lillian m. blakey moon_window




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Sunlight on Earth

� Copyright 2006-2012
Saturday, Sept. 01, 2007 - 1:42 am

=*=



I don't really feel okay.

I have one chapter left to read in my art book. I haven't designed anything for the class yet. But I have ideas in my mind, which I've got to get on paper soon.

It's funny, I feel terribly overwhelmed about everything in my life but my homework.

so, most of the day I slept, cried, and watched youtube videos, which include SNL, MadTV, and In Living Color shows, crop circles, sacred geometry in art, singing sesame street produce, ballet, bjork, marilyn monroe, animated films, etc.

When I was a little girl, I loved writing and drawing and watching old movies because they all involved the missing element in my life: people. I'm there again. I'm there because it's hitting me little by little that all of my friends here have now moved on. They're not here anymore. But, unlike when I was a little girl, I can't believe that people will stay anymore. And I need to be okay. I can't write stories because when I try to, I feel so strongly that I need the people I write of to be real, just like I did 20 years ago. I'm avoiding drawing my favorite subject, people, because it's making me tear up. And I've noticed this same thing with each film I've watched all week, each charcter has so many people in their lives, and I want to know what that's like. Imagine a two hour film with one character. I've also stopped eating more than once per day. again.

I asked W to take me to the art supplies store as my mother is, I guess, no longer willing to go with me anywhere but to buy groceries. So, um, he said "ok" as he's said so many times. And so I say to myself, fingers crossed but don't hold your breath. I told him tonight that I really will never trust anyone again. He knows that it's because of him, and because of my father. I can't keep doing this to myself. I can't remain an open wound and let them come in and rip me apart further.

Today, I read this: **HERE** is a link to the first written ghost story penned before the year 112 Anno Domini by Pliny, the younger, a Roman lawyer and apparent creative writer.

I feel really numb, and really scattered...

with that, I'm going to sleep.


=*= one day i'll fly away =*=

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