Traits of creative people:
1. wonder and be curious
2. be open to new experiences
3. see the familiar from an unfamiliar point of view
4. take advantage of accidental events
5. make one thing out of another by shifting its function
6. generalize from particulars in order to see broad applications
7. synthesize, integrate, find order in disorder
8. be in touch with one’s unconscious, yet be intensely conscious
9. be able to analyze and evaluate
10. know oneself, have the courage to be oneself in the face of opposition
11. be willing to take risks
12. be persistent: to work for long periods-perhaps years-in pursuit of a goal

Why?

Because I saw a part of me in you,
I part of me that I wanted to
protect and understand.
Because I wanted to please you
in every way.
I wanted for (you) to be happy;
to not hurt anymore.
Because I wanted you to love me
completely,
and more.

Because it just didn't matter anymore.
Nothing really matters anymore.

Caroline's Spine: Unreal
for Jon

I've come to feel when you're constantly changing roads
it's hard to know which way is right.
It gets a bit colder when you're down ten feet below
with no conclusions
no end in sight.
So I hold this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here on your own.
And I know you are
the only one who can make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
You beg and you borrow
like some ordinary soul.
There's nothing to see here tonight.
Until tomorrow,
after all your cameos,
there's nothing to see here.
And I know this:
we don't ever walk alone.
You can't stay here.
And I know you are
the only one who will make it right
when it isn't right.
And I know you are
the only one still preoccupied
with all your "if I did" and "maybe she might."
Life is so unreal.

Static

Black as rum, white on top,
tan for you, in a double shot.
A hammer for a fly,
a fox on the sly.
Stop, drop and roll,
red handle, waiting for you to pull.
Steel guitar, dead baby in a cradle,
comfort ma; tell her a fable.
Click, click, clack, snap,
popcorn for a midnight snack.
Junie B. Jones has no home,
E.T. must call, but has no phone.
Lipstick on a collar, wine on a cuff,
heart-shaped box holds no more love.
Bermuda triangle, a honeymoon dream,
early morning coffee, milk the cow for cream.
Bullitts in the fire,
shoulda shot higher.
Shine from a diamond, dull as a knife,
sacrifice all that glitters, for the golden life.

By Kate Gubert

http://mintypics.com/Hurt%2010-4-07.html

Today is the day you took her away
and hid her in a glass sphere.
Lavender and honey consumed
as you examined her willingness.
Tassels and pom-poms shredded,
the confetti falling to the sky.
Turkish ashes smolder on painted toes.
Enter her mind through your eyes.

by Kate Gubert

Compliments:

http://www.madsci.org/cgi-bin/cgiwrap/~lynn/jardin/SCG

Will my death be painless?

I wonder...

as I lie here in anguish,

twisting and writhing

in the most unexplainable emotional pain.

To believe that there will be no beginning.

Seduced by those eyes...

those piercing, honest eyes.

(Where did you learn to look at someone like that?)

And though I wish I could,

I know that I do not know what is behind those eyes.

I take solace in the knowledge that

I fell in love with your music first...

the lyrics that speak of my heart's desires

(though I am sure that I am not the only one.)

The vocals that never grow tiring,

that never cease to make me cry,

words that heal and break.

Yet I cannot stop listening.

And I cannot stop the thoughts of you,

the glance of your eyes and

the melody of your voice,

and how my words are not enough.

Is this the hope that will be lost?

lost before it has even begun?

To know that these pains mean nothing more than feelings,

that feelings are nothing more than emotion,

to somehow forget...

To know that your love will never be mine...

is my hurt.

Truth is...
I'm scared of making another hopeless attempt.
I'm afraid that I will fail, after investing all my strength.
I don't want an ending, so I will never begin.

Truth is...
I try not to be pessimistic,
and I can't be optimistic,
So I must be a realist, as it goes.
And I must be crazy too.

Truth is...
I can live without you.
I can do anything on my own,
But I really,
Really,

...

I found some places I'll have to check out. Turns out I coulda seen Hurt without driving to Flint. But oh well. I kinda miss that place. And it was cheaper for a ticket.

http://www.sectionlive.com/

http://www.orbitroom.com/

Maybe I should rephrase that... Who is John Galt to you?

To me, I know who he is even though I haven't finished the book (yet).

But I could (and will) just as easily ask: who is Tom Buchanan to you?

To me, he is careless, soul-less, bruteish, despicable, self-interested, and absolutly vital to the story (whether that story be the Great Gatsby or life).

I guess, do you really think of characters in books as real people or as representations of groups of people? people you know? you? depends on the book?

Who is your favorite character? why? are they representational of someone/something?

Or maybe it is just in the asking that our question is answered by a void of an answer. Maybe there is no John Galt to you. Maybe he does not mean anything to you. Just as asking why some people are the way they are. There is no answer that would be correct. Who are you, or I, to know who John Galt is. Even in a book where someone has created him, even she may not even know who he is entirely. Maybe it is best if we do not know. Maybe it is best if all we do is ask questions, even if we don't get answers.

I think the best questions are those without answers.

I feel like posting something. I don't really know what to say because I don't have my journal in front of me. Isn't that sad? I cannot think about my own thoughts unless I can read them from a book. Well, for one thing, school is going well. Classes are fun. Biology is my favorite, but math is ok (just kinda feels like high school), Government and Politics is good for me (yea! I read The Nation The National Review and U.S. N&WR), and Art is really fun. We made mobiles yesterday from sticks and coathangers and wire and nuts and bolts and cardboard. I am thinking about walking downtown, except I don't really know if I want to walk through those neighborhoods to get to it, or if it is too long of a walk. Maybe I can figure out the bus schedule. Words of Wisdom for the day: Steak & Shake does not know how to make malts. Other mile markers on my calender: I am going to the Machine Shop and I am going to Chicago and I am going to Maine. Oh yeah! And I need more chocolate. Don't ever get put in Hruby. I am in the dorm for mentally unstable, gay, and antisocial persons. And those are only the ones I've met. The world is a scary place inside this little jail. I need chocolate. Wait, I already said that. Ok, we're on a mission for chocolate...


Who is John Galt?


Should I dye my hair black?

Oh sweet cheese. Hurt is coming to the Shop!

"This country, with its institutions, belongs to the people who inhabit it. Whenever they shall grow weary of the existing government, they can exercise their constitutional right of amending it, or exercise their revolutionary right to overthrow it."
Abraham Lincoln (1809-1865)

A Sad Child

You're sad because you're sad.
It's psychic. It's the age. It's chemical.
Go see a shrink or take a pill,
or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll
you need sleep.

Well, all children are sad
but some get over it.
Count your blessings. Better than that,
buy a hat. Buy a coat or a pet.
Take up dancing to forget.

Forget what?
Your sadness, your shadow,
whatever it was that was done to you
the day of the lawn party
when you came inside flushed with the sun,
your mouth sulky with sugar,
in your new dress with the ribbon
and ice cream smear,
and said to yourself in the bathroom,
I am not the favourite child.

My darling, when it comes
right down to it
and the light fails and the fog rolls in
and you're trapped in your overturned body
under a blanket or burning car,

and the flame is seeping out of you
and igniting the tarmac beside your head
or else the floor, or else the pillow,
none of us is;
or else we all are.

-Margaret Atwood

I'm listening to Janet Dailey on tape. What is the world coming to? I'm sure I'll be committed any day now. They will lock me in a little room and feed me little white pills and ask me if I was deprived as a child.

I am also consumed by Ayn Rand's Atlas Shrugged. Ooo, I might have another favorite author. Is it bad that my "to read" list grows more than my "read" list? I hope not. I hope I can read a lot this fall.

I'm so lucky to have a dorm room to myself. I will get posters that put a smile on my face and I will bring my useless green lamp and rent a fridge that will keep my Ben and Jerry's cold just long enough. I will stock up on Slim Fast wanna be diet stuff and post pictures all over to remind myself that I still have a friend.

Maybe they won't lock me up after all.

Maybe I can put on a mask long enough so that they will never know...

i wonder if anyone really notices or are the ideas and fantasies in my consciousness are merely my own i wounder if anyone really knows that i love them or that i have the ability to love them but my own fear is the only thing that holds me back i wonder if i will ever be able to let go of this fear and let the world break my heart i wonder if i ever will fly to the top of the world or if i was never destined to do so i wonder if somehow i missed my opportunity the opportunity to die the opportunity to love the opportunity to be the kind of person worth love the person that i want to be and that i imagine everyone else wants me to be I SAW YOUR SOUL LAST NIGHT ILLUMINATED BY THE MOONLIGHT AND CAUGHT IN A WATER BOTTLE HOW DOES THAT MAKE YOU FEEL WHEN YOU WERE SEEN IN SUCH A LOW PLACE DO YOU FEEL LIKE ME DO YOU WANT TO DIE BEFORE ME WOULD YOU LET ME LOVE YOU WOULD YOU MAKE ME DISAPPEAR

Chris Isaak/ Frequency 54: Wicked Game

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd meet somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I knew somebody like you.

No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I don't want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you.
What a wicked thing to say, you never felt this way.
What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you and,

I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you.

The world was on fire and no one could save me but you.
It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.
I never dreamed that I'd love somebody like you.
And I never dreamed that I'd lose somebody like you no,

No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I want to fall in love. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
With you. (This world is only gonna break your heart)
No, I... (This world is only gonna break your heart)
(This world is only gonna break your heart)

Nobody loves no one.

It's sad how true this is; THIS WORLD WILL ONLY BREAK YOUR HEART.
I know I want to fall in love.
I know I don't want to fall in love.
Do I have control over that?
It' crazy what foolish people do.
It's amazing how many foolish people there are.

UPO: Godless

I'm checking into leaving, yeah I'm folding
I'm tired of breaking down
And shaking this life around
I'm tired of praying, yeah I'm tired of trying myself
I'm tired of being taken all the way

And I don't need to be godless, but I am
I don't need my head keeping all my problems
And I don't need your hand of god, yeah
I don't need to say I'm godless
With nowhere to fall, yeah I'm all ready to fall

Day by day I'm like a paper puppet
And I'm stumbling 'round
I'm aching on my brain
And I'm in, big trouble, big trouble
I still gotta breathe, oh yeah
Like my shame this will all go down
God damned me that's for sure and I believe
I believe I don't belong here

And I don't need to get my head kicked in
And I don't need to be another lost soul
Who can't find home
And I don't need to get my face dragged down in the muddy water
And I don't need to say I'm godless anymore, yeah, not anymore

Still I'm gone
Still I'm on the run
Still I'm on the break of the edge
Still I'm, still I'm feeling dead

And I don't need to be godless, but I am
And I don't need to be another lost soul
Who can't find home
And I don't need your hand of god, yeah
And I don't need say I'm godless anymore, anymore yeah

Wisdom

You spoke to me.
You spoke words reflecting the wisdom of your heart.
Your wisdom preached of good and fulsome aspirations.
I spread my cracked and feeble wings in a vain attempt at flight. The desire to flee the cage of promises veiled the dangers beyond. I walked from your inadequate words of comfort. I closed my eyes to your invisible existence. Your wisdom fell in fragments. They broke out of context as they fell to the concrete. Meaning abandoned them and heedance fled with me. I hesitated, before I stepped into the sky, wondering if I should turn to apologize. You were crying as you gathered the syllables and attempted to throw them after me. But I didn't look back.
Your words held no recompense for your imprecation.

Kate Caretto