JavaJunkie24601's Xanga

Saturday, September 03, 2005

Sat, 03 Sep 2005 23:16:46 GMT

Ahem ... sorry.

You can now find me here: www.xanga.com/Cirque_Animus

enjoy.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Fri, 02 Sep 2005 16:39:34 GMT

In a spur of the moment decision.

I have decided to change my site.

This one will remain around for a while, but I will kiss it goodbye.

mwah.

{rachel}

You can find me now here.

Friday, September 02, 2005

Fri, 02 Sep 2005 15:11:12 GMT

Happy National Calander Correction Day!

the inevitable has happened!
ANI DIFRANCO AND DAR WILLIAMS HAVE COLLABORATED!
well, it was only a matter of time, and now I must hear it.

Anyway, I realize that last week's picture didn't show up ... ... it was a picture of two starving naked African children, and juxtaposed onto it were the words "You're Fucking Lucky." Brutal. It got me right there, ya dig?

it's actually nice getting back to the old grind again, technically it's a new grind, but again, ce n'est pas importante. Time now consists of strumming my beautiful Roxanne, a little homework, anxiously awaiting homecoming with an ardency seemingly lost since the age of 9, and listening to Sirius Disorder: Free Form Rock ... which showcases everything from Daniel Lanois to Lou Reed to James Brown to Moby to Dar.

Since this new color thingy surprised me, I can poet-ize in TECHNICOLOR!!!!:

Life Insurance

Did you hear that
STORM
last night?
Power’s only been back since 6:05
Exactly 6:05?
Exactly 6:05.
As in the patchy pirated sunlight

the clock reads 1:24

any simple mathematician could have

(but I didn't )

crossword puzzle-ing, his sleep apnea,
coffee and wife beater all at the table
declares that his machine shut off
stopped pumping air.
like the hospitals that learned the hard way to have a backup power source.
40,000 with out power and the
roads are bare.

Would his death have been an
Act of God?

^ from a while back, need to start churning some more out sooner or later.

^^ the background? think back really far. Does "oil traps rainbows/holding them captive/under my feet" mean anything to you?
... oh. didn't think so.

Saturday, August 27, 2005

Sat, 27 Aug 2005 17:08:43 GMT

Today's Look: Something old, something new, something borrowed and something Paisley. Thrift store-comfy jeans, Chucks (made visually orgasmic by Emma), vodka tank, fuschia paisley scarf/belt, troll dolls, and pigtails underneath the lime crown of sarcasm that is my messenger cap.

Here in the Wingate Inn, with Nate, Dad, and Roxanne. Thought I'd update (and say that I will use ver. 2 only if I fear it will lose me the gig. If I see a man of the cloth in the audience, alternatives may be accessed.)

If Elijah keeps himself organized, he gets to fly his skinny mexican self up for Homecoming. Be still my beating black-abyss-where-a-heart-should-be.

Yesterday, went to Checkered Past with Tic (30% off vintage ... w**t!), and on the corkboard outside, amid the posters for band gigs and cancer awareness walks and anti-war psychobabble, I saw this brutal image tacked. The same picture had been at Neato Burrito. It was some picture that had been altered via computer and I will try and re-create it to the best of my ability:

something like that. Shivery, huh? I smell something in the air, something increasingly like revolution.

Wednesday, August 24, 2005

Wed, 24 Aug 2005 14:34:18 GMT

Need some help people!

My plan, having accumulated no less than 24 songs to play at the coffeehouse gig, is to practice only those relentlessly. In my travels I found one of my favorite songs to sing and play. In the Car by Barenaked Ladies.

A great deal of you may be familiar with this song, and its irreverency. But since it is so delightfully catchy, I am willing to change around some of the words in the bridge, yet staying true to the hilariously awful-yet-wonderful intent.
I have two versions ... tell me the better one.

Original:
It was mostly mutual masturbation
although we spoke of penetration I'd have to wait
for someone else to try it out. ... (in the car, yadda yadda yaddda)

Alternative Ver. One:
It was mostly casual conversation
with some sexual alterations I knew we'd have
a later date to try it out

Alternative Ver. Two:
It was mostly mouth-to-mouth resuscitation
Though we denied qualifications for greater stuff
Someday soon, we'd try it out.

thanks loves! mwah.

Tuesday, August 23, 2005

Tue, 23 Aug 2005 20:47:21 GMT

Today's Look: Where in bloody 'ell 'ave you been? Grey shorts, possibly worn 3 days in a row. Grey torn wife beater over floral 80's sports bra, Tic's sandals, Troll Doll earrings, green bespangled hat and the "Pennsylvania Senior Center: A Home away from Home!" pin.(it was a 25 cents, come on.)

Being that I have isolated myself for the past 2 weeks without updating ... I feel about as useful as a stripper's real name. Not a devastating amount has happened to me in that time, justifying my lack of contact.

In lieu of MTW, my time is being consumed by music -- but playing it rather than listening. I have found that Wake Up In New York by Craig Armstrong is one of the most beautiful songs ever, and simple. My goal is to play at Coyote Joe's the night before homecoming. As of now I have a nifty set of over a dozen songs I can stumble through:
[Both Hands (Ani), Break Your Heart (BnL), Head Over Heels, Crazy On You (minus beginning solo), This Place is a Prison (Postal Service), Winning Days (Vines), Poison Oak (Oberst), Modern Romance (Yeah Yeah Yeahs), Wake Up In NY, Love Me Two Times, a couple of others. One genius even tabbed Coin-Operated Boy intensely well.]

But enough about that. {Jeremy, Teresa, Michelle, Power Patch, Tyler, Jayson, I applaud you. You know why. You know exactly why.)

But definitely enough about that.

Since I have missed two weeks of everyone's life, how about you all tell me what's happened. Spare no detail!

Monday, August 08, 2005

Mon, 08 Aug 2005 16:05:42 GMT

Today's Look: There is no Hippo Romance. Coffee cup PJ bottoms, specs, and the immortal Hippos In Innertubes shirt.

Researching tabs while the kitchen's being redone. Decemberists, BnL, Tears for Fears, Joan Osbourne, it's all good.

To say the least, the show went Fabulously.
"Seduction is our friend Boys and Girls."
I already miss everyone in the cast. Adie, It's perfectly okay to cry, my little marionette. Might I say that everyone also performed sublimely. And at least Robert didn't do that weird throat sound he often does.

So in the aftermath of that bustle, I am left with Honors Choir, Roxanne my baby, a bare kitchen, french text messages from Power Patch, and newly established contact with Elijah and I.

Two today for you kiddies.

Just That Way

What looks electric in the air is flame from
    underwater.
On the back of it, the moon has a tag that says
    "One Size Fits All."
On Country roads young deer fool around, and play
   Connect - The - Headlights
Some girl could not find Santa Claus, but found a Christmas light noose
   burnt pretty colored holes in her pajamas.
The chemistry in fireworks took the magic away for you.
   There is no magnesium in my eyes. They are just blue that way.

I guess they're called Soliloquys

I don't wear much makeup just a little round the eyes you
always glanced there first anyway but there
is this glitter
that occasionally will stray
and swim about my eyeball. It won't
come out but in ferocious tears.
Then it looks like starlit deception descended from industrial lighting.
(Making me some cosmic coquette)

Crying Glitter in some chair surrounded by an army of Nail Polish bottles
all with long exotic names like
Don't ReFuschia Compliment.
With singed hair smell and chemical tints and wine-laced gossip
still I grab the sides of the Unisex bathroom sink and stare
at a reddinging reflection.
(it was this song you see, listen and the lingering vowels could coax you too but might I say you, Polaroid, did nothing to abate this)

I can't pull off attractive sobs I
tremble, my teeth play castanets and I look the victim of some Plague.
That's a name for you if I ever heard one.

I would cry glitter on some Central Park wedding night.
Making Love or Life (cause or effect) in some giant guitar case
while a homeless choir hums drunkenly a march from cellphone symphonies.
A billowed wedding dress pheramone laden breeze
(seven years of itching)
Loosened tie knot dappled with the doting
drops of bio-dew.

Thursday, August 04, 2005

Thu, 04 Aug 2005 10:42:55 GMT

Today's Look: Break a Leg, so we can see your kittie socks. Black dance shoes, kittie socks, snowman pajama pants, and snug tank top with some liquor brand or another (a deer in front of a floating cross) inherited from Cookie.

The show is tonight. Three weeks leading up to this final culminating moment, but I will finally be glad to bid 300 crunches goodbye. The show's going to be just fine ... ::clenches LOVE ankh, leather strap broken thrice::
UH UH, Not Guilty!
(yes, we are doing Cell Block Tango)

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Thu, 28 Jul 2005 19:31:10 GMT

Today's Look: Harlots and Hoochees and Tarts, Oh My! Purple plaid polar pride pants (Don't make me say it again), and the incorrigible "Fellow Maiden(?)" husband-beater.

The day of yester variety was the NYC trip. Essentially, the same exact show on B-way as I saw at the Blumenthal. Which is okay, except anticipating the exact same costumes, tones of voices, and singing cadences? Ick.
Plus a completely unnecessary trip to the giant Toys R Us (complete with tour of the Barbie World), ungodly humidity, and Matt's elbow colliding with my nose at a Jamba Juice.
Other than that, however, it was quite entertaining. Eveningwise, it began thunderstorming, and Jess, Rae, Matt and I linked arms to trot merrily in the precipitation.
... Well, let me put it this way:

"Let Not Your Be Troubled"

It was raining in the city
I know, because you see,
I was there.
I can reminisce, you see,
or you will see.

(the sound of voices thread through chain
links and airbag dust
settling on religious pamphlets the size of
$dollar bills$
and all the dark metal layer
cakes sprinkled with
the lights of overachievers haunting the
one beautiful part of day)

Paramour gild
or a mannequin's wink
distracts the inkling of dried footsteps
It's Only Lightning.
It's Only Rain.
Some mount steeds and yank protection from
faux-crocodile scabbards.

We pose for the cosmic paparazzi
From up there, every side is your good side
camera flashes flash like cameras in all matter of redundancy
Developing fluid pours down
and strips us bare.

Companions Negative One, Two, and Three are unrecognizable
and we un-link arms.

. arms turning blue, scales, wrists sprouting
-- w i n g s --
Throw our shifting heads back drink in
drink it in
teeth go soft and lemon-juice tart, feel slick
a slickening feeling

   this new form
this precipitation-wrought experiment
   I didn't look like this before, right?
my eyes were round before, right?
   my legs bent forward before, right?

"I read about something like this in a comic book once"

you may have, but
I was there ...
until the rain stopped I was what you are
only better.
I was developed,
I was perfected,
I was THERE.

Well, anyway.
I got the Godspell solo with Rae. "Turn Back, O Man." Sleeeeeeezy sleezy song. I trot around like Mae West with my scarf, flaunting up and down the stage, leading my whorish cronies. What a way to spend a day. Or a song.

Sunday, July 24, 2005

Sun, 24 Jul 2005 14:35:25 GMT

     There is a new love in my life, that is to say, an additional love. Her name is Roxanne, and she is a gorgeous peacock blue/opalescent Dean left-handed acoustic/electric. I took my hobbity husband's advice and cuddled with her, and I knew.
      Having not solidified lessons yet, I've been working out things by ear. Apparently I'm getting the knack.
(Intros to "Talk Show Host" by Radiohead, "Otherside" by RHCP, my own chords to the standard jazz "Why Don't You Do Right? [Get me Some Money Too]" etc... )
     Although, my mother is distressed that my guitar has the same name as what she made me promise to name my first born daughter. Yesterday she was checking to make sure Roxanne Louise Allred sounded nice.

  ... On that note, yesterday was the first trial of long-distancedom. A strapping lad proficient in acting, track, and Monty Python memorization was at Pat's cousin's birthday party (where I knew no one.) He was Colin, accompanied by his racist, ignorant friend Colby. Both were fun, conditions being the latter kept his mouth shut. We went to a local person's trampoline to vegetate.
Colin: So ... you're not single.
R: Exactly.
Colin: Oh. I'd have dated you. So this boyfriend ... ?
R: Elijah. He lives in North Carolina.
Colby: Well why didntcha say so! Colin, while the cat's away the mouse'll play man!
Colin: Shut up, you prick ... I'm a gentleman, no way I'd do that ... that's disloyal.
R: That's very flattering and noble of you ... now STOP tickling me! I'm all pale and squashy!
Tommy the Six Year Old: You two aw lubb-burds. Kiss kiss!

     So the trampoline became an awkward nest of potential half-adultery.
     More than anything, I just missed Elijah. There was no way I could have justified even looking at Colin with ardency.
    When you miss someone, you will remember the most obscure things. I suddenly remembered swimming uptown at the apartment, and Elijah quoting a DMB song about "wanting to be a drop of water on your back." Then he picked one stationary bead of water on my shoulder and said that he wished it was him, because it wasn't going anywhere for a while.

so yeah, i miss people.