i should be ashamed of the content of this Blog

I needed to stop listening to love songs. They had the potential to cause a lot more harm than I had previously realized. They're like horoscopes, applying broadly to a lot of different things in life.

Example: "We drove in silence across Pont Champlain and all of that time you thought I was sad"-Your Ex-Lover Is Dead by Stars.

Oh my god, don't know where Pont Champlain is, but it's like that one time, at turnabout, when I offended Max by repetitively asking him if he was sad because he was being so quiet. And OH MY GOSH!

No, stop. Right now. This is dumb.

The thing is, your life is chock full of little memories. It's exciting to relive them, especially the ones that you associate with happiness, e.g. past love. Unfortunately, they're no closer to happening again than you are to be reborn a butterfly (wishful thinking? or dumb thinking. butterflies are heavily predated upon). Little memories completely mess up life, especially when you spend all of your time listening to music. Music can be as good at bringing up memories as smell (this is a made up statistic).

But still. You can remember the way you felt when listening to a song, just like lyrics you just started listening to can remind you of the way you used to be in love. And it's so darn convincing. I don't know if people singing something makes it more persuasive, or if poetry in general attempts to draw connections to everyone's life so that it can be more accepted. But whatever, what I'm trying to say is music makes me a lot more emotional than I'd like to be. Especially the indie crap they force onto the O.C. soundtracks (see above, Your Ex-Lover Is Dead by Stars*). And considering I listen to music every hour that I am awake, it's safe to say I'm much more emotional than I should be.

I'd like to be unbiased and rational when trying to decide if I'm in love with someone. Sadly, even if I believe I'm being logical, feelings will always outweigh logic. I can't, and I refuse, to step back, and make this judgment without emotional bias. I suppose I could pop anti-depressants like pez until I felt nothing at all, and then maybe I could recognize that I am definitely not in love with (censored). And actually, that's a good idea. I wonder if I could fake realistic depression...

*emo*

Pygopodidae

Indiana Jones might have benefited from majoring in Biology instead of Archaeology. Why, you might ask, is this relevant? And how, you might eventually wonder, would this change anything?

Well, in Raiders of the Lost Ark, Indy has to enter a tomb in the Egyptian desert. Lining the ground are snakes. However, closer inspection would actually reveal that the majority of reptiles protecting the crypt are not even snakes. They are lizards, of the legless variety.

So Indiana's freak-out session was hardly warranted. And engulfing the poor lizards in flames? Not necessary.

Marine Biology and the ORANGE PURPLE WORM THING!

The net was laying in my Vera Bradley school bag. My breakfast had completed itself relatively quickly, and I now had ample time to walk down to the second floor of Olin and return the net I had "borrowed" to clean Flip-Turn's tank. The iPod rarely ever listened to was powering my morning jaunts. I was in an exceptionally good mood. The phrase, "I'm in love and I want everyone to know it!" Kept ringing in my ears, so fervently, so realistically, that I expected the world around me to transform into a musical at anytime. Everything felt so good, it was a beautiful day, with wet snow clinging fiercely to trees, and raining down like tufts of powdered sugar whenever the wind blew a little too hard. It was too early for any classes to be in session, so I met no one as I walked into the building and down the stairs.

I had recently decided to be a marine biologist, and as I looked around Olin, the main biology building, I thought about all the classes I would be taking there. There was a huge wall full of stuffed birds from around the world. There was always one really amusing one, posed to lay on its side, with slightly webbed feet. It looked so relaxed. "That is clearly an aquatic bird" I thought, and pointed at it, as if it would crack a joke, or start tap-dancing or something. The wall directly across it held posters with experiment results and the Biology t-shirt, which said, "We do it like they do on the Discovery Channel". I thought majoring in biology alone would be worth that shirt. It was so catchy, so funny, so relevant. I turned the corner.

There was a janitor's cart in the hallway, and I quickly ducked in to my lab room to avoid being seen and getting asked potentially awkward questions. I moved to the far side of the room where I had originally picked up the net and placed it delicately on a prong. There were two large tubs of salt water that contained differing types of marine creatures. Glancing over them quickly, I noticed a large group of feather dusters that I hadn't noticed the last time we had been in the classroom. I ducked down to get a better look so that I was on eye-level with them.

Feather dusters are sessile marine worms. They belong to the group Polychaete. They have fleshy extensions called parapodia which they stick out into the water, and when they feel something large connect with their feathery limbs, they quickly suck them in, capturing, or potentially avoiding, whatever had caused the disturbance. In the wild, feather dusters are the main attraction for really dumb snorkelers and scuba divers who are more amused by what they can control in coral reefs than the amazing amount of biodiversity.

Regardless, I was a fan of the Polychaetes, no matter how annoyed I got by people playing with them. Fantasizing about a life as a marine biologist, my mind briefly drifted. Considering the number of children who wanted to be marine biologists, it was probably the number one dream profession, knocking Astronaut to number two on the list. Yet no one I knew was a marine biologist (though I did live in the midwest). It was almost unnattainable. But yet here, at this school, in the middle of nowhere, I could become one. If I just stuck it out, and didn't pay attention to my mom complain about how much money I might one day make, I could live my dream.

My eyes drifted down. And there it was. As if it had been waiting for me. It was like something from a bad dream. Never seeing it before, I wondered potentially if I was still sleeping. Surely this was something so grotesque only my unconscious mind could have made it up. And indeed, it looked rather like the hallucigenia creature found to have existed during the Cambrian explosion, walking on the ocean floor with spines extending from its body.

It was a rather horrific animal. I screamed. It was purple and orange and scrunched up and down like a caterpillar. And it was large, about the size of a toothpaste container. Also, despite there being a wall of glass containing it, it appeared to be right in front of my face. And I'd be damned if I had to dream about it the following night.

I shot out of that room as quickly as I could. I would've continued my run across the hallway, if I hadn't perceptively noticed someone watching me, potentially wondering where a loud scream had originated at 8:3o in the morning. I gathered my wits, and resorted to power walking to my first class.

Worst of all, I couldn't even think of what KIND of thing that horrific thing was.
Maybe marine biology wasn't for me after all.

Published

I had a class dinner. I was excited. I hadn't even warmed down, and my body was still pulsing from the last all out swim I had done. Snow was slowly accumulating on everything, and I watched my step as I trekked up the hill. There were strangers everywhere. A whole coach bus came carrying old people. It stopped within my sight to ask a dude walking in front of me where Frank Dining Hall was. It was, of course, the nearest building to them, but they were strangers, so I didn't expect them to know from the big windows and Colgate Dining Service Buses parked outside that Frank Dining Hall was Frank Dining Hall. I continued my walk. I didn't want to be late, and I had this sort of pent up giddiness in my system. I was excited to put lotion on my dry skin and get relatively dressed up. There were more strangers, exploring the campus on what people called, "tours". They made me want to hide whenever they were present. I didn't want people to examine me and add me to a list of reasons why this school was good or bad for them.

Reaching the apex of the hill I noticed a car pulled right outside of my dorm. Another stranger? I wondered. A young man, probably a college student, got out and ran towards one of the academic buildings, carrying a stack of some sort. Maybe he was delivering a paper right before deadline on this Thursday night. He ran back to his car. I fiddled with my Zune. He reappeared, and ran into East. I was close enough to realize that he was holding newspapers. My heart raced, then paused. I never heard back about my editorial, so I assumed it hadn't been published. Sad, because I had spent time on it, but I was also content that it would never reach the press. I didn't want anyone to be offended by what I wrote, and I definitely didn't want to inspire anger or dissatisfaction in people against me. So maybe it was good that it wasn't published.

I walked into East, and ran dangerously close into the young man. He was hustling, perhaps in a hurry to get them all delivered by a certain time. Our eyes connected. I thought he was attractive. I would've grabbed a paper from him, but he was moving really quickly, and I didn't want to make any awkward movements. Of course, if I was correct, there was more than one newspaper settling location in East hall, and as I walked around the corner, I saw a nice stack of them lying above a radiator. I took the top one, and began scrolling through the fresh warm pages as I walked upstairs to my room. I wanted to get through the whole newspaper without seeing my name. But as I was outside my door, I found it. "The Unfortunate Power of Words", in big bold letters, and above the first column in a small font, "By Elora Apantaku", and in smaller letters still, "Class of 2011".

I promptly did a 180, and, seeing Sasso's door open yelled, "Sasso! I got published!" My voice much giddier than I had anticipated. I bounded over to his door, finding Kayla, naturally, on his bed with him. "I got published! I'm so nervous! Ah! This is horrible!" Their faces both showed congratulations and confusion, but I had no time to explain, I had a dinner to get to.

Standing in my room, tossing on clothes, and pouring lotion over my cracking skin, then make-up all over my face, Kayla walked in, and hugged me, complimenting my article. Yet that meant nothing, for it was Kayla, and she would compliment me on anything, truly.

Sasso also said it was well-written. I figured, coming from an actual journalist, I must've done a good job. I was then satisfied. I couldn't believe it. Smiling as I put on make-up. In one week, I had gotten a paying job working with rats and had written something of high enough caliber to get published. Was the quality of my life getting better? Because I was thinking and had free time? Who knew. But my smile didn't go away, and I was still jittery, be it from swim practice, or instant fame, when I walked outside to go to dinner.

This Is

hmm, i consider myself pretty open. but i don't really know if there are many interesting things about me. i don't have a boyfriend. my facebook says i'm bisexual, but that's questionable. i'm only half black. i sleep with my teddy bear usually. i don't like swimming cause i think the coach is CRAZY. i like the color orange. i've only gotten to first base, but i've gotten their with 9 different people, which is a frightening statistic. i'm a pretty socially liberal person, so i don't believe the government should tell us what to do. my first semester grades were AWFUL. oh, and generally, i'm really really quiet and shy. ask anyone. it's true. really quiet. haha. Um....... that's all i could think of.

Collection of Quotes

"I talk to friends to affirm that what I'm doing, and what I think, is right. This is why diversity among the people close to you is important, if occasionally it is a hindrance."

"The more I learn about what America does, the more I hate it. Yet the more that I learn of American people, the more I love them."

"People who view life in absolutes are missing out on it."

"To believe that people think in bold terms, as in, all people who are like this think this because of this, is to deny them the ability to be creative, to deny yourself the ability to understand the minute nuances that construct the brilliance behind the human mind."

"There is a small window where hypoglycemia becomes an aid to higher level thinking and creativity."

"200 mg of Motrin does not equal a bong hit."

"Humans are complex. The human mind drives this, and its own complexity goes unrivaled against everything in the known universe. That it is built by simple chemical structures such as nucleotides makes this even more of a miracle."

Ode to Flip-Turn (Cont'd)

Flip-Turn looked rather content to have his tank clean. It seemed as if I had never seen his tank so clear before in my memory, because it had been at least a month since I had properly changed his water. He was content to relax, not having to force himself to the surface to gulp air because the concentration of oxygen was so high in the cool, pure water. Nor were his gill slits inflamed in red, denoting increased blood flow, in an attempt to get more gas exchange going. I had the pleasure of observing him in clean water once more. He had little projections on his nose, on either side of his head, which made him look like he had tiny spectacles on at some angles. Likewise, his eyes had the ability of moving seperately from each other, like a chameleon, which happened whenever he opened his mouth in a peculiar fashion. And his eyes... with no irises, they were like seemingly empty pits. He had five ventral fins which he used to brake, or back up. And all the time he shimmered like a new penny, but with more of a yellow tinge.

Ode to Flip-Turn

Flip-Turn was getting old. After I cleaned his tank, I could tell that he was suffering from Koi-like discoloration. Maybe he actually was a Koi. Maybe he'd transform slowly into one of those pond giants. People kept telling me how fat he looked, which I took as a sign of offense. How would somebody like them if I told them there child was fat? Physical violence would probably ensue. But I was proud of him for growing so big. He was strong, and I was taking good care of him.

As I transfered him in his little net into his home, I noticed how he laid so placid in the net, calmly opening his mouth, trying to force air into his gills. Months before, he would've been lending homage to his name by literally flipping out of the net, giving me a heart attack. But today he just lay still, like a little, 5 oz., baby.

It was official. I was going to name my girl child, if I had one, Aurelia, which meant Golden in Latin, for my best friend ever. I mean, that's not too weird. I have friends named after dogs.

The common goldfish became a popular pet around the world due to their hardy nature. They are hardier than fancy goldfish and are able to live in a variety of conditions ranging from indoor aquariums to outdoor ponds. Common goldfish can withstand fluctuations in water quality and temperature. They are also easy to breed. If well cared for, common goldfish can live up to 10 years or more in captivity.

Heart (Th)rob

Is it bad that while listening to Death Cab for Cutie's "I Will Possess Your Heart" I thought of that scene in Indiana Jones where the Indian guy in the mine was all like, "KALIMA!"

That still remains one of my favorite lines from a movie. Along with, "Soylent Green is PEOPLE!"

Conflict # 2: Dissatisfaction with Life

I realized, too late of course, that I wanted to get out. There was nothing wrong with my life. But I couldn't live like this forever. If I was to be pushed, I might as well be pushed by the things and people I loved. There was no sense in me being controlled by things that felt no compassion.1

What fueled this? I saw an ad on youtube for free scholarship to a film school by creating a film under the theme, what matters to you? Did anyone ask me what I wanted to do? If so, I would've been taking a gap year. My parents knew what was best for me, of course, but couldn't I just, for once, do something that was spectacularly unreasonable? That was worthy of a movie, perchance?

I didn't want to spend the next four years of my life, hoping to get good classes where I enjoyed learning, because I wouldn't try to get good marks out of boring lecture halls. And I sure as hell didn't want to spend time the best years of my life in grad school, further minimizing my relation with the real world, as we all called it. My parents told me I had to invest in grad school, and I realized that I could live the rest of my life in their little monetary cocoon they weaved for all of their children. But I was ungrateful for this.

At eighteen, I had accomplished relatively little, but motivate my mom to buy a ton of unnecessary medals from my few amazing swims that she had so built up in her mind to make it seem like I was some kind of champion. When I was younger, I had always been considered intelligent, but with age, when we had to acquire knowledge, I got bored with learning about things that didn't directly concern me.

At eighteen, the only thing that made me happy, was myself. Occasionally colors would brighten my day, and I would stumble upon some infantile ecstasy. But everyday when I woke up, and proceeded through my day, utterly alone, all I had was my mind, and my eyes, which were failing through some fluke of an auto-immune disease. And my mind, oh, how I could talk about the impermanences of it. It was constantly changing its views. And one day, it would be gone.

And yet we were all happy with what was before us, weren't we? Or else we'd just quicken the trip and take our lives. There was something that was fueling me, that kept me from dying. But I had no idea what it was. Could it be the subconscious evaluation of the love people around me had for me? But I would never know, because this was an unconscious recollection. I feared it was something not as pleasant. It was probably my strong urge for a direction that kept me going. I couldn't believe that I had found it, at eighteen. Give it a couple more years, I commanded, and then, you'll see.

I was getting bored, waiting for the future, that was all. But it was coming, hopefully. And instead of wanting death, I feared it, in case it took away from me some future scene of utter happiness. I could only pray that I wasn't building it up too much.



1 Interesting side note, I felt these same things exactly four years ago in High School. I had turned in a homework assignment late for my honors english class, and instead of writing a simple explanation of why it had been late, like I was busy, or whatnot, I wrote the best essay I had ever written on how it feels to be insignificant. Did you know that there are 6.2 billion people in the world? An minute fraction of these people will probably love you, but does that even matter? What good is love for the broken dreams and egos of a young girl, who wanted to accomplish everything, and was taught that she could, only to realize that she was a failure? (I was failing physics at the time, so I was constantly bedraggled. I was also not a swimming superstar as I had envisioned, which made me feel like I was constantly being marginalized in the one thing I had been good at since I was 6).

Your First Kiss Was Your Greatest

why did we keep coming back?

Your name destroys my tact
plastered on walls, scribbled onto tape.

First, we should've moved on by now,
cosmo's time scale is way off for getting over,

and how many horrific kissers did i have to Kiss,
evidence that i, at first base, was a slut?

and still unable to remember something new,
because that summer Was that summer when you were

The only thing i wanted to remember.
how can i compare now with what remains, to this date, the

Greatest? how come to see your face, to hear
your name, is to feel the abstract?

Step Four

all you need:

1. get re-acquainted
2. be sexy
3. be convincing
4. MAC OUT!!

alternative plan:
1. mess up
2. throw down
3. cave in
4. MAC OUT!!

Marriage

If she was going to marry someone, it might as well be Ben, I told myself. I didn't know why I was so against him, in my thoughts and in my conversations with her. Was it an anticipation of buyer's remorse? Marriage was a big deal, and maybe she should have gone through other models before choosing Ben. Although she had never been given many other options, it sounded to me, she might as well shop around as best she could. Did I even believe in love? I questioned after these sorts of thoughts. Ben loved her. There was proof. Why was I so worried about them?

I was tempted to go in her room and read some of his love letters, but my gag reflex was reacting just at the thought. And I didn't think my sister would appreciate hearing about how I had vomited in her room, even if she wouldn't be coming home this summer because she'd be spending it up in Maine with Ben.

I wondered if my parents had loved each other that much when they had gotten married. They probably did, twenty-six years ago. But then something happened, and life became as boring as the monochrome walls in our foyer. I would never know, I guess, if Ben and Elyse would make it, unless they didn't. And it wouldn't be much worth it to worry about it now. Divorces probably hurt just as bad as break-ups, but the pain lasts longer. But everyone had them. The statistics weren't on our side. So I supposed I should stop worrying about Elyse, because her heart was going to get broken either way, or she would live the rest of her life, happy, with Ben. And once I painted the picture out in black and white, I didn't worry so bad.

Why did I always look at life as a romantic, and a cynic, simultaneously? I couldn't divide either set of commentary from anything I observed. But I recognized that both sides were completely lost in their own worries and joys. Yet as I balanced these two opposing viewpoints, scrambling to hold them together close enough to inspect, I lost any ability to reason.

Wooden Fish Quote

to love is to live. every day i stand a little more amazed at the world.

Who?

It seems to me that who you are as a person is the only definition that society will except from you. But it also seems that finding words to describe your consciousness, which is composed of something as simple as neural connections but becomes infinitely complicated once you begin to examine it as a whole, is truly the challenge young people face. How do you know who you are when it seems to change everyday? Every instant, potentially, I can be someone new. Maybe I have a borderline dissociative personality disorder. Or maybe most people are just too comfortable with accepting what other people tell them they are.

Even more potentially, I may hate the person I am, so decide that I have other sides to myself that are more pleasant. In reality, there is just the one, but I am trying to be forgiven for being awful, and therefore pretend that there are nice and caring sides to me.

But this thought depresses me. So we're going with the first one.

Overexposure to Bob Marley leads to:

a haiku (they don't need a form, per se. they just need to be short.)

Starfish will live forever unless you chop them up
group concerned conventions keep us alive, somewhat.
the coral color of lips kiss, tearing apart.
some things have to die.

Yup She's My Girlfriend (a psuedo-lesbian's love song)

I AM MAKING A PSEUDO-LESBIAN LOVE SONG. it's coming. for colgate's big fat gay weekend*.
Now at least I have something to do over break. Hoorah!

*still unsure if this actually exists.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GO2LmBgp6sg&feature=related

I'm Interested in Interesting You Pt. 2

Okay, here's the problem with the human body. It does things that I am not aware of. The whole split between voluntary and involuntary muscular movement must've seemed like a good idea, and I guess I wouldn't want to have to be conscious for my heart to beat... yay vagus nerve X!... But when my body decides to feel pain, and I have no idea where it's coming from, I get very angry. Maybe if pain killers could work quicker, or perhaps if Marijuana was legal for everyone, I wouldn't be complaining. But I find my body annoying when instead of looking hot it's causing me discomfort. Not cool, body. Not cool.

But that's not the only thing I have against my body. What's up with suddenly feeling like having sex? Also not cool. I'm not getting an STD until I'm in the minority (25% of teenage females have an STD... guess who's still a virgin?) But regardless, I don't want to vacillate betwixt asexual "ewww boys" and down-right, fuck anybody, hedonism. I'm blaming my body for this one, because I'm pretty sure it's trying to get me pregnant. Stupid hormones. Why can't we talk about this, body, because clearly we have different priorities?

I guess this is more of a problem with my body. But I'm sure you've had those days when you've wished to attain some higher plane of existence that doesn't involve being a physical entity.

I feel like a 19th century philosopher, condemning the human body with all its vices. Or I could pull an Oscar Wilde and...
=I am hot, in the mood, and don't currently have any STDs. I would give out more information, but this is the internet. And via facebook you can probably find out TOO much about me.

This is in no way relevant:

toothpastefordinner.com

Beta

I'm interested in:
Interest(ing) you in some beta-testing summertime romance?
we could make the weather... better... together...

or it will snow... again... forever.
last time that fuzz faded out my vision
magnetic attractions messed up my navigation.
i'd use words to tell you how lost i was
but i lost that, too. tangibility, gone,
looking at blank stares of friends to see myself.
the deepest expression of happiness, like rotting citrus,
i cut up and left alone to be quarantined on a kitchen shelf.

yet i knew within this,
(at this apple's) core,
what i was being exposed to.
so is this necessary? it is.
do i want this? i do.
to end up like Les Mis
is possible,
but i'm not melancholy
or french, or a revolutionist.

I do believe, however, in science
and science holds true
along with litmus paper blue
and dawny grass blade dew
that you should re-run tests
and test hypotheses
(like why chondrichthyes youth
consume each other
in there viviparous womb.)
which is why we have established
you and I, like our hearts prior commanded
should do this, just one more time.

at the end of the day
this is just a phase
but sometimes it pays
to get what you want, after
waiting 10% of your life
for the only sort of perfect
that won't annoy me.

i'll play forward if you play perverse,
for the stars will shine brightly
the mosquitoes will bite me
lightning bugs will thunder around us
but things can't ever get worse

because we've been there and we've done that.
skip the boring parts, and fast forward to the end.
where your eyes glint from under your hat
"we'll always have that one night..." and we'll always be friends.

now skip that, and skip the credits.
find the middle, where we're more than just
friends. We are 18, so place a side-order of lust
fore we know what we want, and it isn't more trust.

though that could be nice,
a second choice to lyse
with kind words and enthusiasm
meaningful smiles and too-tight embraces
the contents of the wall of words between us.

TBC

The Science of Art vs. The Art of Science

I'm always amused when I find myself in Little Hall. There never seems to be a lack of color and imagination on display. I always leave feeling quite invigorated. For some reason, I'm incredibly susceptible to sights changing my mood (it's the same way with music). I wish I had some artistic talent, but I guess I won't know until I experiment a little more. I e-mailed my mom about this, I told her I wanted to be an artist. She responded:

I had to say oh no about being an artist. (Because it seems like such a hard life.) Grandpa says "Don't stifle your kids creativity"

Love you (even if you're not a scientist)

Mom

I replied:

Yay Grandpa! Okay, well, maybe I can get a minor in art?! Why can't
you minor in something important, like Being Awesome? I won't attempt
to be an artist, I'm just saying, I have a really awesome imagination,
and it's a shame that it's going to have to go to waste if I can't
find an appropriate outlet.
-Love elora

In turn she responded:

great scientists need imagination

I hope she's right. But I hope I can be a great scientist and a great artist. Too bad we all only have one life to live.

For Susan...

The long awaited CORRECTED video, in dedication of SUSAN KIM who "lent" away her facebook profile.

February, 2007, two single HS seniors decide to man up and go to a dance... with the GREATEST THEME EVER which will ultimately land them a spot in the yearbook as
ELORA APANTAKU & FRIEND.

Have fun watching the video/trying to find yourself. My favorite game? Look for the random people making out while trying not to get an epileptic seizure. Enjoy!

ALIEN LLAMA

So about a year ago, I created some Sims. Their names were Matt Grevey (named after the fastest swimmer in Illinois history, Matt Grevers) and Hailor (a name that just came to me, but I believe I will attribute it to Hailey's Comet). What makes them such awesome awesome Sims is that one is a human and one is an ALIEN! I had long been fascinated with the ability to create odd Sims in the Sims 2 (you can create vampires, zombies, ghosts, werewolves, robots, plant Sims, and big foot). When I stumbled upon the cheat code allowing me to access these different skins, I jumped at the opportunity to make an entire movie based around an alien Sim. Aliens were a particular favorite of mine, because they were the most normal of all the extraneous creatures in the game, and now I could control one!

So I made Matt and Hailor. I didn't really need a backstory, but my mind created one anyway. It's rather simple, rather archaic story line. Gorgeous Alien comes to Earth to observe general human behavior and acquire information. Matt is a complete bum of a human being. He's a twenty-something and generally ignorant about the world. If he had an occupation, it would probably be something stupid or creative, like the illustrator for a web comic, or a video game tester. I guess, due to some fantastic fate, Hailor ends up living with Matt, because besides being a failure, he actually lives in a rather large/awesome house.

Eventually they fall in love, because there's nothing as romantic as intergalactic/interspecies love. Originally, the Matt and Hailor pair (I've made them about four different times), ended up getting Matt pregnant with an alien baby, and had two dogs (one was green). The second time I made them, I made them have cinematic adventures, which involved getting trapped in parallel universes, Matt becoming a teenager, and their adoption of two robots into the household.

Recently, I made them again on my laptop. I can't make videos because laptops are generally slow and unimpressive, but I recently added more drama and dialogue to the imagined show I call Alien Llama.

Here we go:

Context: Matt is sitting in the foyer of his house. Hailor has been missing since six o'clock the previous afternoon.

Matt: Where were you? I've been worried sick!
Hailor: At Kenneth's house.
Matt: For 24 hours? What were you doing, ha-- AH! No way! AH!
Hailor: What?
Matt: Gross.
Hailor: Many humans--
Matt: No! I don't want a sex talk from an alien. You can't see him, ever, again.
Hailor: Matt, you are being irrational.
Matt: Pi is irrational. I am NOT pi. And you are NOT seeing Kenneth ever again!
Hailor: But I enjoy his company.
Matt: Did you ever think maybe I enjoy yours?
Hailor: But now you are simply being selfish. Also you have Jaden to hang out with.
Matt: I had Jaden. I would much rather hang out with you.
Hailor: *blank stare*
Matt: ...also Kenneth's gross.
Hailor: Your attempts to slander Kenneth have dissolved into poorly formulated arguments. Also your heart is racing. I believe you are jealous.
Matt: maybe I'm in love... No I'm not.
Hailor: Regardless, you are attracted to me sexually.
Matt: What?!
Hailor: I've been analyzing your pupil dilation when you observe me and have compared it to your average. You want to have--
Matt: Hold-up, that's private info. So what? You're attractive.
Hailor: I believe that you are currently facing an inner conflict--
Matt: i'd say...
Hailor: You want to not only be my guide on planet earth, but you also want to be my lover. Yet you do not believe you can be a mentor, friend, and lover simultaneously.
Matt: Okay. That may be true. What do you think?
Hailor: I believe what I have said is true. I also believe that your thoughts on this subject are not well formulated because your mind is being clouded by immense sexual tension.
Matt: ... and?
Hailor: I think you should have sex with me.
Matt: that was rather blatant... are you SERIOUS?!
Hailor: I know not how to be anything but.
Matt: But you just slept with Kenneth!
Hailor: If sleep is a euphemism for sex, I can assure you I did not sleep with him.
Matt: But you were--
Hailor: Helping him develop a more effective alien model for his video game.
Matt: I could kiss you.
Hailor: I believe that we should.
Matt: And you're fine with that?
Hailor: I believe that it's in both our interests.
Matt: This is awkward.
Hailor: Awkward is just a word used to label contexts.
Matt: Dammit! You're turning me on.
Hailor: I believe you are stalling. I also believe that in movies, this would be the time for you to embrace me, we could kiss for a while, eventually our clothes would come off, and we would eventually have sex.
Matt: I think it's a good idea I let you watch HBO.
Step 4: MACK OUT!

The inspiration for Hailor is undoubtedly Tenel Ka from Star Wars novels. Whereas Tenel Ka always says, "This is so" or "This is true", Hailor just uses "I believe" a lot. The inspiration for Matt is PROBABLY Nick Matchen (do you still read this?!), because he talks a lot when he's nervous, which I always find amusing.

To the tune of: "bob dylan" Cassanova

Every part of my day filled me with internal rage. Every time I stopped thinking, stopped doing something, my mind went haywire. It went to the angriest thing it could imagine. Within it, I was wielding a broad sword or a sledgehammer, or brandishing bare hands, but always, always, someone got their face knocked in.

My fucking roommate had locked me out of my room again. It was retarded. I had been, literally, twenty feet away, at most, but now I was locked out. I would say it was unfair, but I didn't want to whine like a bitch, I had experienced enough of that this morning, and throughout the rest of the day, and God, I was many things, and I was probably a hypocrite, but I fucking couldn't go there right now. I didn't have a winter jacket, I didn't have winter shoes. I was trapped. I was trapped in the last place I wanted to be. If my room was open I could have done one of two things which would have allowed me to calm down. 1) Play the Sims 2, alone, by myself, in the Coop or 2) Gone to sleep. Either way I wouldn't have to think anything. And that was fine by me. I didn't even have money, so I couldn't have gone to the Coop and bought things. The swimmers weren't having a party tonight, so I couldn't go there and hang out, get drunk.

I walked past Tina and Kayla. They were chilling by Sasso's room. Doing homework, maybe, but they were definitely existing, and that annoyed me. John said my name in that stupid way he always did. I didn't respond, vocally. I took my hand and hit at the hallway wall. It made a thick sound, and then my hand stung. I walked into Kayla's deserted room, locked the door, and laid on her bed, looking out at the quad. This was my fucking favorite view, but at that moment, nothing could calm me down. I could hear someone playing guitar, I could even discern what they were playing: Wolfmother. Next door Neil and his friend were talking, their TV was on. Tina's laptop was playing Bob Dylan. I hated Bob Dylan. And it wouldn't stop, why wouldn't it stop? I felt demented. Why was this so bothersome. I could lay down, close my eyes, cry. Then it would feel better. But I wasn't going to end it like that. That was stupid. I was done with the weaker emotions in my arsenal. I had spent the last two weeks feeling sorry for myself, and I wasn't going back.

I imagined myself on the snowy meadow, way beyond the school, where there were no lights. I was rolling, rocking back and forth, screaming myself deaf. And that was the only sound I could hear.

In comparison with the maelstrom of retarded ruckus I was realizing right now, that seemed like a fucking miracle.

But it was cold. And as above stated, I had no winter jacket, and no winter shoes. Fuck it.

I walked down to the first floor. I meandered to the cove. My hands kept making the claw, which they did whenever they got angry enough. That reminded me, I wanted to see that Vampire movie I had gotten in the mail. But it was in my fucking dorm room. I tried to control myself, and it worked for a while. Drew, Dareus, and Ben were all in the Cove, still. How could they just fucking waste their lives away talking about things that weren't even based in reality? Tina was down here, cutting her notes into flashcards. "I am so fucking angry" I announced. "I've been having the worst fucking day ever". That got their attention, somehow. "Why?" "What Happened?" Ben and Drew asked, respectively. "Ah, I don't even know, I'm so furious." Did they really want to know? It couldn't actually hurt.

Talking is therapeutic. I decided I'd work my way backwards, because I really didn't think I should start a story of my day with, "Kevin was a fucking cunt this morning, I fucking hate him. He's such a bitch." That would get the, as always, "Elora," as he rolled his eyes, Drew would say, "You can't talk like that about my other friends, it causes conflict", or something to that effect, to which I would've replied, "I don't fucking care. You can fucking handle it like a man. Stop being such a pussy".

I told them I was locked out of my room. Tina suggested I break in. She could use bobby pins. Dareus questioned her choice of tools, and pretty soon Drew was telling stupid stories.

"I think I'm going to sled down the hill behind the library" I said. That didn't work effectively well. No one was listening. I guess they really didn't want to know. I walked outside of the Cove, grabbed the red sled that was always chilling outside of Dan's door, unclaimed by all of East's inhabitants. Except for me, right now.

I came back to the Cove, and laid it down. I went back to my room to see if, by some sort of miracle, it was open. It was not. These are the kinds of things that make you want to kill yourself, I thought. I went back down to the Cove, and picked up the sled. "See you later", I said, but apparently not loud enough to drag them out of their conversation. I could die, I thought. I felt that way. I felt the way I did whenever I wanted to kill myself, if I remembered correctly-it had been some time. I felt really impulsive, like no amount of common sense could stop me from doing what I wanted to.

I walked out across the quad, bearing the sled in front of my face to protect it from the wind and snow. Rocket Man was playing in my head. I meandered through the sidewalk, if you could call it that. I really had no idea where the quad and sidewalk meshed because there was so much fucking snow. I could feel ice melting on my ankles. But for some reason, it didn't feel quite cold enough to reconsider.

I got to the first hill. I tried to slide down. I gave it a running start, but I sank into the snow. It flew up into my face, got under my shirt, onto my stomach, and it all melted. "Great, just great", but I laughed as I said it. I put the sled under my right arm when I got up. I felt like a surfer. I felt better at the thought. I jogged down the rest of the first hill, jumping high into the air to clear myself out of the drifts. At the road, I let a car pass, and I felt rather sketchy. I decided if it was someone I knew, or if anyone asked, I would tell them that, "There's nothing like sledding when you're drunk!", but they didn't ask.

The second hill was much steeper. I knew it would work. There was a tree though, and remembering the death of Sonny Bono, I reminded myself that if I was going towards the tree, I just needed to bail out of the way. I sat down and started down the hill, I gained speed. Instantly the sled angled toward the tree, and I knew it wasn't going to end well. I bailed, about twenty seconds to early, and rolled into the snow. The sled continued, albeit on a complete tangent, away from me. I picked myself up and ran quickly to catch it. I laughed, I really laughed, maniacally perhaps, as I bounded down the hill. The sled stopped somewhere in the parking lot, but everywhere was covered in snow. I missed a step, my foot came down, twisting, and my back scratched against the curb. My knee buckled wrong, and it winced.

Stupid snow, I mumbled. I wanted to continue, but I was freezing. The light of the library provided a second option. I tossed the sled back onto the hill, to avoid any traffic (unlikely, because of the time), and walked to the doors. It was late, and it was a Saturday night, I didn't think that the library would be open, but the doors were, in fact, unlocked. I was pleased. This was the first thing that had seemed to go right for me all day. But the second set of doors were locked. I was stuck in some kind of airlock, but I was content, because it was warm. The thermostat in the corner was set to 90.

It was quiet here, it was clean here, and that was all i really needed. There was a blank ceiling to stare at, and a bench to lie on. It was home, and the heater was the hum of the womb. The only sound still lingering was the breath moving in and out of my nose. I wish it would stop.

Either I was cold or I wanted to cry. There was something in my throat, and it wouldn't dislodge, no matter how many times I coughed. I think it was trying to choke me. I think it was doing a good job. Why couldn't this stop?! Why couldn't everything just stop? Why was there always something there? Why did I have to keep feeling things? Why did I exist in a world full of matter? I couldn't even stand to be within my skin anymore, I wanted it to stop!

When I was quiet, and if I focused hard enough, the voices talked to me, but I made them. They were angry, frightened, and usually male. I didn't know why. Why did I make them? I didn't know that either, but they came sometimes. If I was feeling that certain way. I laid down, closed my eyes, felt guilt and pleasure simultaneously. I heard Rocket Man playing in my ears, but I didn't know why. I felt alone. Because I was. It made me happy. But I still felt like crying. I fell asleep.

I hope the cleaning lady doesn't come back, because this is weird.

Georgia on My Mind

So I'm sitting in the Ho, on a couch, which is quite nice. It's not everyday that I get to sit on a couch, which, if I really think about, is quite sad. They're a common form of furniture.

Regardless, I'm listening to Ray (it's the soundtrack for the movie Ray, about the awesome* life of Ray Charles).

*by awesome, I mean really quite sad and touching, due to the nature of addictions and lost mothers.

I'm listening, specifically, to Georgia on My Mind. I've driven through Georgia a couple of times, and all I remember is the traffic around ATL is horrific. But this song is moving me, and in a couple of seconds I'm going to start crying in the Ho. Which would be...

Composure? Who needs it. Not I. Not this person.

I want to write something, say something. I feel like no one hears me when I talk. I feel like my words move no one, and that what I say must be heavily cryptic. I don't know why everything remains trapped in my mind, why I have to think in symbols that can't be translated to words. I hate being stuck. Furthermore, I hate being stuck inside this god awful body, decaying from the inside out. Ah, I need a second chance at life. I need to try again. But such things are ultimately impossible. I just want someone to understand me. Sadly, I don't think anyone's going to take on such an endeavor.

So I guess I'll have to communicate through tears.

Or Drown in My Own Tears, as the case may be, Ray Charles.

I guess I'll just have to listen to some of his happier songs...