Everything I write lately seems unworthy of the publish button so all I'm going to write is Happy New Year, Y'all. Peace out.

Merry Freakin' Chistmas Y'all!!!

May your days be merry and bright. And may all your christmas' be filled with joy. (I know it's supposed to be white but you know what they say, There's no snow in Isreal.)

I'm currently reading Sylvia Plath's The Bell Jar and my good friend Karen who lent me the book told me her favourite section and since I don't really feel like writing today I'm going to write Karen's favourite section which is so true, though I'm not sure how applicable it is to the other sex but I know we girls can relate.

"There must be quite a few things a hot bath won't cure, but I don't know many of them. Whenever I'm sad I'm going to die, or so nervous I can't sleep, or in love with somebody I won't be seeing for a week, I slump down just so far and then I say: 'I'll go take a hot bath'." I love that bit of truth.

oh Cat here's a present for your site. You should use this somewhere. It's by Shel Silverstein and it's called Invitation. It's probably one of my top ten favourite poems. (probably because it makes being a liar seem to be a good thing.) :-)

Invitation

If you are a dreamer, come in,
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A hope-er, a pray-er, a magic bean buyer...
If you're a pretender, come site by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin.
Come in!
Come in!

Will I ever be alright? That implies that everything about me is right. To say you're all right means that nothing about you is wrong. I have a scar on my wrist from when I put my hand through a window when I was eleven. That is wrong. It would make me less than right. I lie constantly. That is not right. To say I am all right is, in itself, a lie. My name is pronounced Alisha when it should be pronounced Aleesha. Not right. Not wrong but not right. How long will it take to be alright? Even if these were forgiven how long will I be alright before something goes wrong.

God, I can't believe I forgot that link. Now everything is, once again, right in the world.

Whoa, that was busy. Been a bit crazy lately. Today is the good friend Matt's nineteenth.

Happy Birthday, Matthew!!!

Anyway, made soap today, again. I swear I could be little suzie homemaker. If only little suzy homemaker went to political rallies and protests. On a side note my grandmother knew Nelly MacClung. When the Granny lived in Winnipeg I think she said, she used to have tea at Mrs. Roberts house and "Mrs. McClung", as my grandmother called her, would be there talking to the air force wives. It runs in my blood kids. I'm a rebel rouser from way back. When my Aunt Fred (Fredricka) found out that her mother knew Nelly McClung she flipped. My aunt is an activist extraordinaire. The fact that Granny knew one of the first female Canadian activists was stellar. Anyway, I made soap today. Everytime I go to type soap I type soup. I wish I made soup today but I didn't. I made soap. Peppermint and Raspberry soap to be exact. Today was a pleasent day. Going out tonight. gonna be fun. Not much to say today.

Fuckin' Snorland bastards. I'm not going to have comments any more. I am going to add my email address to my side bar though. Poor substitute but I'm do lazy to look for a new remote comment site. I'll do a little looking but not much.

What to expect here

I gave out my weblog address tonight to some people who don't know me that well so I guess this is a warning. The Alysia you know in class is not necessarily the Alysia you'll see here. the Alysia found on this page says things she wouldn't say in real life. Also, a little less fun Alysia. Come one it's hard being fun all the time. Give me a break. Anyway, just thought I should warn you. Oh yeah and Mike, the voice of my mother. That's what God sounds like. My mother when she scolds but I know there is love there too. Just letting you know.

I am 81-100% Ghetto



I am GHETTO FABULOUS.

Okay so i sorta lied but Lateequa must be ghetto, okaaay. Alright, I really got:I am 0-20% Ghetto



I don't even know what ghetto is? Fuckin Preppy. I better hop in my beamer - head for the hood and get some chicken, watermelon, and neports.

I only enjoyed this because it's a picture of zach Morris and "Ridin' low in my chair she won't know that I'm there. If I can hand it in tomorrow it'll be alright."

Spunk?

I never realized that people still used the word spunk. I made some of my friends fill out fun surveys because about every six months I like to know what my friends think of me. A bunch have to do with personality and a bunch of friends filled in that I had "spunk." What is this spunk they speak of? Sort of makes me feel like I'm jumpy. A.D.D., too much energy sort of. It also envoked thoughts of the eighties, like Punky Brewster would have had spunk. I just htought it was interesting that they thought I had spunk. I'm going to start using that word more often.

What have I been saying the past week?

I can't wait to go home. Some people I know can wait. I cannot. The people, not the city, make it irresistable to me. I just haven't found the quality of people here that I had there. I've come close in certain people but there isn't enough of them. I miss the oddities the most. The people here are a little to focused for me. I need a real arts school. These people aren't haphazard enough. They work so much on one thing. It worries me when that one thing is business.What kind of university is this? You're supposed to be uncertain and reckless. You're supposed to speak before you think and not care when people look at you a little strangely because you decided that now was the time to attack your friend ostrich style. (Today in the Terrece. Josalyn understood because she is one of the ones who are my kind of quality but the people at yogen fruz looked none to impressed.)

Maybe I should learn how to behave myself. I suppose that I can act normal when I want to but the truth is most of the time I don't want to. I digress. (The need to speak of myself coming out again. Narcissism. Beautiful.) Basically, I want to go home to the people who not only know me, but resemble me. Oh, to be around people who resemble my thoughts, my words, my actions, and (in the case of mia familia (oh italian)) my appearance. "You wanna go where everybody knows your name." No, you need to go where everybody knows your name. If only for a little while. It helps ground you. And shit, it took me nineteen years to find these people, that place. I wanna keep it for a while.

What Alysia wants

I want freedom. Not just freedom from my parents or responsibily but a bit of freedom from myself. From my shining insecurities that make me wonder if the people I know love me even like me. I even wonder as I'm typing it if they indeed do love me or just love picking out my fault which seem so numerous that to even attempt to catalog them would be on the scale of cataloging badly written songs through the centuries. It simply can't be done.

I want freedom from wondering if I'm any good at anything. I can't take complements. I would like to be able to have someone say they enjoyed ... Shit I'm being Narcissistic.

Try this test see how neurotic you are. Personality Disorder Test I'm highly Schizotypal and Histrionic which means that people have trouble following what I talk about while I'm needing them to accept me. Shit, anybody who ever read this bullshit could tell you that.

P.S. That ... above was about a half hour dot dot dot. I took a break and realized that I should shut up bu I sort of don't want to do any deleting. I'm tired of editing so I'm just going to leave it.

My certificate of Supremo Biblicity. I had to do the test six times to get Supremo Biblicity so enjoy the mucho bibleyness. Matt found the website. Blame him. The boy only promote sacrilege. Also visit www.jesus.com for that old familar feeling of "Is this guy a joke or is he serious?" If you can give me a definate please let me know. I wasn't quite sure. I wish I knew more about programming I'd make a quiz out of this. OH, fun quiz-ness.

God, exams suck. It's a beautiful day here in K/W and what am I doing? Studying for Italian, Theory and History. I would much rather be doing a nice bout of Lawnlaying, which I think should be the national pastime. I look out my window at the clouds, which remind me of Georgia O'Keeffe's Cloud paintings and I can imagine the comforting cool of the ground, not warmed enough by today's brillant sun to be hot but just warmed enough so it is comfortably dry and cool. The grass looks like it's soft summer grass in the semi-courtyard between my building and the music practice rooms.

A week. That's what I have to keep telling myself. A week then I'm going home to my lake. My lawn. My fresh brewed coffee. My basement room. My piano with it's strange metallic sound. I miss the sound of that piano. It sounds almost like it's treated. I sent all my music books home with my parents when they came to pick up the car yesterday so I wouldn't have making music to distract me. I can't wait to drive my car again. My friends. My coffee shops. Oh ,how I have missed your dark roast and cheese bagels. Jenny freaking out over the "stench" of the cheese bagels (I think it's the cheese they use that messes with her head.) Oh, aggrivating Jenny in general with spitting lisps and "Bent" by Matchbox 20.(Disclaimer: I have nothing against lisps. Jenny is an odd girl who really should be institutionalized.) Wade's "What if my hands were watermelons?" Myself when around them. A week and I will love my life again. But for now I have to envy the bird who just flew by my window and concentrate on the isorythmic motet, modulation and irregular verbs using -isc-. (Could ya hear the sigh? Cause it was pretty loud.)

If I was a work of art, I would be Leonardo da Vinci's Mona Lisa. I am extremely popular and widely known. Although unassuming and unpretentious, my enigmatic smile has charmed millions. I am a mystery, able to be appreciated from afar, but ultimately unknowable and thus intriguing. Which work of art would you be? The Art Test

which kind of fuckin' sucks cause really I don't like the Mona Lisa all that much. So I'm gonna take the test again.

If I was a work of art, I would be Edgar Degas' Dance Class.

I appear soft and gentle, but hide a core of rigid structure and discipline. I work hard and follow orders, because I am determined to succeed, but remain attached to displays of frivolity and maintaining my appearance.

I guess that's a better. I was sort of hoping for, I don't know like Edward Gorey or MC Escher or Le Desmoisselles d'avignon or something. Oh well.

If I was a James Bond villain, I would be Mr Wint or Mr Kidd. I enjoy strong cologne, the company of men, and stabbing people with flaming shish-kebabs. I am played by Bruce Glover or Putter Smith in Diamonds Are Forever. Who would you be? James Bond Villain Personality Test

I found a new cool artist. His name is Odilon Redon. Check it out. His later work is a little less strange and more colourful but I like this stuff.

Caliban

Cactus Man

Crying Spider

Spirit of the Forest (Specter from a Giant Tree)
(I used to have the pictures posted but their size stretched my page in a way I didn't like so now they're links but check them out. I especially enjoy Crying Spider. It's worth it.)

Mindless ramblings about Jack-in-the-pulpit

So I was surfing today with the intention in mind of trying to remember what I learned in four years of art history. So I'm looking around feeling a little overwhelmed when I decide that having a focus would be nice. I decided that working chronologically would be no fun because I'd have to start from the egyptians and that's not very interesting. Also working on one country wouldn't work because so many countries in Europe were influence by each other. So, I decided to do a gender study, the female gender to be specific. I decided to work on the more prominent artist I had formally studied, such as Cassett, Gentilleschi, Nevelson and, of course, Georgia O'Keeffe. As I was looking at O'Keeffe's works I came across a series I remembered called Jack-in-the-pulpit. I recalled it from a video analyzing O'Keeffe's works. They said that the fasination (let's see if I can make this make sense and not fuck it up) for O'Keeffe was originally the occurence in nature of this interesting flower. Then, it sort of morphed into a fasination with the Jack because really what is the pulpit without the Jack. So, I got to thinking, which was really a stupid thing to do, that if there had been no Jack O'Keeffe never would have painted to pulpit. I refer everything to people so I was thinking about some people who don't need Jack because their pulpit is enough but then sometimes Jack over powers the pulpit like in Jack in the pulpit No. VI. I hate it when Jack over powers the pulpit. But then Jack would just be a phallic flower with nothing to play off of. Pity.