8:15 p.m. - 2001-06-21
(blah blah blah)
I saw yet another survey up on Chelsea's diary (http://welsey.diaryland.com), but I resisted the temptation to take it and post it. I am the epitome of self-control. I am goddess. All worship the Singing Camel, who might as yet be the only camel who does not use her heavenly mouth simply for spitting. Chelsea and I fed a camel camelfood the other day at the Custer St. Fair, and its lips were floppy. We resisted the urge to umlaut it, but climbing into its pen might have elicited both our arrests. Oh! A shameless plug. Go to my band's website, 'tis incredibly annoying and completely uninformative. To get to the members section, you have to click on the tiny square point at the top left of the main screen. No, this doesn't make any sense, thank you for asking. (www.geocities.com/umlauticamels/umlauticamels.html)

Here's what's been on my mind during the non-updating hours:

- the tangibiliy of love, to what extent it can be manipulated by the brain (head over heart)(can I do it?), the effectiveness of a 'distraction' (also known as 'replacement')(doesn't work) and is it possible to ever truly overcome your feelings for someone if they're sufficiently strong; you're afraid you will never have the same feelings with the same painful strength for anyone else, ever (I fear that you cannot) and how far one will go for love if driven to that point (surprisingly far).

- the possibility of the existence of a concept known commonly as 'unique', whether the fact that there is always at least one other person who has experienced, is experiencing, or will experience what you yourself are currently experiencing (is it a comfort to know there is no COMPLETE individuality, ever?) is a good thing, to never feel alone? or is the drive to be a human island too strong to ever overcome the need to rise above the masses? And why?

- how fucked up am I? And do I want to be less fucked up so I'm not so tormented all the time, or more fucked up so I can document it and be seen, perhaps, as brilliant? We all know that the truly brilliant among us are almost always partially or fully insane. How high of a price is insanity to pay for brilliance?

(I have just finished reading 'A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius' by Dave Eggers. Quite possibly on my top five books list. Must-read. Go out and get it, NOW.)

(But these musings don't come from the book, they are really what I've been thinking about, in fancy language.)

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