*****Spoilers warning****

...So, I went to the opening of Watchmen last night at 12:01 with a gaggle of geeky friends. It was actually really awesome. Beautifully, beautifully shot and designed. I'm impressed with their treatment of some very difficult characters, and I wasn't disappointed about anything crucial. The music was a useful thread, and social context was set up nicely, and it was an all around great movie. Laurie, was, of course, an annoying little bint, but Alan Moore pretty much writes women that way, so while annoying, at least it was faithful.

"Oh, I is all empowered! Kick punch! Look at my pretty tits!"

Barf. I could also have done with a little less gratuitous sexxoring- especially the shot of the slightly flabby humping man-butt.

And, yes, they have been calling this the big blue cock movie for a reason. There is a big blue cock, and you see a lot of it. Tee hee, ect. I thought they did a great job with Dr. Manhattan in general- he seemed real and fully erm, fleshed out, not overly CG. I loved his Mars conveyance thing and his growing distance from the world.

Overall, I loved it. The things that annoyed me were about what you'd expect from a film adaptation of something so dense and so loved by so many people- its hard not to step on some toes, and the movie was still three freaking hours long.

I am still kind if groggy. Yay.

Happy Pay for Sex Day.


Yay.

I have my David, it's warm, I'm not dying as the bus careens out of control on a patch of ice, I don't have to sit around being awkward on the last few days of class after the work is done like always happens, we have movies, anytime we go out, it's a big event.


Though we are running low on food.


And I kinda do have cabin fever.



But all things considered, it's not so bad.


I slept until noon. Whee.

It's snowing!

Lord spare me from teenage boys with crushes.

It is seriously the worst, creepiest, angstiest, most emotionally blackmailiest thing ever.

And the hug that kind of liingers and includes a neck kiss? NOT COOL. NOT SMOOTH. PLACES ALL YOUR BITS IN IMMINENT PERIL.


grarsnarlvomitgrarsnarl


  

So, apparently the "god hates fags" people are coming to Portland on Monday. I keep getting more and more angry as I do more research. I kind of want to harass them, but then I just get tired. I'm not going to change anything about their ridiculous fanaticism- the only reason I still have the impulse to join what I'm sure will be a counter-protest happening at the PSU campus is to show that Portland is a place where people are able to be gay and be safe, and that people won't hear a group in our community be bashed and not defend them. I would similarly want to show up in solidarity of the black community if a neo-nazi group came here and was picketing a college with a African American Studies department.

I understand the argument about ignoring them being more effective- let the crazy people shout, responding only gives them the impression that they have valid arguments. I understand, but I think that especially in light of Prop 8 passing, (which, by the way, I hereby revoke my Californianism) we can't pretend that people don't actually have deep seated hatred of gays, even if they wouldn't come out and admit it in public, and even if it's more insidious and subtle.

Obviously these people are insane. However, I think that a strong show of opposition saying that "well, no, actually, you can't just get off your bus here and tell students and professors at our local college that god hates them and they're going to hell without there being some sort of public backlash. We're not your fucking puppies, and we're not obligated to roll over for you. Sure you have the right to free speech- so do I." They are coming to our turf and being hateful assholes. I want to see them be given a hard time, at least.

I wish more people at the funerals of their family that these deranged assholes harass and abuse- there's even video footage of one of them telling an eight-year-old girl that her father, recently killed, was a "fag enabler" and was burning in hell- I wish they would push back more. I wish people would support the families more. Even the insane and violent apparently have rights to free speech as long as they pay for permits and have a church. If some homeless guy starting yelling about doom and how we're a nation of fags, he'd be hauled off. I'm not even arguing that these people should be shut down by the Police- I think they should just be overwhelmed in numbers and shouted down, mocked, and shamed for trespassing on people's schools, jobs, and the funerals of their loved ones.

Fuck them, really, really, fuck them. They are not welcome here.

They have a habit of suddenly changing their plans around and canceling things- probably because they get wind of opposition, bu their schedule is as follows:

Fred Phelps and a group from Westboro Baptist Church have a slate of picketing events planned in Portland from 7:30 a.m. to 3:15 p.m. Monday, Nov. 24.

First stop is the Portland State University Campus, whom, according to the God Hates Fags Web site are “enablers” because of their Queer Resource Center, nondiscrimination policy that protects sexual minorities and gender neutral bathrooms.

Next up, at 8:30 a.m., the Swedish Consulate in Portland, for arresting “Bible preachers and put them in prison in that evil nation.”

9:30 a.m. The Westboro crew will picket at Portland’s Germany Consulate. They say, “They did much evil in their history, and now to try to kiss fag ass and distract from that fact they have become more and more evil.”

Next the crew heads to Silverton, Ore. for an 11:30 a.m. protest against the city’s new transgender mayor, Stu Masmussen. “We are going to come to your little Oregon town to speak some words of truth to this 60 year old pervert. Nobody else will just tell him to STOP THAT!”

Their tour of Oregon ends with a stop at the Finland Consulate at 2:45 p.m.

So, apparently they have problems with people's consulates? Or maybe they just have less opposition there? I dunno. I don't think, as a community, we should put up with our neighbors being attacked. I don't think Stu Masmussen should have to put up with hate like this. I don't think it's unreasonable to protest people coming from outside the community to verbally assault our members.

I don't think someone is going to raise their hand and say; "excuse me, sir, but you're batshit fucking nuts" and have the response be, "oh, my. You're right! We'll just get back on our bus and head back to Westboro to be bigots and assholes there, instead." Or even; "Hm. Maybe you're got a point there. Maybe I've internalized my own latent homosexual urges, combined them with megalomania and a desire to control, along with a whole lot of frustration and anger about whatever else, used the bible to justify it, and created a god who hates everyone I hate. Maybe I'll go home and start a stamp collection instead."

I don't care about educating anyone, I care about sending a clear message that we will defend our own, and not let anyone sling hatred unchallenged.

MROWLR.

I am supposed to be drawing one. I have no interest in doing so. It's amusing to me how intently and eagerly everyone is working on theirs- apparently they are more interested in drawing themselves than say, a model.

I don't know what my block about self portraits is about. last year it's the only project I didn't turn in at CCA.

I simply find the idea of spending six hours looking at myself intolerably boring. Strange things begin to happen when I try, such as I turn funny colors, place myself in strange situations, and occasionally have tentacles, just to relieve the boredom and disinterest. For this I got up at the ass of dawn and left my warm David and braved the rain, which was intense, the cold and the various odors of the downtown bus?

To spend three hours drawing... myself? I could do that at home and not have to wear shoes while I did it. And I'd be warmer and be awake a reasonable time.

I think ultimately I can't seem to focus on my body that much. I don't like it when it hurts, I find it amusing when it is strange or lumpy or bony, I like fucking, and I like being warm and not being arrested, which means I like covering my bad, wicked, naughty bad bits. Very occasionally I like feeling shiny, but that rarely includes anything other than putting on my same clothes with more intent, and maybe brushing my hair, and, once in a blue moon, putting on some eye shadow. Which David's mother gave me. I own three pairs of pants and three skirts. It's not that I'm doing a holier-than-thou anti-materialism thing, it's that I simply have no interest, and am unable to give my attention to such a thing. I probably wouldn't think about it at all if society at large didn't constantly point out how unusual my position on this is.

When I think about girls who spend four hours fucking with their face and clothes, I just get tired.

Similarly, I have no interest in looking at myself in a mirror for SIX FUCKING HOURS, THREE OF WHICH ARE ON THIS RAINY, COLD, WET MORNING WHEN I SHOULD STILL BE IN BED WITH MY DAVID.

Gah.

We're watching a zombie movie. Or David is. I find the concept of zombies interesting.

When I lived out in the sticks, I was never afraid of zombies. To me, movies like Resident Evil reinforced my ideas about the stupidity of urban existence in the event of a disease outbreak, but didn't frighten me on any deep emotional level.

But, when I hear people turning over trash cans outside the window at three a.m. it reminds me that there is a little but a pane of glass and some social convention separating them from me. When I leave early in the morning, the street is dotted with random, stumbling people who from across the street are right out of 28 Days Later. When I'm on a bus, I feel very clearly the press of everyone's collective germs being on every surface.

Zombies are an urban fear. They are fear of plague, fear of the insane and homeless, fear of being set upon by shambling, incoherent, rotting hordes. I've seen dead people who have died violently, and they look nothing like zombies in movies. Zombies a la 28 Days Later look like the homeless insane. Resident Evil zombies seem to be more about a fear of infection, disease, distrust of the corporate structure.

Now that I live in the city, I get it.

The zombie mythos perfectly reflects the culture.

Ick.

It is now election time, and I am a scared and trembly little Gowan, which does not help me solder.

So I do hope everyone is voting, please. I think the only way to ensure that the Conservative owned voting machines actually report anything correctly is to have such an overwhelming landslide for Obama that trying to shave votes off the edges won't work.

....I'm all nervous.



...EEP.

Haaaaapppppppeeeeeeee Biiiiirthday, you are my Davvvviiiidd, and it is your biiiirthday, and I loooovvvveeeessss youuuuuuuuuuuu!


(spastic dance time)


That is all.

As I was walking from a studio up to the main school some yokels in an SUV leaned out their window and aggressively cat called at me. I am not a tolerant little Gowan and do not like being cat called at. So, I flipped him off and yelled something to the effect of hoping he got his dick broken off in his grandmother's asshole.
I looked around and saw the admissions officer, Devon Simpson, was just coming out of a building and had witnessed this. Before I could start apologizing, she said; "I swear to god, all men have terminal brain damage. No one has ever gotten a girl that way. It's like sticking your finger in a light socket repeatedly. Fucking idiots." I said; "I want a rocket launcher. Devon, will the school buy me a rocket launcher?" She said, "I'll look into it. We might have to hold a bake sale." We commiserated about idiotic men in big cars, (she made the penis size joke, not me) and then went on our way.

In conclusion, my school is awesome.

Maybe I can actually get them to deliver on that rocket launcher. Little bits of burning asshole and car parts raining down on the road is such a lovely image.



Now I am going to eat some soup.

I just went over my schedule, and it looks like I will be done with school in Spring of 2012.

That is a lot of school.

And then when I get out, I'll have about four months of a life, and then the world will end.

I think I'm depressed.


In the meantime, I think because it's cold out, I have an almost irrepressible urge to make things out of wool. I found myself thinking about a nice stitch to edge a blanket with on the bus this morning.

I want a sheep. And to go home. And to be asleep some more.

There are a bunch of things I should be doing, but I feel totally uninspired. I don't feel sick like I did before I got treated- just exhausted. I actually feel better, but I can feel my body processing all this stuff and I seem to need roughly four times the sleep of a normal healthy human.

I'm so homesick. My mother was talking to me on the phone the other day, and casually said "oh, I have all this chard seed to send you... oh, wait." Yeah. I live in a cement world. And the dirt that there is has lots of pee in it.

I had an interesting experience this morning. From the stairs of the loft you can see through the venetian blinds, and you can hear like you're on the street. There was a gaggle of people on our corner blocking our door with their shopping cart, including a loud and bad tempered sounding man. As I walked down the stairs he must have heard my boots because he suddenly turned around and began trying to peer through the blinds. It was a very exposed feeling. I remember when I felt fine walking around my house naked.

I have to go to class. I don't feel like it. Mostly, I feel like sleeping, and also have this building desire to run, a lot. Stupid shin splints. Stupid not having a sheep. Stupid not being able to grow things. Stupid not having any privacy.


I kind of want to cry. 

R.I.P Snake 2007-2008
She had a slight genetic defect in her jaw, which is actually pretty common, modern life being what it is. As she got older it seemed to get worse, and she had repeated problems with it while swallowing food. While eating a mouse she tore some skin in her mouth, and got a horrific infection that I just could not beat, despite repeated cleanings of the site and treating her with antibiotics, which was an ordeal in of itself, thankfully that I was able to do while David was out. She died a few hours ago, somewhat ironically while David and I were agonizing in discussion over whether or not to euthanize her. It's funny how tough snakes are as adults and how delicate they are as babies. And they really do have to be perfect to live, natural selection does not get cheated.

I'm sad. I've never had a snake die in my care before. I keep going over everything, and I can't think of anything I did wrong, but I still feel like shit. She could have lived forty years and grown to be eight feet long.


I think part of the reason I'm so sad is that all the snakes that I worked with as a volunteer were in some way or another beat up, whether from mal-nutrition or disease or injury. I know that the reason I wasn't personally caring for snakes that died is that they were destroyed by the animal shelter if they were in too rough of shape, but we brought back a lot of snakes from really awful injuries- one royal python had 3rd degree burns on his entire stomach, which were infected, and he lived and is a perfectly healthy pet and snake ambassador in the Bay and visits schools. But, he was an adult and didn't have a pre-existing defect.

I just feel like I should be the perfect snake owner, as a rescue worker. I hate it when people are irresponsible with their animals, and I don't think I was- but sometimes they still get sick and die and there's nothing you can do.

Poor little snake. May the mice be slow and the sun be warm wherever you go next.

Sick. Sick, sick.


Sniff.


Hate.


Sniff.

I think I have been infected with someone's filthy, filthy, awful germs. From their filthy, filthy, awful little body.


I hate public transportation. People are so fucking gross. Breathing on me with their foul, germ laden breath, touching things with their filthy little handses, compromising the integrity of my immune system, I want all you fuckers to die horrible, hacking, coughing deaths.


Whoever thought putting so many people in proximity to each other was a good idea deserves to have a fistful of fish hooks crammed up their puckered little asshole followed by a quart of battery acid.

I feel contaminated.

In other news, I think I might be sick. Ever since moving to the city, I get sick more often. I have a rural immune system. I am immune to the specific bugs of my region. Not to EVERYONE'S freaking bacteria.

I will drink some tea and be fine. It's more that I feel personally offended than anything else. Like my personal space has been invaded by... I won't start again.

I like school. I am reading a lot of Foucault.  This is not helping my feelings toward people in general, but does give me a bit of a happy. I have half-formulated ideas about his writing swirling about in my head that maybe I will write about later. He seems so defeatist to me, even when I see his logic. We're all trapped by the system, and even when we conceive of freedom, we just add another layer. Sure, I see this very clearly. I would love to escape from the city, and be able to live a life with as little interference in my personal shit and as little bullshit as possible, which to me makes buying some land and having a small studio and farm sound amazing. However, to achieve that, I plug into the system, go to school, build a skill-set, get into debt... to achieve what is really a very capitalist dream. So, yes. Absolutely. But, what then? If we're just fucked, should we all just relax about it? That's depressing. I see how he's very clever, but I kind of resent him for it.

Bleh. I need to read far more and have more thinking time before I make any real decision about how I feel about all of it.

Someone smart give me their opinion?


Also, David and I turned the living room into some kind of strange Japanese/Middle Eastern fusion hookah lounge, since we both realized that we hate couches, like pillows, and that really, we would be happier people and have more space if we got rid of the furniture and instead filled the living room with pillows and candles. It's ridiculous, but far more comfortable. Artemis loves it. 

I am generally a happy little Gowan. Other than the potential illness. Which, if it continues, will probably lead to me brutally slaughtering every single person on my morning bus commute. People. I hates them.

So, I'm beginning to hallucinate.


Sleep helps with the sanity.



The only time I ever post on here is when I'm high on sleep dep.





I think I'll go buy yogurt. That's a reasonable thing to do at 8a.m.

4 a.m.


again.


the problem with insomnia like this is i can't seem to do anything. i never feel awake. i'm usually pissed off. i'm not getting much done. i feel and look like shit.

i'm beginning to think this might be more physical than mental. even if i'm in a great mood i can't sleep. i just lie awake thinking and thinking and thinking... taking david's cow killing muscle relaxers only make me awake and stupid and sick.

soon school will start. summer is just about over, other than the fuel soaked crazy chaos of burningman... summer is over, and i didn't get in a river once. a waterfall, but that doesn't count, as i was still wearing clothes at the time.

i feel so dirty. *someone just turned the trashcan over and it was LOUD*

yep. dirty. the shower water feels scuzzy. i feel sweaty.

for some reason i've been thinking of captain hiller all day. he was a WWII captain, who lived alone in a tiny cabin down the road from my family's house. (after his death it was souped up by some relater and fitted with a sign that said "captain's cabin." within my lifetime i've watched the land in my home town all be bought, gutted, and re-sold to people who have nothing to do with us. using captain hiller as a kitch selling point is only a very obvious example of why if i ever move back there, i will bring explosives with me.)
at any rate. he had a beautiful garden. he grew flowers. he had a big ship's bell he let me ring. he told me about geography and the evils of war and showed me how to tie knots.

he died of cancer, and for the last year of his life he couldn't keep any food down except my mother's custard, which i would make with her every four days in my great-grandmother's ramekins, and i would carry down to him. he would eat them a quarter at a time, slowly. i remember his feet swelled up horrifically. he left me his cap-flash when he died. i think not sleeping brings up odd, confused memories. i've been thinking about carrying a tray of custard down the road and being totally, completely focused on every step, trying not to tip the heavy tray.

it's funny that in the city you're pressed up against people constantly, but also very isolated. people living feet from each other don't speak, and certainly don't just walk into each other's houses like at home.


ugh. blank. blankblankblank.

i miss my dog. i'm tired of feeling whiny.

i hate my brain.

oh, what fun i am having.

cheapest hallucinogen ever.


fuck.





fuck.





...my brain is bad to me.

David is wonderful.








*this statement has been made of my own free will and under no duress.




**kinda

I am happy and busy. I bought a really, really pretty corset, stripped off a bunch of the lace and unnecessary shit, and sewed in the fur of dead bunnies. It is hot.

I'm making armored covers for my boots out of hammered copper with a  black patina and lining them with the same dead bunnies, and making a scale mail bikini, and making David hammered arm bracers, and generally having a grand old time.

Burning Man will soon be here. I will be hot. Yes.


I am excited. I will post pics (maybe) when things are done.


YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAY!!!!!!