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it's been a month.  hard to believe, but it's true.  i've been silent for most of the day, so instead of suggesting a moment of silence, how bad a badass thriller dance break with plenty of zombies?  oh yeah...


smooth criminal dance break!!

this video is everything awesome and stylish on this earth.  i recall watching it as a young child, rapt with wonder, my mouth open in a perfect O of delight as the dancing on screen cast its spell upon me.  this particular spell has yet to be lifted.


i've been thinking a lot about life and death lately. not just that, but mostly that. i'm thinking a lot about what i would have to leave behind if i dropped dead later today. there's surprisingly (and tragically, i suppose) little. i've lived nearly thirty years, gone to college, worked a few jobs, saved some money, spent some money, loved, lost, and loved again. i have family and friends i care deeply about. i've written a handful of novels, but never managed to get one published despite their obvious merit (yeah, this is what it looks like when someone toots their own horn). about the only thing i've done that has any real, objective value is to raise a great kid (well, halfway raise her, since she's not yet eleven). is that enough? i don't think so. i have no real achievements, no real accolades, no real causes i have fought for, no great stories in which i played the integral role. what does it take to become someone? i fear i don't really know. i know how to try. but to really achieve greatness...that's something i don't know much about, though i can usually sense it in others. that, i fear, is not good enough. my life so far has not been good enough.

i was listening to 'man in the mirror' the other day, which has been one of my favourite songs for a long time (since i was about 8 or 9), and the lyrics really got to me. there are changes i need to make if i want my life to mean something. currently, i'm floating along nonchalantly, touching very few people and letting very few people touch me. i'm living in the easiest way possible. there isn't anything wrong with it, per se, but there sure as hell isn't anything right with it either. i'm not a cheery, happy-go-lucky person by any means, but even i realize that this leisurely life i've been allowed to lead given my middle-class upbringing and comfortable if not bourgeois marriage is a luxury of which many others only dream. my twenty-soon-to-be-thirty-something angst that so consistently plagues me is barely a legitimate malady at all. being morose is better than being hungry, than being homeless, than being penniless. the desolation i feel within my own mind and body is a real thing, but it's hardly justified. i've said it before and i'm saying it again: i need to get some get-right. i need to look at the future with something other than dread. i need to get with the program (whatever that means; i've never quite understood it). i need to stop being a victim of a selfish kind of love (as mj would say) and use my introspection as less of a razor against my own wrists and more of a catalyst to make my life better as well as the lives of those around me. thinking is both a blessing and a curse. up until now, i have mostly resigned myself to the idea that, for me, it's a curse unequivocally. that, along with a lot of other things, needs to change.


tell 'em that is human nature...

just posting two things of interest.  that they are probably things of interest only to me is no matter, since this is my journal and i can post what i want to (and cry if i want to).

this first one is of interest because i adore books as well:


this second one has me conflicted.  i can't tell whether i like the content or the title of the blog itself:


i think it might be a combination of the two.


i watched the mj memorial today.  it was very moving, very heartbreaking, and yet, uplifting at the same time.  it's strange to feel so strongly about someone i didn't even get the pleasure to meet.  the landscape of my childhood is neslted deeply within michael's discography.  his music is the soundtrack of my life.  i don't speak to my sister anymore at all and i only talk with my brother every so often, but this music was what bound us together, what gave us joy.  i have very clear memories of us dancing along to thriller and smooth criminal for hours until we got ourselves as close as we could get to perfection.  i see us falling on our faces over and over again as we tried to lean forward the way michael does in smooth criminal, seeming to defy gravity.  we all knew how to moonwalk and we were ready to defend mj's honour to anyone who challenged us.  my childhood was a happy one but it's long over.  losing him is like losing all of that all over again.  i've listened to and loved michael jackson as far back as i can remember.  thriller was the first music video i remember seeing.  i was about three and my mom says i was enthralled and not afraid at all.  i had a michael jackson doll for that christmas and cherished it until the son of a family friend (not to mention the bane of my young existence) ripped his head off.  my entire childhood is tied up with this man and his legacy.  i distinctly recall idolizing michael with the sharpness of a razor blade, which is perhaps the only way a child can idolize someone, because they only deal in the purest of absolutes.  i didn't know michael, but i still feel i could sense important things about him: his innocence, his inherent goodness, his loneliness, and his torment.  his effect on me is immeasurable.  even i did not realize the depth of his influence on me until he was gone, which always seems to be the way it goes.  i am proud to say that i really have been a devoted fan of his from the time i could hold a tune (badly) and try my hand (or feet) at dancing the way the zombies did in thriller.  i am proud to say that i defended him if ever anyone had something cruel or nasty to say and happened to say it in my presence.  i wish i could have seen him perform.  i wish i could have had the opportunity to meet him and express my gratitude at all he had given me without realizing it.  i wish he could have lived to perform again and continue giving what he had to give to the world.  i've been an atheist for a slightly shorter amount of time than i've been an avid mj fan.  i never remember believing in god in a way that was any different than the way i once believed in santa claus (i actually think i believed in santa longer than i did god) and i never remember wishing that i did believe in god, even during high school when those beliefs sometimes made me an outcast amongst my uber christian contemporaries.  this has changed in the last week or so.  i am not afraid of this life being the only life i have to experience and make the most of.  i am not afraid of no heaven (or hell) awaiting me upon my death.  i am, however, deeply troubled at the thought that michael jackson, this unparalleled genius and wealth of flashy, electric energy, could dim and disappear forever.  it makes me hope that there is something more, something after, even though i don't believe there is.  such a pointless, untimely end to someone so magical in his ability to create and to give; it leaves me feeling more desolate than i have in a long time.  i don't understand the universe or the way it works.  i do know that i loved this man truly.
rest in peace, michael.


it was the sound of a crescendo


still not over it. it seems so ridiculous to state this aloud (in a manner of speaking), but the sense of loss is very real. i'm listening to the same songs over and over (i have a handy, dandy playlist on the ipod). i'm counting myself lucky to be at home at my folks' house so as to facilitate pulling out the large amounts of mj paraphernalia that i collected as a young girl/teen. i'm raiding my parents' record collection and pulling out all things mj. they've already accepted the fact that i will be taking these with me when i go back to GA. now if i can only abscond with their record player...

i haven't posted in awhile, but there will probably be a rash of whiny posts like this, mostly because i feel like a dumbass whining aloud (not to mention stella is really upset over this, as i made sure to give her large doses of mj all throughout her short life; so there's no reason to keep bringing it up), not to mention i honestly feel like i was punched very hard and very precisely in the stomach last thursday. so, you've been warned...


dude, mj. we grew up loving him and whatever he did or became, i still love him. he was as inexplicable to us as van gogh or dali were to those around them. true genius is like that. i'm sorry to see him go. secretly, i was always hoping for his complete redemption, at least here in the states where his reputation suffered a severe blow. i don't care how sentimental or cliche that makes me. i welcome it. i was struck dumb yesterday and i'm still not over it.


you know what makes turning another year older worthwhile?  this.  yeah.  i'm one more year closer to thirty, but having 1500 books at my immediate disposal makes things oh so much better.

speaking of thirty, i'll be bidding a bitter hello to that next year.  seriously, i don't feel that old.  however, when i think about it, i'm chilled to the bone.  not because thirty is so horrid, but just because i'm nowhere near where i wanted to be at twenty five, let alone thirty.  there's really only one thing i want and i'm not getting it.  i should be happy: i'm married to a great guy, i have a kick ass kid, and i have a device that will let me carry around a fucking library in my purse (this was honestly my dream as a kid; to be able to carry around all the books i wanted without my arms being tired or my dad yelling at me about how we didn't have that much room in the car) and, really, i am happy (relatively speaking; the truly introspective can only be so happy and that happiness is usually tempered with a fair bit of melancholy realism), but still, i'm missing my something.  i need to get published and i know i won't be happy until i am.  actually, i'm worried that i might not even be happy if i do get published.  this would mean that i'm really just the type of person who is chronically unhappy.  i've pretty much already accepted this, but a bit of hope is better than no hope at all, even if it is halfway diluted.

getting older is a funny thing.  not so much funny haha, more like funny uh-oh.  i spend a lot of time musing things over whilst perching comfortably in my state of the perpetual paralysis of thought.  i don't feel lucky but know i must be, since i have time to muse things over.  i wonder if this twenty(thirty!)-something cliche bourgeoise variety angst will ever get old.  i'm getting old, maybe that's the cure.


i had plans

i had lots of things to do today. instead, i watched inauguration coverage. that just means i have double to do tomorrow...


mj just beat it
personne ne sais

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