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chantez-le, · sam


couvert sous une pluie, une pluie, une pluie, vous et moi et chacun...

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…just dropping in (briefly, ever-so-briefly) to let folks who don't come into (ir)regular contact with me at Simon’s Rock know that I’m alive if not (physically) well. I went on med leave two weeks ago and I don’t feel like I’ve quite caught my breath yet. But my professors love me (despite not having handed in a single essay, not even the typical “here’s a stack of notes, outlines, and miserable attempts. please don’t fail me. i’m tired.” thing), so I can afford to be off-balance for a little bit longer. (But only a little bit longer; trying to get everything finished by Monday [yes: ha-ha-ha.].)
 
 
This is sort of weird. I literally haven’t logged into this site since the last post I made. I’m not going to bother to summarise the past few months; suffice to say I figured out how to guilt myself into staying up all night (and the next, and the next) and it ended in a taking of med leave out of fear of permanent consequences. (So it should go without saying that I’ve been stressed out.) I don’t know when I’ll be around next; I want to use Wintercession to read all the required books ahead of time so I won’t suck at being a student quite so much Spring 2007. I’m also only taking 12 credits (= three classes, too—only one of which will require essays [= Joyce Seminar {= SO BEAUTIFUL}, who I already know a fuckload about, both primary & secondary {&, hell, tertiary} sources], so K. = WIN.)—but I’m also auditing, um, 20 additional credits of classes...but 6 of those credits will be tutoring for classes I’ve already taken (= take take take the Mythic Imagination if you want your world turned upside-down in more ways that Foucault ever would, you’ve no no no idea! I can credit perhaps one third of my inherent delightfulness to the fact that I took that course first semester, & also it has the great potential to show you how to resolve existentialist dilemmas, [although this, like all crises, takes time & love & practice].), & whatever it’ll be magnificent. (Also, I have a new laptop [RIP whose soul is sere] which will be my sidekick in completing a semester of WIN.) Anyway, my point was my posited schedule for next semester is very aesthetically pleasing (by which I mean, it looks like a little running man composed of strange classes):
 
 

 
 
Also, I have a boyfriend. I too am surprised! (& mildly confused, to boot.) His name is Frederic and he plays the mandolin on benches outside of pottery warehouses in Dingle, Ireland.
 
 

 
 
I prefer to call him Feardorcha in my head, both because Ireland is beautiful and so is its tongue and because I don’t think voiceless labiodental fricatives and alveolar approximants should ever, ever sit next to one another in class. (Ireland thinks so, too. [In fact, it agrees so much that it put a vowel AND a dipthong in-between the two.]) It’s like putting a gerbil in a Cheerios box suspended by a thin wire with a lightning rod attached to it over whichever street in New York City has the highest percentage of shoe retailers. Something bad is bound to happen. (I think it’s very silly that I don’t actually call him Feardorcha, since the ugliness of FR is far more obvious in practice than in theory [= aka, me talking to myself in my quiet little empty{?} nutshell].)
 
 
Feardorcha and I don’t understand half of what the other says, and that’s why we get along. Also, Feardorcha tells bedtime stories and steals waffles from the Dining Hall for me. Feardorcha is alternately (yet—simultaneously!) Lewis Carroll and Kurt Vonnegut, and his jacket smells like James Dean. Feardorcha, most importantly, is dignified, even when he’s singing along to “Little Girls.” Impressed? Me too. (Sabi, please refrain from shivving him.)
 
 
(& Sabi—if you still read this, please [pleasepleaseplease] reply so we can work out something for Christmas, or at least attempt to. It looks like I’m going to be off escaping to a silly get-together after January 12th, so if you could visit before then, that’d be simply magnificent. I miss you, sestra.)
 
 
I’m going to go back to (attempting to) finish[ing] my glorious[ly overdue] Sophomore Seminar papers. Collectively, they number 250+ pages. Don’t bother asking how many pages my fucking notes are. Suffice to say the quotes (= stapled packets of excerpts from books, articles, &c)  from the Forster–Dubois can cover my bedroom floor. And then I can’t walk in it, and really it’s very inconvenient. I’m going to start commandeering that small dance space in the SU to organise my essays once I get back, I think.
 
 
I’m gonna figure out the world, ya’ll. (I’m excited about coherence [or, namely, its prospect].)
 
 
I might make another post in a few weeks. Or maybe not. I hate linear time, & I hate making promises that involve it. Blah blah blah blah blah-blah blah.
 
 
I hope everybody I’ve been neglecting is doing well.
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Wow. I just figured out how The White Goddess fits into Barfield.

(Nevermind that the revelation was prompted by a delightful tangent about bees/honey/mead/oil/blood/wine/Sumerian taverns/Kubaba/Cybele/Galli/Gallus/circumcision [YES! I win, Zipporah! I WIN. Take that, Bethel! AhahahaHA!])

I think Mark Vecchio wrote his dissertation on that.

Barfield & Graves, I mean. Not tangents.

(Though I'm sure Graves would adore my scholarship. It's that bad, guys. Unlike Graves, however, I have lots of quotes from people scholarship considers reliable! YES. That's my motto for the next three days:


Remember, Children!


Always cite your sources

Because It Makes You Look Less Crazy!



...yeah.)

Maybe I should ask him for advice.

(V., not Graves. Because Graves is, you know, dead. And I'm not that far off the deep end.)

I LOVE PUZZLES, EVERYBODY!

I am so ready for Greek mythology on Tuesday.

(Oh god. Oh god. TIME. STOP. I NEED MORE TIME. AND LESS DISTORTION OF WHAT'S LEFT.)

((Does anybody happen to know of any good books about (A) the evolution of sacrifices, preferably in a historical perspective; and/or (B) the symbolism of oil? A is super-duper necessary. B is mostly me wanting more quotes Conceal the Crazy™.)
Current Location:
(...is it possible to hallucinate lightning?)
Current Music:
NO I'm not listening to the Chieftains on repeat!
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I think I just listened to an operatic rendition of Old McDonald Had a Farm in Italian. I...I...don't know what to think anymore! The world is upside-down! And quacking! In Italian! Oh god. Oh god.

In other news...

I slept three hours this afternoon (having not slept the night prior) and ACTUALLY HAD A GOOD DREAM. It was simple, but comfortable and lovely. So even though it was three hours, I'm not really tired. Or incoherent!

I really wish I didn't have nightmares. I wouldn't be asleep half of the time.

I also wish I'd stop making fun of the Egyptians so much. So, so much.

I'm of the opinion that starting every sentence with the same letter is an apotropaic for NOT FINISHING MINITHESES. I'm not sleeping for more than four hours until it's done! It MUST be done by Friday! Must!

Current Mood:
GAH ASSYRIOLOGY.
Current Music:
so glad that's over.
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The Egyptian priests even had a detailed guide to fighting Apep, referred to as The Books of Overthrowing Apep. The chapters described a gradual process of dismemberment and disposal, and include:
Spitting Upon Apep
Defiling Apep with the Left Foot
Taking a Lance to Smite Apep
Fettering Apep
Taking a Knife to Smite Apep
Putting Fire Upon Apep






Sincerely, These Aren't Even Justifiable Tangents, Inc.



(Defile! Fetter! Smite! I put fire upon you, with my left foot! Ahahaha, I WIN, you chthonic blaggart!)

((No, I'm not sleep-deprived. Why do you ask?))

(((SABI. The Eater of Souls has a really cute name! That's terrible! It should, like, be Ashtaroth or something, you know, vaguely Zoroastrian like Azazael. But nooo...it's Apep!epepoooh! ;;squeaks. delighted.;;)))
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Hey, kids!

Have you ever caught yourself thinking, "Gee, I wonder what the oldest song ever written1 sounded like!"?

Well, here's your lucky day!

Brought to you by Your Friendly Local Biblical Tangent.









1 (That we know about, I mean.)
P. S. You can thank Agatha Christie's husband for that.
Current Mood:
Isaac soooo got sacrificed!
Current Music:
Weird Israeli stuff Alex gave me.
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Holy fuck holy fuck holy fuck.

SO LITTLE TIME. SO MUCH TO WRITE. FUCK!

Here's to having the (for once in my life) most convenient hypergraphia ever.

NOBODY DISTRACT ME UNTIL SATURDAY NIGHT. I HAVE NO TIME TO BE DISTRACTED.

Oh, Minithesis.

(Mark Vecchio, Rebecca Fiske, please forgive me for being me.)

I've found a fantastic way to explain myself in one sentence to new professors: I never procrastinate, and I never get anything in on time.

My mom wants me to consider transferring to Hampshire or Sarah Lawrence. Hampshire would be great not only because it is part of the Five Colleges, is closer to home, has no requirements, and a nice neuroscience program, but we also happen to own an apartment in Northampton. And I love Northampton dearly---it's like the Portland of the east coast---so it's tempting.

Except while Hampshire and Sarah Lawrence have programs that seem to be designed around the kind of student I am, I'm suspicious that those same programs would attract two types of students that would inevitably annoy me---slackers and blowhards.

So I dunno. Meh. Maybe they'd actually give me a decent scholarship, as SRC...rather distinctly doesn't.

I'd miss V., though.

Back to work.
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ohmygodihatemybodyrightnow.

It has decided to

1. be entirely unresponsive to medication;
2. give me a fucking killer migraine so I can't listen to music, watch a movie, have any lights on, or WORK ON THE MINITHESIS---I feel like a brain in a vat full of PAIN and DESCARTES (ew);
3. is inexplicably nauseated;
4. won't fucking fall asleep.

SYERCGHWTESRYFGJHVDFGCJCFGFJCGCD! I NEEDED TO-DAY TO WORK! AND NOW IT'S GONE, AND FUCKING UP TO-MORROW! waerystddurteuuseesaseue!!! ;;tantrum, except not, because MOVING HURTS TOO MUCH.;;

I WANT TO HAVE CONTROL OVER MY FUCKING BODY AND IT'S NOT COOPERATING AND THIS. IS. NOT. FUCKING. FUN. TWITCH. MAJOR. TWITCH. I CAN'T AFFORD THIS.

In other news, I'm getting a sleep test done in Worcestor over October break. I also got to get dragged into Worcestor to-day so a doctor could tell me I have depression (gee, insightful), should see a psychologist (ahahahano.), may have a weird form of narcolepsy, and finally, stick a needle into my arm so they can see if my thyroid sucks at its job, which it very well might.

My entire left inner elbow is black and green and HURTS IF I MOVE IT.

I NEED THAT ELBOW TO CROOK BOOKS INTO.

THIS IS SO INCREDIBLY INCONVENIENT.
(My body's response to stress?

Nervous system: "Okay! Okay! EVERYBODY STOP WHATEVER YOU'RE DOING! STOP, NO MATTER HOW IMPORTANT IT IS! SURPRISE VACAAAATIOOOON!"

Everything else: "YAY! ;;runs off to Maui, goes seadiving and watches colourful fish that move a lot.;;"

Minithesis: ";;sobs uncontrollably and assimilates into the unconscious all dejected-like.;;")
Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck.

Rebecca Fiske, forgive me for the disjointed, migraine-stuttered thing unto which you are about to receive.
Current Mood:
WHY.
Current Music:
THE FISH TANK'S FILTER IS HURTING ME. SO ARE THE CRICKETS.
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YES. I JUST FIGURED OUT HOW TO TYPE HEBREW AND GREEK WITH MY KEYBOARD. GOOD-BYE, YOU HEINOUS INPUT PALETTE! AHAHAHA! I WIN! WIN!

...now, if only I had the time to figure out how to set a default font...Alex? ALEX? Do you know? There must be a default font thing somewhere, because I know it is typing in Lucinda Grande right now (shut up, I'm not a typography nerd)—even though I'm typing in Garamond (courtesy the delightfully piratastic ADAM ATLAS) and if it had to choose a default font, it should have been Times New Roman or something—and while Lucinda Grande is functional, it is SANS SERIF. And I need my serifs. Neeeeeeeed. So—help!

On another, entirely relevant note, my parents had a long discussion about Hofstadter at dinner two nights ago. Apparently he and my mum were on good enough terms that they regularly wrote to each other until Hofstadter's wife died and he slipped into fontastic obscurity with his grad student, He Whose Name I Have Since Forgotten, Which Isn't Really Indicative of Anything, Because I Forget Everybody's Name, And, You Know, If You Pay Attention To My Conversations With People, I Almost Always Manage Not To Mention Names, And When I Do, It Is Always Preceded By An Awkward Pause.

OKAY. BACK TO WORK.
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I felt it was necessary to immortalise my current commandeering of the dining room table:

heart umassCollapse )


and trees, and nnyCollapse )


THREE DAYS TO FINISH! I'M NOT SLEEPING! MAGICALLY! FUCK!
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“When I passed by you, and saw you wallowing in your blood, I said, ‘In your blood, live.’ I said, ‘In your blood, live.’”

—Ezek 16:6





To-day, I figured out the Bible. Again. This time, though, it was slow and quiet enough for me to transcribe. More on this later. (Suffice to say, it has to do with sacrifice, trees, death, life, earth, sky, first-born sons, final participation, the Nephilim, monotheism, Hamlet's Mill, eternity, and hieros gamos.)

I wonder why I tend to get migraines both when I'm stressed AND when I'm especially spiritually excited. Maybe I have the world's mildest seizures. Lord knows there's a connexion between hypergraphia and epilepsy.

But enough pathology. For once in my life, I exceed my neuroses and am nothing more than human. This is the first time I've been happy since I left Ireland, and...well, it's nice.

I want to kiss the world.





Három mérő piros szalag
ej de nem ér...

Istenem, istenem
Vajon mi lelt engem?
Három mérő piros szalag
ej de nem ér körül engem!

Istenem, istenem
Vajon mi lelt engem?
Nekem is van egy bánat
Vajon mi lelt?
Három mérő... Három mérő

Istenem, istenem
Vajon mi lelt engem?
Három mérô piros szalag
ej de nem ér körül
Három mérő... Három mérő

Nekem is van egy bánatom...
Vajon mi lelt engem?
Nekem is van egy bánatom...
Vajon mi lelt engem?
Nekem is van egy bánatom...
Vajon mi lelt engem?
Current Location:
ain soph! :)
Current Mood:
fervently ethereal; khawwâesq!
Current Music:
Marta's Song ♣ Deep Forest
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