over the cliff

I'm bored, I have nothing to rant about… and everyone loves quotes.

"Come to the darkside, we have cookies." -The Dayliethe Malt

"Life is like a box of Nuets. Sometimes you get what you want, sometimes it leads you right over a cliff." -Leeny

"It's a naive domestic burgandy with no hint of breeding, by I think you'll be amused by its presumption." -Thurber (?) on Wine

"Men are like a fine wine. They start out like grapes and it's your job to stomp on them and keep them in the dark until they mature into something you'd like to have dinner with."

"Eagles may soar, but weasels don't get sucked into jet engines."

"The quickest way to a man's heart is by tearing a hole through his rib cage."

'Why didn't you wait for me?'
'Well… you were dead.'
'Death can not stop true love, it can only delay it for a little while.' - The Princess Bride

'Do you love me?'
'I like you enough not to kill you yet.' -Lilah and Aiden

"You can't expect to wield supreme executive power just 'cause some watery tart threw a sword at you." -Monty Python

"Negative, I'm a meat popsicle." -The Fifth Element

"Every time I close the door on reality, it comes in through the windows."

"I try to take it one day at a time, but lately several days have been attacking me at once."

"Most people ignore most poetry, because most poetry ignores most people." -Adrian Mitchell

"A poet can survive almost anything. Except a misprint." -Oscar Wilde

"My grandmother is over 80 and she still doesn't need glasses, drinks straight out of the bottle."

"Well it's midnight and I'm not famous yet." -Jimmy Buffett

…A story my brother told me when he was DMing a D&D game
DM: You come into a field. There are birds chirping, the breeze is light and cool. There's a beautiful lake, the suns rays reflecting brightly on the surface and beside the lake is a white Gazebo-
RPer: I use detect magic on the gazebo!
DM: >< It's a gazebo. You detect no magic. Now-
RPer: I use detect good on the Gazebo!
DM: *sigh* It's a gazebo, you detect no good-
RPer: I use detect evil on the gazebo!
DM: It's a gazebo, it's not evil-
RPer: I shoot an arrow at the gazebo!
DM: You hit the gazebo, now could we please-
RPer: Wait I have to roll first! I roll [insert whatever the hell you roll in a D&D game… I can't keep the dice straight]
DM: Ok, you hit the gazebo
RPer: But I rolled a [insert above]
DM: FINE There are now splinters and woodchips everywhere
RPer: I shoot another arrow-
DM: WHY! It's a gazebo! It's scenery! I was just adding ambiance!
RPer: *oblivious* I roll a…
DM: Out of frustration at being hit the Gazebo morphs into an evil evil evil Mage/Dragon/Monster/Demon/Demi-god and eats you!
RPer: I knew it was evil…
DM: *cries*

–I used to have tons of quotes… I'll think of more later. This will have to suffice for now.

I told them no mirror as they snipped matted hair away, prodded peach flesh remnants of forehead. Soft, spongy like strawberry shortcake. I told them no mirror. It was a scratch nothing more, <i>Head injuries bleed a lot</i>.

Nurses nodded, peeked between rounds, пїЅWeпїЅve never seen one so deepпїЅпїЅ

пїЅпїЅso longпїЅпїЅ

пїЅпїЅwith the personпїЅпїЅ

пїЅconscious.пїЅ

Thanks. I told them, but no mirror. I didnпїЅt want to see that which had constricted the larynx of my brother as he stared, wide eyed. His mouth black and open like undeveloped film. <i>I think IпїЅm bleeding</i>. пїЅYour head.пїЅ Once the car hit I thought, <i>Dead</i>. Then fine. Then blood. Warm, sticky. It clung to lips, tongue, chin, the expanse of neck where hair catches in sweat drips and clings. What I didnпїЅt see was the flap. Red chasm, white skull, nerves smashed so the cool cool breeze through broken window didnпїЅt caress furrowed brow, plucked eyebrow, or hair French braided. It lifted skin. Eye to scalp. 6пїЅ. Lac. Laceration. Gash. Cut. Deep. Open. Bare. He yelled, struggled. <i>Are you alright</i>. His voice, tight. Gripped. My knees hurt, indents of air conditioning vents. Books at my feet gouging bits of ankle. Switched. Him blue at the side of a pool, <i>if you can hear me, squeeze my hand</i>. Switched. He was dead, IпїЅm dead. Blood. Lac.

пїЅCarпїЅs on fire.пїЅ DidnпїЅt take long. Billy-Bob, Johnny, Joe standing outside our window pointing at flames, screaming for a fire extinguisher. Trucker hats. Vests. Orange. Highway workers. <i>We couldпїЅve hit them</i>. It wasnпїЅt my car anymore. Black, airbag deflated now red. It smelled. Pungent, a rotting sweet. Smoke snaked its way across the dash, gray tendrils, an octopus lurking in rocks and crevices of windshield wipers and pine. Rotting. Mildewing roses. Or octopi puckers left to fester and shrivel in a sap sweet sun.

Branches scraped, needles as uneasy steps crawled, jumped, leaned on trees. Trucker hats, orange vests, my brother at my elbow. Squeezing. Guard rail. пїЅKeep moving, get away from the car.пїЅ

Cars donпїЅt explode. I was surprised.

<i>Does anyone have a towel? ThereпїЅs a first aid kit in the carпїЅ</i>

пїЅCarпїЅs gone Hel.пїЅ

WillпїЅs shirt. Between names of his fellow seniors, I dripped flesh, blood, bits of skin, eyelashes, eyebrow. <i>IпїЅm fine. I just donпїЅt want to see it</i>.

The hospital was cold. At least IпїЅd shaved my legs that morning. Poking. Proddng. пїЅDoes this hurt? This? This? This? This? How about this? Here? Any pain? Any feeling? Sensation? Can we see? Can we show and tell? Can we stare concerned and cluck our tongues which are fuzzy from too many coca colas so they feel gritty like hair with too much hairsprayпїЅпїЅ Still thought it was a cut. A scrape. Deep. Small. 6пїЅ Lac. пїЅWe need to see your eye. Were you wearing a seatbelt? Who was driving. Were you driving? Fell asleep? Lost control? Distracted? Drunk?пїЅ <i>No</i>.

Patrolman. пїЅHave you had anything to drink today son?пїЅ

пїЅYeah, been drinking all morningпїЅ had a coke, an orange juice. I donпїЅt think it was dehydration.пїЅ

пїЅNoпїЅ <i>alcoholic</i>.пїЅ

пїЅOhhhпїЅ No.пїЅ

Name. Age. Address. Name, age, place of birth, address, year of birth, middle name, middle initial, parents name, their age, address, place of birth, residence, relation, emergency contact, occupation, name, age, mailing address, return address, expiration date, time of birth, hospital, motherпїЅs maiden name, occupation, where were you going, where you were coming from, who were you going to see, whom do you call when youпїЅre in trouble, upset, in danger, bleeding, dying, dead.

<i>No mirror.</i> The neck brace hurt. Backboards digging holes in my head. Concentrated. пїЅDonпїЅt move.пїЅ <i>I crawled out of a burning car, my neck is probably alright.</i> пїЅWeпїЅll take you to X-ray.пїЅ

No mirror. But they forgot the reflective glass on smokey screens rising to take pictures of collar bone, rib cage, legs, arms, skull. It rose. <i>IпїЅll see</i>. A glimpse, nothing more. Eyebrow contorted, face cleaved. I shut my eyes but too late. My reflection saw me.

ItпїЅs hot in my room. Hot and sticky. I cleaned it, a clean room usually makes me feel better. One thing in my life cleaned and organized. Simple. Arranged. I have books on my bookshelf that remind me of what I want to do with my life. A cabinet full of poetry. A box with the name of French wine. Antiqued. Videos inside. Videos I donпїЅt really watch but sometimes I feel like it looking at the covers and remembering favorite lines. .

I never finish cleaning. I always stop right when it looks just good enough so that I can stop and admire my work before it gets messed up again. My camera is on my bed, it needs a place. My brother bought me a water feature. It needs a place too. Too much clothes. And not pretty clothes either. I havenпїЅt gone out to replace stuff lost. Stuff outgrown. ItпїЅs too depressing. Nothing fits.

ItпїЅs been a while since IпїЅve written in a journal. High school maybe. IпїЅve written letters, e-mails to my best friend that I donпїЅt send because theyпїЅre not real thoughts or feelings. They just clutter up my mind and I have to get them out so I can feel the real thoughts poking through. Fresh cut grass. I hate the smell of fresh cut grass. But the look of it is amazing. Pristine. Like a golf course carefully manicured to present obstacles. Ones to avoid, ones to get yourself into just to admire your prowess at getting out. Real talent isnпїЅt avoiding the messy situations, itпїЅs getting yourself out of them with grace. People who go through a course hitting green after green could fall apart when a sand trap looms. Lose their cool, their focus.

I didnпїЅt pay much attention to the colors in my room. My curtains donпїЅt really match the dпїЅcor. Curtains first. Sheets, bedspread, blanket, pillows, headboard, tablecloths, shelves, scarves. Some stuff I had, others I picked to match. I donпїЅt really know how to match. I like cream and I like dark. Pastel, soft, pretty patterns just hinted in a raised smooth thatch silk.

ItпїЅll take a day before my room goes to hell. I have books to buy. For school this time, legitimate. Some will go on my shelf, others in the closet. Silly since the closet doors stay open

Pretty books stay out. It takes a few things to make a book pretty. Pretty binding, pretty title. Title is important. пїЅHTML Tables and StylesheetsпїЅ isnпїЅt quite as exotic as пїЅMyth and MagicпїЅ. пїЅPoetпїЅs MarketпїЅ isnпїЅt quite as enchanting as пїЅTo the LighthouseпїЅ. I have laundry to do, things to write, a guitar to tune and maybe eventually learn to play. Go to the grocery store, buy a coffee table, figure out if I want to break up with my boyfriend. Maybe half of that will get done. If IпїЅm lucky. And by the time it gets to the point where I have to do the rest or else, I can just clean my room again.