The Cheshiregrrrl RantPage

Ever since I subjected myself to being a wierd foreigner by living in France, I have enjoyed a much lower level of embarrassement. I just don't care what people think, only really. This became habit from a) being able to say whatever I wanted really loud without anyone understanding me... b) being disoriented/confused even in the most mundane activities... and c) catching the contagious Parisian passion, wherein one sings without reservation, talks to onesself on the street, cries at petit moments of beauty, and gets just a bit nuts for some unknown reason... maybe the boxed milk or something.

But as I walked home from the station the other day, in my creepy neighborhood on the cusp of urban and suburban, I encountered a comfort- nay, liberation! - through an activity I might have been shamed to do.

I can't stand to walk. It's too slow. Gotta run! So I'm clunking along with my big back-pack (all the Cool Commuters make fun of me... I'll have my briefcase someday!), inhaling the spring air, and I get the impulse to run the rest of the way. How silly will I look, thought I, in my combat boots, black corporate capri pants, and fancy shirt, running home with a big backpack.

But once I began, I transformed into a schoolboy that I've always wanted to be- like the kid in my childhood favorite, the Tin Drum. My boots were now floppy and worn, my capris now knickers, and my button down oversized and lopsided. I was not in Connecticut, but in wartime Germany, running to trade marbles for candy!

The Rising she comes again
In the rhythmic canoe of you
Moving and soaring
The voice
Fingers scoring
Esophogus
No guts to continue

The rising woke up around four thirty
Right when I went to sleep
And kept me when I woke at seven
Leave Christ
Reject the Invitation
All the cool kids will miss you

Hovered again
Let me cripple you again
Let me play your frequencies
So I can contact you
With a one-way radio
Seeped in sopping up the
Creativity void
Erase it from the job

The rising brings me a dish of confused
The rising brings me a dish
The rising tells me to give up the dish
Rising up is no facile task
I dare you I dare you
Is it a spoon
I'll scare you from you
BP so cute
Be so cute
So your neighbors can see
Why don't you get "you're cute"
From your neighbors

Name preserved on a business card
Passed at an informal tea
Come live with me
My eyes tired would like to
See you through the moist garbage
But you're better than me
So make me comparable

BP isn't that cute
Toothbrushed eyes
She tries
But for the rising

Sugar feeds sugar makes you hungry for more. This is clear read it over for every click of a "diet tips." But ice cream it soothes specially sugar free Bryars but the pleasure and the guilts makes me shake spirits wilt. It's like nothing is ever...food is never fun never art never since France rang my heart stole my weight I departed never to have a donut again. Never to wait in line for a cone debating whether I should just turn around... sometimes i like to go down for one more bowl just to challenge my tolerance to see if i'll kill me if i'll induce that byle reverse the parastalsis for one cookie... i'm not so crazy but i never thought this would happen to me.

I've gotten better, but my sickness
thinks that equals obese.