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[10 Mar 2006|06:30pm] |
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mood |
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 excited |
] |
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music |
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Friends |
] |
Okay...nobody's allowed to be offended. It's not as funny because I have too many friends who are gay men...but haha Leaky=woman-hater, and Mona...just funny. Oh, and about the dream thing, it sounds wrong-er than it was. Although please don't ask.
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| !lla kcuf |
[21 Jan 2006|06:42pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 ...please? |
] |
| [ |
music |
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politics on the radio. CBC, evidemment. |
] |
Right, well I'm desperate for an editor for an article I've written. Any takers?
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| Girlfriend in a Coma, I know... |
[05 Jan 2006|02:27pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 sleepy |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Depeche Mode and other random 80s stuff |
] |
Music makes me happy. Specifically very unhappy music. I used to have a shirt that said that. Not the unhappy part, but the first bit. It doesn't fit me anymore. What am I on about?
I just saw an ad that said "Only you can prevent wildfires," only I thought it said "wilderness." I'm like, why would I want to prevent wilderness?
My friends' 'blogs are way cooler than mine. I'm going to go do something interesting now, like wrapping every item in my apartment individually in aluminum foil, or make wings out of wax and feathers and see how close I can get to the sun.
I need a new pic. One that's not made of a butchered Madonna album cover.
Oh, and more importantly, I need a topic for a French speech. Any suggestions?
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|
| __beatlette__ interviewed me |
[22 Jul 2005|05:28pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 [insert mood here] |
] |
1. Who's your favourite spice girl?
Scary!
2. Which Beatle would you have most liked to bang?
Ohh...um...that's hard! Probably George...
3. If you could only eat 1 kind of cheese for the rest of your life, what kind would it be?
Brie. Definitely brie. It's all cute and round and peelable...
4. Hey Marge, what's your faaaaaaavourite radio station?
I think you have the wrong number, but it's still X-fm. RIP
5. Why Don't We Do it in The Road?
Well, there is the obvious safety issue, but other than that, no good reason. But then I have to ask whether you mean "we" as "people," or "we" as "you and I"....
If you want me to interview you:
1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me".
2. I will respond by asking you five questions. I get to pick the questions.
3. Update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. Include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.
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| Fly Me to the Moon! |
[25 Mar 2005|01:14pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 bouncy |
] |
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music |
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Kettle boiling/ classical on the radio |
] |
Yay! I love Frank Sinatra muchly. He is uber-cool. And yes, I know it's not his song, but he did it best. I think.
Anyways...
Fly me to the moon
And let me play among the stars.
Let me see what spring is like
On Jupiter and Mars.
In other words, hold my hand.
In other words, darling, kiss me.
Fill my life with song
And let me sing forevermore.
You are all I hope for,
All I worship and adore.
In other words, please be true.
In other words, I love you.
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| This is an unusually cool quiz, |
[21 Mar 2005|08:03pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 hopeful |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Tv |
] |
and as such, I refuse to LJ-cut it.
If I was a month I would be August.
If I was a time of day I would be 8:14am in summer or 6:11am in winter.
If I was a planet I would be Neptune.
If I was a sea animal I would be an anemone.
If I was a direction I would be North-East.
If I was a piece of furniture I would be a cupboard.
If I was a sin I would be something obscure and preferably not involving goats.
If I was a number I would be 3.14 - not pi, just 3.14.
If I was a liquid I would be balsamic vinegar.
If I was a stone, I would be sandstone with quartz.
If I was a tree, I would be an oak.
If I was a bird, I would be a budgie.
If I was a tool, I would be ashamed. Or a coping saw.
If I was a grade in school, I would be B-. Or grade 5.
If I was an outfit, I would be a wooshy chiffony dress.
If I was a stereotype, I would be a nerd.
If I was a natural disaster, I would be a flood.
If I was a musical instrument, I would be a cello.
If I was a color, I would be stormy grey.
If I was a fictional character, I would be Prince Charming (not from Shrek!).
If I was an emotion, I would be bleary.
If I was a vegetable/fruit, I would be a pear.
If I was an element, I would be krypton.
If I was a candy, I would be candy floss.
If I was a song, I would be 'The Last Time I Saw Richard,' by Joni Mitchell.
If I was a poem, I would be a sonnet.
If I was a word, I would be in Latin.
If I was a sound, I would be rain.
If I was a flower/plant, I would be a tulip.
If I was a kind of weather, I would be a summer storm.
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| Look at All the Pretty Colours! |
[12 Feb 2005|12:29pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 Tee-hee! |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
...My mum brushing her teeth |
] |
I just realised that I could HTML-ify my entries, and I don't have anything to say, but I want to make something pretty with my wonderful Hyper-Text Mark-up Language, so I think I will attack my very first sonnet with pretty colours! So here goes.
You are lovely as a winter sunrise,
Your cheek is flushed with Morning's sweet rose glow.
The silver December moon fills your eyes,
As it would strike and glitter on fresh snow.
As beautiful as winter, and as cruel,
For never have I known a wind so cold,
Growing warmer with no amount of fuel,
Nor any frost such a joy to behold.
You cast me off, as trees might throw down ice,
And I look up, still shrinking at your feet.
I know that I must leave, though you entice.
I hope that we, one day, might chance to meet.
So now, my frigid lady, fond adieu.
How I am treated, may Life not treat you.
And there you have it. A sonnet. Now I must go make a bracelet. Adieu. Adieu.
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| Today is old, Tomorrow yet unborn. |
[29 Jan 2005|07:11pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 mellow |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
CBC and an old microwave oven |
] |
Hmm...Hello.
How are you all today? I am...melancholy. Not in a bad way. Just...I just am, is all. I am because not being would be so...weird. Empty, only not, because I wouldn't feel it. It's hard to think about it.
I feel like everything is just a little less, these past few days. It's as though existence is just a layer of tissue that I might go crashing through at any given moment,into...Any ideas? Comment. It's like take-a-penny leave-a-penny, except with thoughts.
On a far more mindless (less mindful?) note, ( a quiz. )
Have I sufficiently bored you yet? Good. My work here is done.
-Zoh
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| BzzzZZZ! |
[17 Jan 2005|06:22pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 Dry-mouth-y |
] |
| [ |
music |
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the B52s in my head |
] |
Everybody goes to parties. They dance this mess around. Well, they do all sixteen...sorry. B52s.
Anywho...I wrote a triolet. Tee-HEE! And so she blinked, and her ears turned into antennae, and she floated off for six-month on her bowl-shoes, with only a stick of celery and a bag of topsoil between her and the element. "Thank you," She said. "That will be all." And it was. Good morning.
-Zoh
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| Monday Eve |
[09 Jan 2005|08:05pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
amused |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Mum flipping Tv channels |
] |
'Twas the night before Monday, and through the apartment,
Not a creature was going to Loblaws or Hartman's.
The plastic was stuck to the windows with care,
To ward off Cold, of which we're all too aware.
I in a kerchief, and Cat in my lap,
Had just settled in for a Chesterfield nap,
When out the back door there arose such a clatter.
I squinted and wondered just what was the matter.
Matter could be spelt "matr," and sound the same. Yes. Yes it could.
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| Poetry |
[05 Jan 2005|08:13pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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Lazy-yet-energetic |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
The silence after Nickelback ends |
] |
It's great how school sucks all the fun out of everything. I have to write a poem a day for over a month. 33 different forms.
If you start a sentence with a number, do you have to capitalize th first real word? (That's not rhetorical. Please comment correcting my grammar and spelling. I'm obsessive about these things.)
...and one day, maybe I'll get paid for it.
Well, I suppose I'd best be going. I'm going to attempt an acrostic. Wish me luck!
Love,
-Zoh
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|
[04 Jan 2005|06:14pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 Whoa...dude |
] |
When that I was a little tiny boy...wait a minute...
Hi
It's funny how nose and lose don't rhyme.
It's funny how you're a nosy loser who can't rhyme.
Rythm's spelt funny.
You'respelt funny.
Oh. That hurts.
Maybe you hurt.
Shut up.
Wy don't you shut up?
Maybe because you can't spell "Why."
Oh yeah, well...Go blow your nose in your sister's sock.
Sister?
Ah...!#*@ off, man. This sucks. You suck.
Yeah. Thanks.
Wow...ok. Walk away slowly. Everything's gonna be ok.
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| Another |
[01 Jan 2005|05:00pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 Insane |
] |
I'm an Argentine Superhero...ine. And o you know what else? (What else, Zoh?) I can LJ-cut! See? LJ-( cut! )
Wasn't That amazing?
</form>
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| Quiz |
[01 Jan 2005|04:34pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 Hyper |
] |
Ok, this is freaky. _beatlette_ and I both got eachother as LJ blind date on this quiz...( Seeseesee?! )
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| New Year's Eve |
[31 Dec 2004|12:41pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
excited |
] |
| [ |
music |
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CBC New Year's Thingy |
] |
Well...
2005, eh? Hmm. Well...yeah. Mmhmm. Yup.
This is the song tat never ends! Yes, it goes on and on my friends. Some people started singing it, not knowing what it...sorry. I'll shut up, now.
Franz Ferdinand is good. Not the dead guy, I don't know about him, but the band. Yay. Find me and follow me through corridors, refactories, and...Yeah. Dark of the Matinée.
I don't know what's wrong with me today.
Once upon a time here was King Gorbeduc. Or maybe not. I'm not sure.
'Bye.
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| Alice vs. Poe |
[30 Dec 2004|02:10pm] |
| [ |
mood |
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 Dark |
] |
| [ |
music |
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Silence (or the next best thing) |
] |
"The time has come," The Walrus said, "to speak of many things. Of shoes, and ships, and sealing wax, of cabbages and kings. Of why the sea is boiling hot, and whether pigs have wings." (From Alice's Adventures, I forget which one.)
Ah, the things floating around in my head...How about this one?
'Tis thus when the lovely summer Sun
Of our boyhood his course hath run,
For all we live to know is known,
And all we seek to keep hath flown.(Edgar Allan Poe)
I'm doing this from memory, and I'm quite certain that I've absolutely corrupted the punctuation, but that's how they would sound if I read them aloud.
Fool: Will you make me believe that I am not sent for you?
Sebastian:Go to, go to. Thou art a foolish fellow. Let me be clear of thee.
Fool:Well held out, i' faith. No, I do not know you, nor I am not sent to you by my lady, to bid you come speak with her, nor your name is not Master Cesario, nor this is not my nose, neither. Nothing that is so is so.
Sebastian:I prithee vent thy folly somewhere else. I knowst not you.
Fool: Vent my folly? He has heard that word of some great man, and now applies it to a fool. Vent my folly? I prithee, now, ungird thy strangeness, and tell me what I shall vent to my lady. Shall I vent to her that thou art coming?
Sebastian:I prithee, foolish greek, depart from me. There is money for thee, and if you tarry longer, I shall give worse payment.
Fool:By my troth, thou hast an open hand. These wise men who give fools money get themselves a good report, after fourteen years' purchase.(Shakespeare's Twelfth Night)
And that is quite enough reciting for one day.
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|
[28 Dec 2004|05:57pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
wandering |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Mum, cutting vegetables |
] |
--I was overflowing with things to say, but now that I'm here they all seem to have left me and taken up residence elsewhere.
--I wonder if there are any truly original ideas. Perhaps when we forget things they occur to other people, and everything that spontaneously occurs to one has been forgotten by another. I wonder if all of our memories are divied up when we die, or we get to keep them. Maybe that's what ghosts are: accumulated memories. I wonder if the memories have their own consciousness, allowing them to choose when they leave and where they go, or whether they just stick and unstick like dandelion seeds on blades of grass. I wonder where the thoughts start out: in our minds, or somewhere outside. Are there still new ones developing today? I wonder if those moments when I have a perfect, vivid scene in my mind of something that never happened, and I just have to write it down are other people's forgotten memories: a picnic with siblings I don't have; swimming in an ocean that I've never seen.
--Just my speculations on a speculation.
---Zohariel
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| Monday, Monday... |
[27 Dec 2004|01:12pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 I'm here |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Grey noise |
] |
My walls are covered in things. Little boxes and shelves and signs. I took down my Dinosaur Provincial Park poster, but I have one about Frobisher and the Inuit, with old maps on it. My calendar is Ansel Adams, but that's only for a few more days, and then it will be DaVinci. I feel that I spelt that wrong.
Everything is so quiet. My music is this: The cat scatches furniture somewhere to my right. My mum is reading the newspaper. I hear her breathing, all the way across the room. I hear her turn pages. I hear the mouse and keyboard clicking and clacking. The spacebar is particularly loud, and I am compelled to use the backspace and delete keys far too often. More often than I should like. The computer hums softly to itself, like a man in his second childhood.
It is so dry, here, with the windows all shut up tight, and the heat at eighteen, at twenty. The sunlight tells pretty lies, like in Last Time I Saw Richard. It tells me that it's lovely out, but it's not. I know it's not, because the weatherman told me. He has no reason to lie. Not like the sunlight.
I'm a little afraid, now, that you're questioning my sanity. That's OK. I don't mind. But all the same, I'd best be going.
'Bye
-Zohariel
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