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15 March 2009 @ 12:41 am
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
Current Location: The end of the road.
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic
Current Music: The light falling of the rain outside my window.
24 August 2008 @ 09:34 pm
iloveraindances (9:03:48 PM): Growing up sucks.
iloveraindances (9:03:50 PM): Like a lot.
Irikyle7 (9:03:56 PM): hahaha, it really does.
Irikyle7 (9:04:03 PM): oh well, let's just keep doing our thing.
Irikyle7 (9:05:06 PM): we'll go ahead and pretend to grow up, but really, we'll still stay seventeen forever.
iloveraindances (9:05:29 PM): That sounds wonderful.
iloveraindances (9:05:31 PM): And sad.
iloveraindances (9:05:37 PM): Because I know it can't happen.
Irikyle7 (9:06:44 PM): right?
iloveraindances (9:06:47 PM): :/
Irikyle7 (9:06:50 PM): life is depressing.
28 July 2008 @ 02:47 am
Does anyone else find the lack of any livejournal activity a depressing sign that we're all growing up?
Current Music: Sufjan Stevens
02 July 2008 @ 04:55 pm
List of Reasons Kayla's Mom Yells At Her

Item # 232: Getting into the shower with dirty feet.

("You're gonna make the tub dirty, and I'll have to clean it!")
Current Mood: annoyedannoyed
Current Music: My Neighbor Totoro soundtrack
21 June 2008 @ 01:55 pm
You know, it's much easier to fall into hypocrisy than I thought.

14 June 2008 @ 06:19 pm

Let’s see how much you remember...

-Who was your best friend?
Desirea, Laura, Carmen, Sarah Guthrie

- Who did you go out with?
*sigh* Long story.

- Did you have a crush on anyone?
Eh, on and off.

- What sports did you play?
The study game.

-Did you buy your lunch?

-Did you skip?
Ha, I was still too afraid back then to skip.

- Did you get suspended/expelled?
No, I was the paradigm of obedience.

- Were you in any fist fights?
Just with me siblings.

- What was your favorite class?
Biology and English.

- What was your school’s name?

-If you could go back would you?
To some parts, yes.

-Where did you sit at lunch?
Carmen, Tristan, Sarah Guthrie, Buddy Love, Matt Stephens, Josh Justice, Ben Chamblee, Kayla Tamburelli, Alyssa Prock

what was the cafeteria food like?
Edible cancer.

-Was there a smoking lounge?

- Who was your science teacher?
The samurai woman.

- Who was your English teacher?

- Who was your history teacher?

- Who was your math teacher?
The dreaded Abney

- Did you think you were cool?
As crayons.

- Describe your outfits in ninth grade?
More...I don't know. Bright?

- Did you even have a cellphone?
Yes. RIP, poor little guy.

-Who was your favorite teacher?
Chambers, maybe Griffo

-What’s your most memorable moment?
There are oh so many...any day in biology, english, or history...

-What were your least favorite memories
Abney's class.

-What were your best accomplishments?
Passing. =D

-What action do you regret the most?

-What did you spend the most time doing on weekends?
Procrastinating or talking on the phone.

-Did you make any lifelong friendships?
I think so.

-Got invited to any proms?

-Is your life better now or then?
Depends on what part you're looking at.
Current Mood: nostalgicnostalgic
22 May 2008 @ 10:07 am
Well, guys, we survived junior year.

(Does anyone else find it surreal that we're seniors now?)
11 May 2008 @ 02:35 pm
The Love Song Of J. Alfred Prufrock

S`io credesse che mia risposta fosse
A persona che mai tornasse al mondo,
Questa fiamma staria senza piu scosse.
Ma perciocche giammai di questo fondo
Non torno vivo alcun, s'i'odo il vero,
Senza tema d'infamia ti rispondo.

Let us go then, you and I,
When the evening is spread out against the sky
Like a patient etherized upon a table;
Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
The muttering retreats
Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
Streets that follow like a tedious argument
Of insidious intent
To lead you to an overwhelming question...
Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
Let us go and make our visit.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes
The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes
Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening
Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains,
Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys,
Slipped by the terrace, made a sudden leap,
And seeing that it was a soft October night
Curled once about the house, and fell asleep.

And indeed there will be time
For the yellow smoke that slides along the street,
Rubbing its back upon the window-panes;
There will be time, there will be time
To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet;
There will be time to murder and create,
And time for all the works and days of hands
That lift and drop a question on your plate;
Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions
And for a hundred visions and revisions
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, "Do I dare?" and, "Do I dare?"
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair---
[They will say: "How his hair is growing thin!"]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin---
[They will say: "But how his arms and legs are thin!"]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

For I have known them all already, known them all;
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?

And I have known the eyes already, known them all---
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?

And I have known the arms already, known them all---
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
Is it perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?

. . . . .

Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets
And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes
Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows?...

I should have been a pair of ragged claws
Scuttling across the floors of silent seas.

. . . . .

And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully!
Smoothed by long fingers,
Asleep...tired...or it malingers,
Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me.
Should I, after tea and cakes and ices,
Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis?
But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed,
Though I have seen my head [grown slightly bald] brought in upon
a platter,
I am no prophet --- and here's no great matter;
I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker,
And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker,
And in short, I was afraid.

And would it have been worth it, after all,
After the cups, the marmalade, the tea,
Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me,
Would it have been worth while,
To have bitten off the matter with a smile,
To have squeezed the universe into a ball
To roll it toward some overwhelming question,
To say: "I am Lazarus, come from the dead,
Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all"
If one, settling a pillow by her head,
Should say, "That is not what I meant at all.
That is not it, at all."

And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor
And this, and so much more?
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
"That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all."

. . . . .

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or to
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous---
Almost, at times, the Fool.

I grow old...I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Til human voices wake us, and we drown.

-- T. S. Eliot
Current Mood: contemplativecontemplative
Current Music: instrumental