to live forever / when love must die. ruby night is taken by a sudden passion. she takes out a switch blade and looks at it gleam in the dark lights.:: "what have i got left to live for? i'm not even alive," ::she murmurs. one big, crimson tear spills out of one eye and paints a blody trail dwn her cheek.::

::she looks at the dancers, playing with the knife.::

::she puts it against her skin and looks at the cold vishous metal against her perfect pure skin.::

::with a sudden cry of vengeance and rage and suffering her anguished soul crying out through eyes violet like the night Ruby Night slashes her wrists and lets the blood flow as she waits to die.::

::her blood runs across the bar a deluge of sin.::

Ok U ppl SUCK y is no one playing with my character?

She iskilling herself!

Fck uyou!

(logs out)

shakespeare at stanford.

It occurs to me that I like walking around at night, outside, and alone. it's somehow easier to think and let cool creative thoughts fill your head when you're alone and the world is dark and quiet than it is during the day, or when you're with someone. well, the latter is obvious, as you have to expend energy and thought to keep up a conversation most the time, but the day thing really matters too.

during the day everything's bright and you can see everything and everyone, and it all crushes in on your mind and takes up your attention. you walk down the street and you see stuff that triggers thought. you think, hmm do i want that CD or not? oh wow that smells good i'm hungry. nah wait i'm not, just greedy. damn nice car. shitload stereo, sucky song though. someone turn it off--yeowza, there goes hot girls in tight shirts.

stuff like that. you know? it clutters up your mind, and it's all mundane and everyday, and there's no room for anything else.

at night, though, it's different. it's all dark, so most of the world is murky and indistinct. most people are in their homes, and if you're walking in a place without stores, that sensory overload is taken away too. what's left is just yourself, your thoughts, and wherever they lead you.

i'm talking about this because i was walking from brianna's door to my car, and then from my car to my apartment building, and i was pretty late and everything was quiet. it was great. it was kinda cloudy today, partly cloudy i think it's called, and all these sort of soft, indistinct-edged clouds - they have them a lot in late summer/early fall in the bay, when the summer fog is just starting to turn into the winter clouds - were floating overhead, all nuclear orange from the city lights. that sounds awful, but it's beautiful in a odd sort of way. took me back.

all of a sudden i was remembering a summer i spent at stanford once. stanford has this church, the stanford memorial church, which is this huge, beautiful, spanish-influenced (all of stanford is spanish-influenced, which is great because it's not all faux-classical like most other big expensive good private schools are. it's a very californian school. everything's golden and red-tiled, and arches abound.)

anyway, i digress.

so, memorial church. mem-chu for short. the way stanford is set up, everything's concentric. heading into it, there's no mistake that you are entering Stanford University. you have this gate waaaay out, like a half mile, and then from there on out the road is straight and lined with humongous palm trees, each one worth like 50 grand. it goes straight up to the oval, which is where the road circles around in a, well, oval, the center of which is lined with flowers and a lawn.

beyond the oval, it's pedestrians only. you go through the big golden-stone arches into the outer quad, which has some rodin statues, and then you go through more arches into the huge, gorgeous inner quad. the ground is golden-brown flagstones, and there's a big sun or a compass or something laid down straight in the middle. f'ing amazing. this is all in a straight line, btw - palm drive (that's the name of the street), axis of the oval, middle arch of outer quad, middle arch of inner quad, and center of the church.

behind the church, off to the side, is a secluded little glade surrounded by trees, in which there are two semicircular stone benches. me and my friends would stay out all hours of the night in palo alto, and coming back toward the dorm, we'd pass through there at 3am, not a soul around, night's silence all around except for us and those nuclear orange clouds overhead, laughing and half-drunk on exhaustion, stumbling across the massive quad into the little glade that was a sort of refuge.

and this one night, me and my friends - two of them, jon and helen, were a couple - stopped in the glade and hung out and just talked about everything and nothing. helen was a drama major, or an english major, or both, and she had lines and lines from shakespeare memorized. so we were sitting there in this little glade on the stone benches, all in a loose circle, some laying down on the benches, looking up at the stars through the trees and the clouds, and helen recited shakespeare for us while jon lay with his head on her lap.

hamlet othello macbeth and caesar, lines and lines. i couldn't believe how many she knew. i think i was vaguely jealous. not enough to have any true enmity toward my friends, but i wished i had a girlfriend whose lap i could lay my head in, and watch her profile cast against the stars while she recited classical literature, the words of the ages, for me.


scene (background music, aria - "ave maria"): trans-siberian railway. camera close to train tracks, ground level. steel rail and wood crosslay beneath, long as a dragon sprawled across all of the cold the dark the harsh tundras. heavy blizzard. night. everything's black except for snow falling to bury the world. horizon is a faint gleam.

train blasts by, sending up twin fans of snow, trailing a white mist, shaking snow off the branches of a dead tree crooked over the past.

camera rises, phantomlike; POV follows train. chases, levels, pans sideways, strafing along as though on coasters, keeping pace. sense of speed given by obscure shadows whipping by, blurred, in darkness. camera zooms in on dim lights within. protagonist: young revolutionary, fur cap, thick winter jacket, several day's beard growth on an intense, sharpedged face, gently swaying in the rhythm of the train, haggard eyes staring unseeing out. cradled in his arms, half on his lap, protagonist's woman, deathly pale and mortally wounded.

camera starts to lose pace. train passes by, at first imperceptibly faster, then accelerating relative to camera until it blurs. camera rises above tracks and pans out to reveal snow-choked landscape through which tracks carve a distinct curving twin black path, racing on to and past the horizon. on it, red tailight of the train, growing small.

wtf is it about trains? somehow they're so evocative. i was discussing this with liz. we decided it was something about the rhythm of the wheels over the tracks, muted but everpresent; the inevitability of the tracks laid down firm; the enclosure of the cars and the closed windows, yet still allowing that final brief aching contact in the way planes never will; the out-of-your-control motion, where the train might (will) start moving any minute, and there's not a thing you can do about it.

there's only so far you can follow on the platform, only so fast you can run. there's only so much time you have before the train becomes a red dot, becomes nothing. but the tracks linger on and on, in memoriam.

scene (background music, bliss - "kissing"): one of those tastefully-shot tender-lovemaking scenes. golden indirect luminescent lighting, indistinct glimpses: thighs intertwined, abdomens pressed movingly together, lips on underside of jaw, divine-rapturous face, closed eyes, parted lips; white sheets artfully rumpled. scene seguing into next--

long shot down train platform, grey concrete walk with glass overhang, once clear, now dulled and almost opaque with age and exposure. late afternoon, heavily overcast, sky a cast of silver-grey. gentle rain falling like mist. train tracks stretching across barren late-autumn plain, all the crops harvested, all the fields fallow. bare trees line the path of the tracks. protagonist on platform in thick dark overcoat, gloves and scarf, head bare.

overhead speakers announce times and trains in indistinct foreign language. train, black train engine w/ dark cars, is beginning to pull away. cut to window: we recognize the woman from previous scene, prim now in careful makeup and 1940s traveling attire, upper class. looking out, sorrow creases her brow. dimly reflected, protagonist's desolate face.

train begins to move faster. rhythm of the tracks. camera stays with woman in the window. emotions build and are bitten back on her face. reflected, protagonist growing smaller, face pulling out to a head-and-body shot to a full-figure shot, indistinct in the window.

like a man in a dream, he takes a few steps after the train. woman in window presses gloved knuckles to mouth. protagonist slowly raises a hand in farewell. the woman presses her palm flat against the window; tears spill over as image of man in window blurs and grows too small to see.

camera pans out. flat grey horizon under flat grey sky. steam train rolling away.

i have no fucking clue why my train scenes are all so desolate. it seems to fit though. hmm.