The Journal of Miss Acacia Black

Yesterday afternoon I went to go see "Before Sunset." I am officially in love with Julie Delpy. I could listen to her talk, watch her facial expressions for months and never get bored. Of course I am probably just in love with the character she plays in "Before Sunrise" and this movie, but having learned that the actual Julie Delpy is a singer / songwriter (the character is as well incidentally) it is now official: I'm in love. I'm in love. I'm in love. I'm in love. (Did I mention I woke up with "Accidentally In Love" lodged in my brain this morning - I blame the fact it is now on my iPod and I heard it yesterday ... twice ... yeah that is all it is.) The subject line of this entry is actually a reference to her father's cameo appearance in the movie.

I went to dinner with

charisma and

wizardofaus and got my ass completely kicked at Scrabble. Incidentally, I have just checked with dictionary.com and "awn" really is a word. Go me. They let me play it, but I think they were just being nice.

On the ride home I left a couple voicemails and was then left to my own devices. It was no longer raining and all traffic was headed to the shore in the opposite direction. I decided to take the long way home as I was feeling antsy going the speed limit and nothing on my iPod was scratching the itch as I kept pressing "skip" over and over until I stumbled upon Limp Bizkit's "My Way" - We're going to do things my way! My way or the highway! ... errr well I'm on a highway close enough so I left it playing and sped up a bit. The very next song was my favorite re-mix version of Korn's "Freak on a Leash" - Something takes a part of me, something lost and never seen, every time I start to believe - something's raped and taken from me... that's getting closer ... da boom na da mmm dum na ema ... Go! when Jonathan Davis hit the "Go!" I punched the accelerator and then I was really feeling the moment. I would have likely been satisfied, but the iPod saw fit to extend this pulse quickening catharsis and hit me with "The Man Without Fear" by Drowning Pool - You can't hurt me! You can't stop me! You can't beat me! You can't bring me down! ... perfect. So perfect in fact I passed my exit just to give me an excuse to drive a little longer.

The wrap up: I got home and got smashed on black rum and ginger beer ... am now hung over and on my way to breakfast.

Taa taa for now.

(Icon by

ancientfeelings)

I feel.. stressed / confused / sad / stressed / stressed / stressed / angry / hurt / stressed / hopeful.
I loathe.. feeling this way.
I ignore.. minor annoyances.
I revere.. Tom Waits.
I create.. so-called poetry.
I hide.. little things for other people to find.
I destroy.. relationships.
I ponder.. the whys and what ifs.
I portray.. a neurotic artistic type.
I regret.. being born (if you can regret something you had no control over). Can you tell I am a bit moody today?
I resonate.. the mantra, "Things can't get much worse."
I anticipate.. future happiness. Like Tony in West Side Story, I have convinced myself it is right around the corner (or in Portland).
I encourage.. honesty (or try to at least).
I laugh.. when I get nervous.
I forget.. why I started filling this out to begin with.
I pretend.. I am going to be a famous author one day.
I dream.. in strange snapshots and fragments.
I am.. the only one who can make something of this life.

(This meme was snatched from

mrcorvin who stole it fair and square from

mr_sarcasm.)

There is something to be said for those people who have known you forever. I got a package from

mrcorvin with two mixed CDs with literally hundred of songs on them. This morning I finally took a break to give them a listen and as I looked over the song list my response to every other song was "Damn I love this song!" Old stuff, new stuff, weird stuff ... the boy knows my taste and has effectively doubled the number of tracks on my iPod.

*eyes glaze over in an iPod induced stupor*

I met

viscousidioms for all you can eat sushi tonight. It was crazy hella good. We ate so much it was scary. The post-sushi buzz was quite incredible and we milked it by heading over to a coffee house to top it off with a caffeine fix and a couple of cloves.

Life is good.

Having left my computer to download software updates, I returned to find the following instant message awaiting me:

bradford174 (14:35:46): 10 things I hate about you.

bradford174 (14:35:57): I blame Shakespeare for that.

bradford174 (14:36:07): not only is it a bunch of hormonal teens.

bradford174 (14:36:13): It is also the taming of the shrew

bradford174 (14:36:32): Its even designed to sound the same...

bradford174 (14:36:40): damn git, that bad Billy S.

bradford174 (14:36:57): So if you expand that..

bradford174 (14:37:12): you have Shakespeare starting the career of Heath Ledger and fucking bubble-headed Julia Styles.

bradford174 (14:37:15): DAMN YOU WILLY!

Earlier tonight, upon discovering the lack of anything in this house even remotely resembling an alcoholic beverage, I said this to myself instead of my lover's corpse, but I think the emotion behind it was really just the same. However, I opted not to stab myself in the heart with a small dagger and quenched my thirst with a nice tall glass of Very Veggie - Spicy! (and was gratified to discover it tastes just as good without any vodka in it). My parents home is more or less a dry one with the exception of the occasional beer, glass of wine or Irish cream spiked coffee so I best get used to the idea of finishing a long day without an apple martini being an option. Cheers!

This work of art is courtesy of the one, the only, the

scarfboy! He e-mailed this picture to me today which he did in Photoshop and it immediately became my favorite icon. The full size version is even prettier. It is part of a picture of me that I really like (

blurgrl gave me a framed 8 x 11 of it for Christmas), but it never made a decent icon. I feel flattered and impressed that he did something so interesting with it.

I went to the RWS Workshop this afternoon. It was good, if a little awkward delving for memories in a public setting, but everyone seemed to get something out of it. Afterwards

charisma, a poet I know from Bridgeton (D.) and I stuck around to eat dinner at the café. We stumbled onto the topic of auras. To be honest, I do not know how I feel about that kind of thing. It seems to fly in the face of all my atheist-ness (?), but a number of people I know and respect believe in karma, auras, some kind of supernatural thing beyond what science tells us is so. D. was saying that he sees / senses people's auras in patterns. He described

charisma's in the most fascinating way imaginable - like a 3D hidden pattern picture, you have to look at it long enough to see the real picture behind the seemingly random pattern. I thought that was a very accurate and even poetic description.

D. is one of those individuals who when he looks at you, you know he sees you to a point of it being unnerving. He said the best way to sum up my "aura" was an anecdote that at one point I came to a gathering at the venue in Bridgeton. He had his back to the window and another poet who was facing him saw me come around the corner and said "Acacia is here," to which he replied (without looking), "Yes, I know." (Of course this brought to mind Star Wars and a disturbance in the Force.)

He proceeded to compare me to a florescent tube on end that sent out light in 360 degrees around me. He also said that if anything when I read I could stand to tone it down, if it were possible, because it can be a little overwhelming. In a million tries I would never have guessed that anyone under any circumstances would describe me like that.

I do not see myself as light. In the mirror, I see shadow and darkness and pain and anger and bitterness - a thousand things or more without light anywhere among them, and yet he said light. Light in every direction. Light that was tangible and could be sensed, felt even from a distance and stranger still - I believed him. Not that I believe I emit some kind of radiant presence, but I believe that is how he sees me and I am left to wonder why.

Acaciablack in Rule Intentions

acaciablack (Carrie Fisher) has had involuntary amputations less painful than this year. In uncertain terms her reputation is in question, and

raistlinbrown, her lowly subordinate (Will Smith), is powerless to stop it.

copperwise (Judi Dench) organises an evil scheme. As it turns out,

raistlinbrown is a robot in disguise. The discovery is made when he bites into an apple.

Produced by

ianiceboy

Freudian Inventory Results

Genital (83%) you appear to have a progressive and constructive outlook on life.
Latency (63%) you may be using learning as an escape from living.
Phallic (70%) you appear to have issues with controlling your sexual desires and possibly fidelity.
Anal (33%) you appear to be overly lacking in self control and organization, and have a compulsive need to defy authority.
Oral (30%) you appear to be stubbornly and irrationally against receiving help even when it might be the more intelligent option.

Take Free Freudian Inventory Test
personality tests by similarminds.com

I am getting rid of my current I.S.P. ("Born free ... free as the wind blows ...") so from now until further notice my e-mail address will be my Yahoo (or LiveJournal - same difference) one and the AOL one will no longer be any good as of next week.

Gemini - Your Horoscope for July 12 - 18

Right now is all about unexpected pleasures, new friends, or a more playful, adventurous attitude in your relationships.

Everything is stimulating and delightful.

You want a break from your usual routine and, because you are willing to experiment and to be spontaneous, you are likely to experience a refreshing change of pace.

A new romance or a revitalization of a current one is very likely.

If you are already in a realtionship, you will feel more involved and be the active ingredient in the recipe.

Overall it should be a fun and memorable week.

This horoscope provided by Astrology Source.
Learn about your inner self, friends, and lovers.

Get your free blog ready horoscope for this week at Blogthings.

My feature tonight went smoothly and people seemed to enjoy it which was really good.

Even more important than that though, on the ride home tonight it dawned on me just exactly why I have been feeling and acting like a lovesick angst ridden drama laden sniveling emo twelve year old for the last day or so. In my defense, I knew it was not the right reaction ... it was just the only thing coming to the surface in spite of a complete lack of justification. At this point, I feel pretty embarrassed about the whole thing.

Maybe I can chalk it up to proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that I am not as cool, calm nor collected as I have been accused of being?

I cut my leg shaving in the shower this morning. I am miraculously not hung over but the sight of red streaming down my thigh was enough to make me feel woozy. I tried to work on my set list, but with A. buzzing around and the whirlwind that is my head it was a hopeless endeavor.

I went for a drive the first song that came on my iPod was "Don't Blow It" by the Elected:

"Someone out there loves you.
You know who you are.
Someone out there's waiting for you.
Because you're a shining star.
And when the right time comes -
You're going -
To break their heart."

There's more but you get the drift. I was tempted to hurl that damnable thing with its penchant for picking at random apropos songs out the window. Instead I ended up at the movie theater where I was confronted with an assortment of movies that were probably not good choices for distraction in my current state, De-Lovely, The Notebook, Before Sunset ... refusing to choose the lesser of several evils I asked for a ticket to the next thing showing - which happened to be Shrek 2. The five minutes sitting alone in the silent theater waiting for it to start were right up there in the competition for the longest five minutes of my life. A couple in their mid-fifties came in during the previews. The movie started and I feared it would take me awhile to warm up to it, if I'd be able to at all, but after snickering at the little mermaid being eaten by sharks I felt a little better. Tom Waits as Captain Hook playing the piano at the bar, "The Poison Apple" was a pleasant surprise. I liked Antonio Banderas as Puss in Boots. Cute movie.

I came to the library to work on my set list afterward but instead I am on here writing this. T minus four hours until I have to leave for the performance tonight and I do not have anything closely resembling a set list done. Before I left this morning I heard of one more person who'll be there tonight who has never seen me read before. More pressure. I thought about going to get a bite to eat but I will only throw it up so I am abstaining. The phone rang on my way here and I pounced on it only to find a client. I got rid of them and then cried the rest of the way here.

"I can't work like this!"

*smirk*

But that realization is not making the phone ring.

The "good" folks who read this journal have of late proven to be a dirty dirty bunch and so what better place than to ask a question that has been bugging me for years:

Why do they call it a "blow job"? Are you supposed to ... blow? And if blow jobs are such a great thing, why is it a bad thing if something or someone blows? Hrm?

You've Got Good Sex Manners

Your mother taught you well - and it shows in the bedroom

You've got the class and tact to deal with any weird situation

You know how to smooth things over and get back to the good stuff

A together, smart lover like you is everyone's dream!

How Are Your Bedroom Manners?

More Great Quizzes from Quiz Diva

Bad Imitation Hemingway:

It was three o'clock in the morning. So this is how it is, this is how it always happens in the three o'clock in the morning. Fuck your three o'clock in the morning. With my last 50 euros I purchased some true and honest scotch; I took a pull from the bottle. It was good. It burned my mouth and felt good and warm going down my esophagus and into my stomach. From there it went to my kidneys and my bladder, and was good. I remembered then when I last saw Tom Wolfe who was still a damn fine writer. It was in London and we looked out the windows at the mountains and drank scotch at three o'clock in the morning. It was three o'clock in the morning and had been three o'clock in the morning for some time.

Take The Bull By The Horns

I am sitting here drinking my breakfast (yes, I am aware it is noon) in the form of a frighteningly green concoction that most regrettably is not an apple martini.

All of the following occurred before ten thirty this morning:

I woke up a little late and was in a mad dash to get out the door and down to court in Camden. I realized only after putting my pants on that I did not have anything resembling a clean pair of trouser socks which meant I had to take my pants back off and put on stockings - a nice silk pair I was saving for a special occasion. (Damn my reluctance to do laundry!)

I flew (well, George flew, I drove) down I-676, parking in a lot so I would not have to waste time searching for a space near the courthouse. I made it inside to meet with the attorney who asked almost immediately if I had a specific transcript in my custody which he needed it right away. I did know that A. had it and he was in the Federal Courthouse also in Camden. I ran (literally) the six blocks to the Federal Courthouse. The security personnel were not men I recognized from my recent trips to the court there, but I presumed they would let me in cell phone and all just as the others have done once I told them who I was and why I was there, etc.

They x-rayed my handbag and told me I could not take the cell phone into the court. No problem, I took it out of my purse set it on counter because I figured no one would steal it in the five minutes or less I would be there. They did not say anything so I thought it would be okay and headed (still in a hurry) to the elevators only to have these same two men come running after me screaming about how I don't own the building, didn't I hear I what they said - I pointed to the cell phone on the counter and they exploded about how I could not leave it in the building and threatened to arrest me!

I was disinclined to leave it on the street so I went outside and called the court clerk thinking he could alert A. to my presence and send him out. Instead the clerk put me on hold, told the judge the situation and the judge rang the security desk and gave them a fair piece of his mind about how they were holding up a federal proceeding (bear in mind I am not actually there for the federal case). Long story short - I had to have a federal judge authorize me to bring a cell phone into a federal courthouse anytime I wish all because I needed to be in there for five minutes.

Met up with A. who then sent me to a law office three blocks away to retrieve some videotapes to take with the transcript to the attorney at the Superior Courthouse (you with me so far?). I cut through an alleyway to shorten my trip a bit, entered the law office from the back door, picked up the tapes from the secretary and exited the front door. At this point the one and a half inch kitten heels (yes, those were the sensible shoes) felt like four inch fuck me matchstick stilettos. I took them off and ran (even faster now because of the incident at the federal courthouse holding me up) the now eight blocks back to the first courthouse. A small run began at the balls of both my feet and I could feel it inching up my legs - which is to say, I was threatened with being arrested and I ruined a twenty dollar pair of thigh highs all before breakfast!

So where am I off to next? A psychiatric ward, of course. Seriously, I have papers to serve on a doctor I have been trying to track down for the last week. Turns out he works in a psych ward - very convenient that given my current state of mind.