Tonight I am packin up my glenhood life for a little while.
Scramblin through the wreckage, I found a page in one of my notebooks from December.
I post it now as the last evidence of winter.

12-5-07 4:40pM

I am the breath that once filled your lungs & now hangs frozen before you. It’s time to fly away now and I will float across the country…
I am beneath the feet that litter the streets: I am breezing through the tree you are too distant to climb.
I dissipate,
I fill new space and
I am leaving
As the oxygen,
Leaving as the oxygen that never could be captured by
Nervous hands or felt within
Strict
Mechanical
Hearts.
I have pulsed
through veins ignored.
I am my own transient matter…
My own deep call for catalysts.
I am the oxygen—electric.
I am the oxygen with no cautionary goodbye.

...* * *...

Let the summer begin.

SUMMERRRRRRRRRR

Hi, welcome to the Monday of my life. I cannot write my final essay for Humanities as it would currently sound something like "Julie Ransom, I have a small obsession with you and your unfairly perfect vocabulary. I'm the girl with un-honor-code hair, that comes late almost every week... only to step on the cute international boys feet, bookbag, and ego as i try to make it to my seat where I will almost surely not make it through class without gracelessly conking out on my desk. This is especially bad on hat days, when I wake up to see that during the unconscious state of my floating mind, my hat has knocked itself off... revealing my smooshed roll-outta-bed raunch hair. BUT... I mostly want to say that I love art. I love music. I love books. I love the things I learn when I'm awake--- awake and not staring at the one rugged shaggy boy two rows over. However, I don't know enough about any of these topics to analyze their existence during five different time periods. What I can do is go play outside. Because not only is there not an ounce of snowy soul-sucking deathy gusts of wind/snow... there is a sun... and a high of 78 degrees. I shaved my legs today. I haven't floated in a body of water since the hot pots... I haven't floated in a decent non-sulfury-raunch thing since I skinnydipped in DT pool last Fall. I'm a mess. I need grass. I can't stop this urge I have to mack the foxy boy in my ward, who, is absolutely perfect until he starts talking about colon cleansing and his highschool prom... which should be a couple years further away than it was. Still though, young and immature as he is, I've got some serious fever. So no, I don't want to write about naked greek statues or ancient frescoes because... pretty sure I won't get an A for talking about my soul... and pretty sure I don't know how to talk about anything else when it comes to art and things. Pretty sure I just want to steal a popsicle from the office and go frolic in the fields."

Psycho.

Runnin down a stranger’s street
Late for something I cannot remember
There was a comet in my childhood
Now I’m just a woman under a streetlight
Losin my magic
Losin my voice
Wonderin who’s screamin from the sidelines
I’m watchin the sea erode my footsteps
Not able to admit that
I feel betrayed by what I loved
My floating ocean solace
is far away.
But the reoccurring salty waves
Remain.
Can you feel it in the breeze?
Rivalry.
How can I see his eyes
How can he see my eyes
And not see me.

Lyndsi Shae

2:29 aM

SOS... this ain't no Rihanna.

Why am I in the library?

Roll-outta-bed hair and basketball shorts
Clickin my bare heels
A little embarrassed of my desire for a pedicure
... and a girly dress.

Developing a philosophical crush on Mary Wollstonecraft's book.
Listenin to Explosions In The Sky
Writing six pages that are due in two hours.
Thinkin about my Katie and Kelsey and how Brooklyn would make an ug-sigh sound if she were here.
Wishin I had my journal so I could play with this sweet scanner
and fill my odd desire to post my soul on the world wide web.
(lookin up synonyms for desire.)

WHY AM I IN THE LIBRARY?
I want a smart cookie.
The sun is out.
The pool is open.
My sister is in the same town as me.

I can see A lot of Life in

There is a place in me that calls for words, or rather, there is a separate space that calls to be heard…. Like I am suffering from the Pangea of my inner components. But if they were to find each other, the clarity produced from their unity would be too much for the earth I stand upon. They would burst from punctuation… overflow the parenthetical footnote attempts to explain their truths. And still, be too much for pages overlooked and paperbacks singing silently from second-hand shelves. For now, it is enough to be here on this fleshy dirt beneath me. It is enough to pass by the dusty pages and listen for their call. Because in my ears, there are little waiters… who patiently linger for the right words, who jump and dance and call upon the rain when the dryspells become frighteningly familiar.

Today there are waves in the air that web the world, a computerized connection. A cheap imitation of what has always been possible. If we were to open up our senses, we could feel the woman next to us in the elevator, the men flying over us in stolen airplanes. We would know those through the walls, above the ceiling of our apartments, across the countries… those who walk in perpendicular paths, who balance the equator like tightrope walkers, who live within thoughts like ours, who walk on the valves of your midnight pulses, who feel the tightening of your veins in morning… who would know you and feel no shame.

1:38 PM