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Momentary Lapse of Reason
Jul. 28th, 2004 02:12 pmI heard a cover this morning of a Pink Floyd song on Morning Becomes Eclectic. I knew it was Pink Floyd, but it was kind of a throaty, jazzy cover and I just couldn't reconcile the reality with what I was hearing.
Summer stretches out, and I work through it, working and little else, dance even becoming drudgery as I get angry and frustrated, as it becomes obligation and not release, and I'm thoroughly sick of pimping out my brain and my skill, selling my services so I can pay my rent.
If I buy a condo, I sacrifice my social life, but I make some sort of effort towards financial stability, something I use to laugh at because it seemed so pointless, so against the things I believed in - moments, and art, and social justice. It seemed like cheating to have a stable life. And now, I can't even cheat on myself, boxing myself into stability and resenting it will tightening the twine.
In a fit of weakness, I had Bennington send me info about the low residency MFA. It's supremely expensive, supremely impractical and tempting for so many reasons. Other schools have similar programs, but I feel unfinished in regards to Bennington, the experience and my youth, the things I thought I was capable of, the things I wasn't.
And Donna Tartt's prose is perhaps not the greatest influence on a crossover fic, and I see the way I take and snatch, bright eyed as a crow, stealing my pieces of tinsel and shiny paperclips and working them into my wordy nest. But southern gothic, taciturn soldier and worn out frontier Cap'n are maybe not the greatest textual combination. And they're not working they're way to the casual sex very quickly. Grrr.
Oh, and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rubberneck's latest installment of Little Acorns made me weep as much as the dead tiger sharks. She's just so good, it's killer dude.
I said dude the other day, sitting on the couch, talking sharkies and cats and the future of our front door with M. and he started to laugh. "Dude, you just said dude!" I'm going to special boy hell along with the rest of them for having pared down my vocabulary to surf speak. Eloquent. I used to be eloquent.
But, but at least two of the hussies are Burbank bound, and this is a gleeful thing. Such a glorious, gleeful thing. I may even have to clean the house, vaccum up M. and the cats for public consumption.
Summer stretches out, and I work through it, working and little else, dance even becoming drudgery as I get angry and frustrated, as it becomes obligation and not release, and I'm thoroughly sick of pimping out my brain and my skill, selling my services so I can pay my rent.
If I buy a condo, I sacrifice my social life, but I make some sort of effort towards financial stability, something I use to laugh at because it seemed so pointless, so against the things I believed in - moments, and art, and social justice. It seemed like cheating to have a stable life. And now, I can't even cheat on myself, boxing myself into stability and resenting it will tightening the twine.
In a fit of weakness, I had Bennington send me info about the low residency MFA. It's supremely expensive, supremely impractical and tempting for so many reasons. Other schools have similar programs, but I feel unfinished in regards to Bennington, the experience and my youth, the things I thought I was capable of, the things I wasn't.
And Donna Tartt's prose is perhaps not the greatest influence on a crossover fic, and I see the way I take and snatch, bright eyed as a crow, stealing my pieces of tinsel and shiny paperclips and working them into my wordy nest. But southern gothic, taciturn soldier and worn out frontier Cap'n are maybe not the greatest textual combination. And they're not working they're way to the casual sex very quickly. Grrr.
Oh, and
rubberneck's latest installment of Little Acorns made me weep as much as the dead tiger sharks. She's just so good, it's killer dude.I said dude the other day, sitting on the couch, talking sharkies and cats and the future of our front door with M. and he started to laugh. "Dude, you just said dude!" I'm going to special boy hell along with the rest of them for having pared down my vocabulary to surf speak. Eloquent. I used to be eloquent.
But, but at least two of the hussies are Burbank bound, and this is a gleeful thing. Such a glorious, gleeful thing. I may even have to clean the house, vaccum up M. and the cats for public consumption.
