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Sunday, February 7th, 2010

Time:12:09 am.
To tell the truth, I have a "real life friend" on Facebook whose common relationship with a livejournal-er inspired me to unlock these vaults. Recently I saw someone reply to one of his photos/posts, and that person was the "reason" I started a livejournal in the first place. I remember when I was just browsing the internet one day and ran across this person somehow. For months I would read his entries (public and brave) with interest and common fascination. Eventually I decided to start writing too and then began to share my life with others lives. I was so in love and felt a real passion for the connections I was making, that many of the livejournal friends I made became very, very real to me. Life is strange. Indeed.
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Time:12:03 am.
+ Oh, wow. Spent hours tonight re-visiting my livejournal accounts (and actually re-reading some entries here (and at "darlingxbutton" that  I wrote from the past), and it was a flood of emotions, fascination and non-regrets. I forget how I somehow became very entangled with some of these "strangers" lives, almost in an intimate way (as psychology and history allows). Livejournal, at one point, was a vital part of my life, as "vital" as any other writing/sharing experience can be. Seeing where people are now (and reading all of their older entries), I felt like I was about to explode from something I never knew was there all along. I don't think I realized until re-visiting "old friends" that they were friends all along.  I think my recent (well, not really "recent") forays into blogging and journaling and life-changes brought back a similar feeling of what I had whenI was livejournaling. I forget that community and family can come in so many different forms.  For that, I am grateful.

Thank you, livejournal. Thank you, friends.

- isom
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Friday, March 10th, 2006

Time:5:24 am.
+ Looking at Nellena, I can't imagine that feeling of something moving inside me, growing and swimming in that magic. My niece is all wrapped by skin, bone and slime right now, but I can clearly see her. Slick grub between her fingers, sucking on her carrot thumb, hair matted in red curls with freckles splattered across her dim face, eyes closed but long blonde lashes swaying with the pulse of two hearts, that small nose smelling living muscle and dank air, her crown pointed to the door and feet dancing with tiny ballerina toes fidgeting for the big dance. I can't wait until April 5th. Maybe I won't have to. I know I'll have a lifetime to see her, but for now she's all wrapped up.

nellena & gracie * 3/7/06 * less than a month to go
1 | ¤ ¤ ¤

Wednesday, March 8th, 2006

Subject:breaking news?
Time:9:28 am.
I know this isn't really news, but... give a girl her props.

Just on cnn.com (March 8, 2006, 9:30 a.m.)


Roman Catholic archdiocese of Dublin report says 102 priests are suspected of sexually or physically abusing at least 350 children since 1940, The Associated Press reports.


Yes, breaking news?!!?

On October 3, 1992 Sinead appeared on Saturday Night Live with a Rasta prayer cloth wrapped around the microphone and sang an impassioned acapella version of War by Bob Marley, in which she altered the lyrics to make reference to child abuse. After crying ‘fight the real enemy’ she then tore up a picture of Pope John Paul II. This controversial gesture was her protest against the Catholic patriarchy’s contribution to the oppressive culture of silence that in turn lead to the child abuse scandals which were to rock America and her native Ireland.

For all those who decided to smash their I Do Not Want What I Haven't Got cds in showy protests, etc. shame on you. Shame on you.
2 | ¤ ¤ ¤

Friday, December 23rd, 2005

Time:1:11 am.

+ There and not there at all.

<3 isomxchad
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Friday, December 9th, 2005

Time:1:23 pm.
+ The day is full of cold, cold air. At the busstop today, hat and scarf covered, my breath was breaking through and surrounding my face like a second layer mask. I thought for sure it was going to freeze all around my head and become a kind of helmet. I could use a helmet nowadays, but not an icy, opaque one. My eyes would become icecubes, I'd take off my helmet and my frozen eyeballs would plop right out and roll like cold marbles down the street. Wow, I remember writing a few months ago about how the humidity was swelling my curls and suffocating me, but now the air here in Arkansas is going to entomb me. Still I prefer the bundling up than the stripping down. Summer, you were cruel torcher. You weren't invited. Winter, what a masochistic tease. Come on over.

Yr invited,
4 | ¤ ¤ ¤

Thursday, December 8th, 2005

Time:11:20 am.
+ Today I predict empty envelopes, rushing molasses-like through the minutes and sheets of ice on my street as I slip uphill to and from work. Waiting has always been my strength. Age 10 and coming home to a door locked and not knowing where my parents or sister were, I waited on that stoop for two hours thinking about car crashes and suitcases packed, then thinking about nothing and pulling my hair out strand by strand and staring at the roots, thinking about pulling out grass blades for house walls on the playground. Fingers were wet and brown but busy. Age 14 after basketball practice and it getting dark hours after until they came to pick me up hiding in a corner. Patience I wouldn't call it, rather a weaving mind tracing school-house mortar. That's how I kept time. Age 23 and waiting at the airports, trainstations and busstops for scheduled arrivals and departures that never matched their or my itineraries. My bags kept me company, bags that I packed in seconds but sat for hours. Age 28 after desperate calls that I couldn't make it and needed his help, I counted the minutes of a seven hour car ride until he came. I counted the minutes backwards seven hours until I made it home. I left 30 days later, nothing gained, nothing learned. Now age 32 I'm so accustomed to waiting that it's become a weight or an anvil, like I know nothing else. It's always the same. I'm waiting for some things I know and some things that remain unveiled like a gift or a cannon. Nothing great. Nothing bad. I'll never know. That is the thrill and the ennui of waiting. They say the days are getting shorter. I say how long they've become.

x. i.
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Wednesday, November 9th, 2005

Time:2:14 am.
) I wanted to write something tonight. I rehearsed it in my head all day. It was silly. It was nothing/important. And I just don't care anymore.
2 | ¤ ¤ ¤

Sunday, September 25th, 2005

Time:1:03 am.
the meme, of some kind of interest, i guess.

LJ Interests meme results

  • björk:
    weird music box. smart like a backwards map and inverted heart. i don't always get her, but that's the affinity.
  • dresden:
    my now cremated cat i had for five years (living). loyal as fleas. also a beautiful, although charred city when i visited it.
  • graz:
    green green hills of "heim" / many years spent stumbling on sturm through these streets, in the cellar bars, perfecting my austrian accent, of course.
  • johnny cash:
    creepy, gothic country figure. he sounds like oak soaked in biblical bourbon.
  • michelle shocked:
    the original punk-folker. she gives 'em a run for (their) money, although like most of my old faves, has seemed to chill over the years.
  • pansy division:
    queer pop punkers. when i saw them in school and the tall one tried to deep throat a coke can on stage i almost gagged while i was dancing.
  • same oh:
    a wonder-full word lj-community that frees up words to write themselves. it's almost too easy. too fun.
  • the aluminium group:
    electro-chamber folk duo. i haven't really listened to them regularly in a while, but i always go back to "that fossil you call a lover" for sinister smiles.
  • tom waits:
    gravel, grave-folk. i like how he credits his wife on nearly every song. also, _bone machine_ is one of my top albums ever.
  • written on the body:
    jeanette winterson is a genius. the words in this book amaze, twist until the end when you wake up and say, "god damn."

  • duh. isom.

    Enter your LJ user name, and 10 interests will be selected from your interest list.

    1 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Saturday, September 24th, 2005

    Subject:back attack
    Time:11:45 am.
    + Whoa, the week flashes by. Mostly work-washed and exhausted, I've been on the run most of the time. It seems as soon as I get home I crawl in my bed for a nap and wake up in the morning with my sheets wrapped like heavy sea-weed arond me. Every morning that I wake up I've had this strang pain in my back, like my spine twisted and a thick block all the way across. It slowly disappears as I move around, but it's really weird and concerns me. It could be my heavy bag that I carry around the city. It could be a crappy matress. It could be latent worry and angst gripping me during sleep. Maybe after the weekend it will be gone. After all, we were getting down some huge boxes for Sae at work and Dustin let it slip (or it shifted) and fell smack on head. It bounced on my head, popping me like an arcade weasel, and then my ears were ringing. Several minutes later my lower back was hurting. I assumed it quickly compressed my spine like a squashed slinky. And here I am now with a sore back. Go figure. I thought it would go away. I thought it was nothing.

    x. i.
    3 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Saturday, September 10th, 2005

    Time:12:41 am.
    + For the last five days I've seen this fallen, dead bird, palm-sized and puffy, on the sidewalk as I've walked to the bus. With my headphones on and in a rush to get to the bus-stop, I've simply noticed it on my way, how perfectly sound it was as it was framed by trails of tiny, traveling dots. I didn't pay much attention. After all, it was just another dead thing. During the daytime I've mostly seen it, the sun of September so bright and hot I'm sure the bird was cooking on the concrete as the sun was cooking me. Tonight, walking home at midnight on the same sidewalk, I was feeling a cool breeze as I stepped home on my usual way, but now in the dark, moonlit. When I got to the spot where the bird was I swear I saw in the shadows a wing twitch upward and the swollen body slightly twist. As if it was coming alive. As if it was never dead but merely resting. As if that breeze was breath. I stopped and stared at the poor thing, for the first time this week, and watched it carefully as the feathers lifted slightly then stopped. Then lifted again. Nothing else. No miracles. No dramatic Lazurus rising. After a bit, I continued my walk, thinking about what I saw, and hoped that in the morning, under the sun, I would get to that place where the bird had rested and it would be gone. I imagined it still blood-matted, wing-torn and pest-infested, but drifting off under the cold moon and gone. Tomorrow the sidewalk will not be the same.

    4 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Saturday, September 3rd, 2005

    Time:11:47 pm.
    + My vacation ends tomorrow and I head back to Little Rock with my wheels to asphalt (meaning a lot to do right away). Through this vacation I have really relaxed, de-stressed and gotten in touch with some things that I had forgotten and only a good family can remind someone like me of again. My health, physically and spiritually, is very important and nothing to take for granted. God, I feel so good right now, very calm and awake. I only hope that I can keep this up once I get back home (it's wierd writing "home" b/c I don't really consider it that). I think about how we set things in motion, sometimes years ahead of when it comes full, sometimes weeks or even seconds before it becomes real and pattern. Hopefully these last two weeks have been enough to mix the mortar. I have stones to set. xo. isom chad

    + Ransom.Collapse )
    10 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Subject:At August's End (mix)
    Time:1:06 am.


    1. Kathleen Edwards_"Pink Emerson Radio"
    2. Sufjan Stevens_"Godbird"
    3. Joanna Newsom_"Sadie"
    4. Indigo Girls_"Get Out the Map (live)"
    5. September 67_"Lucky Shoe"
    6. Belle & Sebastian_"The State I am In"
    7. Death Cab for Cutie_"Bend to Squares"
    8. Arab Strap_"The Shy Retirer"
    9. Ballboy_"Olympic Cyclist (live)"
    10. Camera Obscura_"Books Written for Girls (synonym remix)"
    11. Isobel Campbell_"Monologue for an Old True Love"
    12. September 67_"Fire Engine Red"
    13. The Decemberists_"July, July!"
    14. Camera Obscura_"Anti-Western"
    15. Sufjan Stevens_"For the Widows in Paradise, For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti"
    16. September 67_"Little Lantern Face"
    17. Kathleen Edwards_"Back to Me"
    18. Amy Ray_"Rodeo"

    + Free copies while they last. Give me a shout or whisper if inclined.Collapse )
    20 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Thursday, September 1st, 2005

    Time:7:07 am.
    Mood:waking up.
    + Waking up, going to sit in the hot tub and watch morning news and think about how nice it would be to have a week off every month. How nice it would be to soak in a calm swirl daily. How nice it would be to set one's own pace each second of each day. How nice it would be to wake up every morning with a clean stomach, clear head and open heart.

    How nice it will be, I think.

    surviving aeroquip

    Isom Chad

    (add me if yr on myspace, if you wanna...)
    6 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Subject:Vacation Update.
    Time:1:12 am.
    + It's the middle of my long vacation and I've been keeping my realjounal very full of ideas and scratches. Wow, what a healthy, relaxing break I'm having. Sleep, food, music, sun (yes, I'm even finding *that* friendly) and, above all, stress free. I've mostly been reading some books, going through guitar books, learning new songs/tricks, and watching loads of TV (Rome! Kathy Griffin! Dodgeball! Dead Like Me! Katrina!) Oh, and I'm enjoying some little chores around my parents' house (where I'm vacationing) like mowing the lawn and fixing little things like dessert and doorways.

    Oh, I did chop off all my hair (that I'd been growing out (up) for the last year and a half), and it's taking some getting used to. I definitely have spent too much energy, time and emotion on growing it out (up), and I realize that now. Especially with this last summer of the Swelling, Sweaty Curl-Frizz-Fro. Oh, no more. And the cool heels of September are here. I took some new End of Summer pics to celebrate Fall. Yay. Hurrah. Fall!!!!!! In the Ozarks I can start to see it, but when I return to LR it may be a different story.

    Hrm. Tomorrow I'm going to try and make a mixtape out of the very ecelctic group of 10 cds I brought with me up here. Now, if I were one of these i-pod-ophiles I wouldn't have such worries, but we'll see what I can make out of this menagerie I've got. It will definitely be my "Les Vacances Mix" and memory trigger. What do I have in there? Hrm. Isobel Campbell, The Decemberists, Amy Ray, Death Cab for Cutie, Kathleen Edwards, Johanna Newsome, Belle & Sebastian, September 67, Camera Obscura, Indigo Girls (live w/ Sarah Waters), Arab Strap and Siddhartha (audio book). Doesn't sound so awful. After I finish my employee reviews (yes! a little work on vacation) I'll reward myself with a mixtape(cd). And I want to finish mowing the lawn (it's funny to see how many trees have survived my teenage years of mowing over half my father's orchard and yard seedlings). Then preggers Nellena and not-so-preggers Chuck are coming in for the weekend. Hurrah... Enough people for a proper Apples to Apples game.

    x. isom.

    PS. Look, you could see the leaves start to change today.Collapse )
    5 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005

    Subject:Dent or detail.
    Time:11:51 pm.
    + Ink Polaroid / *

    + I took this one through the bus window while it was drizzling outside. The bus had stopped to pick up a passenger right in front of a gas station converted into an autobody garage. The sky is grey, and the white building is small with little green potted plants where gas pumps used to be. Like the trim of the building the pots are randomly painted red, white and blue. The sign at the top of the little building reads "American Dent or Detail" in cheap, painted letters. Water from the hard rain before drains in strings from the lack of a roof gutter. By the lack of cars and turned-off lights, it looks like nobody is there, neither customer nor mechanic, for either dent or detail work. After I took the picture and the bus pulled off for the rest of the splashy ride, I kept thinking about dents and details. And much like that tiny, empty buidling, I started thinking about all the dents in my life and how those are the details that make me. I stare down at the scars on my hands, feel the bump in my nose, hear my heart and breath beating slightly off center, off beat, and know, as evident by that tiny, empty building with patriotic, potted plants, no mechanic or garage can or even needs to fix what is both body and spirit mine, dented and detailed mine.

    4 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Friday, August 19th, 2005

    Time:12:50 am.
    + I always assumed that LJ would be a safe place for me to muse, peruse and regurgitate, but not always.

    So, yesiree, "Friends Only" for the most part. Comment to be added, I guess.

    xo. isom

    by drew
    9 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Friday, August 12th, 2005

    Time:2:27 am.
    + Ink Polaroid / * * *

    I took this one in the Children's Department at my bookstore earlier tonight. Loren, the Children's bookseller, is sitting down at a small table (for tykes) with a little boy in a striped shirt who is standing up next to her. The boy came up to me and asked me if I could find his mom for him, because she must have "moved shelves" and he lost her, looking very serious for a five year old. Loren is nodding her head in the picture and the little boy is reciting his cell phone number and telling Loren that his mom's name is Blainesmith and she is tan with dark hair and just came back from Newjork. He looks calmer after I paged his mom. Loren has a stuffed unicorn in her hand that is all glittery white and looks like a lap dog. The little boy keeps staring at the unicorn while he talks and Loren is smiling. He must be thinking about his mom and the unicorn at the same time, smiling with his mouth half closed, worrying with his eyes half open. Loren the same.

    xxx isom
    1 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Wednesday, July 27th, 2005

    Time:6:19 pm.

    + 688 pages, bilingual collected Ingeborg Bachmann poems! Spitze!  I just found out today it comes out October 1st and can't wait. *yay* Ordered and awaiting... I already have the originals in German, from grad school, but I've never seen her poems translated, at least not by Filkins. And I get a twisted pleasure in seeing how people cross that translation tightrope. Having done it myself, painfully full of pleasure (or should that be pleasurably full of pain?), I know I'll enjoy this one. The hard thing will be to "get across" how Bachmann uses language from a German perspective. The English translation will have to be an art of its own, so hats off to Filkins for even attempting. Oh, can't wait...

    + Hunger in my cauldron, but I want Taco Bell or greasy cheese sticks or some value meal akin to battery acid! I am going to try to find something ulcer-friendly, but I would love to wash it down with something ulcer-not-so-friendly, like a Vino's Rainbow Wheat microbrew. Dern. I wish I could climb into my insides, rebuild the engine and varoom right out of this Ulcerville today. It's no fun, and I don't seem to want to cooperate. Well, off to enjoy the early evening, with stomach in tow, and see what rainy goblins I'll run into.

    x. <3
    1 | ¤ ¤ ¤

    Monday, July 18th, 2005

    Time:5:17 pm.
    Mood:left and leaving.
    yay! same_oh


    Some cages fail me, but words
    pale teal or turquoise-cheap
    fail me further. I prefer the
    salsa-red traps, gripping
    strings of baby coo melodies,
    those undecipherable noises,

    whether forget-me-nots or
    or faint murder lullabies
    I can't tell. Capture me
    but keep me guessing the
    grooves of the key, the song
    in it's twisting, splendid colors.
    ¤ ¤ ¤

    LiveJournal for (isom).

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