<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278</id><updated>2012-02-10T17:02:05.444-06:00</updated><category term='strange'/><category term='boyfriend'/><category term='photography'/><category term='volvo'/><category term='avant-garde'/><category term='tattoo'/><category term='dracula'/><category term='single white female'/><category term='blood'/><category term='dream'/><category term='self'/><category term='art'/><category term='norman'/><category term='book'/><category term='vampire'/><category term='home'/><category term='summer'/><category term='crime'/><category term='oklahoma'/><category term='family'/><category term='poetry'/><category term='exhibitionism'/><category term='jackie brown'/><category term='christ'/><category term='experimental'/><category term='film'/><category term='writing'/><category term='bookstore'/><category term='sister'/><category term='bw'/><title type='text'>a word at the start</title><subtitle type='html'>recent, present memory project with the help of some photos here and there.</subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>40</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-1028902683343442674</id><published>2007-09-10T11:57:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-10T12:18:28.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'>not so dreamy dreams</title><content type='html'>there's a girl in here who looks like ms. teen south carolina. she's one of "those girls" who wakes up 2 hours early every morning to do her hair and makeup and get dressed in the clothing she picked out last night. she's blonde, styled in a pathetic attempt at a pompadour (also soooo 2 seasons ago)and wears a turquoise jersey dress, carefully matched with &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh shit i just started to remember my dream from this morning. scratch that before stuff, i don't care about her. this is the shit dreams are made of: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Jay, dad of the kids I babysit for calls and leaves a message. I think he's calling cause I'm late to babysit (maybe I was supposed to and forgot). But actually he wants to see if I want to come over and hang out. He's rented "Secretary" and we could watch that and I could play with the kids and have a good time. Angie's out of town. I was freaked out. All this meanwhile I'm doing some kind of Catechism class with my sister and brother and Chris Clinton and Kyle D and lots of others and it's in Malibu or something- everything is musky, grey. As per my dreams usual. So I'm not really good at this Catechism thing- there are lots of tests to prove yourself and if you get too many questions wrong, you die. There was a car too and we drove around A LOT. A fat woman was scared and in charge, she knew more than me for certain. Anyhow, I think there was a way to come back to life- like Jesus Resurrected- but I was terrified the whole time nonetheless. I went into a bathroom at a break to tell someone about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then I was in Forever21 (This is the SECOND dream I've had in the past week about that store) looking at clothes that were on sale. I had omnly cash- about 40 dollars or so (actually it was exactly the amount I had after yesterday's cashing of 68 dollars and 51 cents and having spent 37 of it during the day). So, I'm looking and I'm also on the lam and whaddya know but Jay is there on the floor of the store eating cheetos and watching "the game" He's also drunk because he's an alchoholic and went out drinking with his work buddies before coming home/forever21. The clothes were frilly and summery and I was looking through some babydoll dresses and ended up with a huge pile. I kept taking off my shoes. At first nobody worked there but then a snobbish couple showed up and they were judging me. I was eating a sandwich and a salesman came around, he knew me and was nice but i needed to avoid him. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Then Jay's kids were there and they wanted to help me pick out underwear. There was a whole part of the store I hadn't noticed at first, with new clothes. the bras were all small and rainbow striped and i pulled one apart. They looked like training bras, and just came apart at the center chest seam, like taffy or a spiderweb.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Somehow I left, ended up at school in an shiny marbley florescent administrative hall with lots of doors and offices with windows and innuendos (sp?) to previous dreams from months ago and walked out and left the dream forever.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-1028902683343442674?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/1028902683343442674/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=1028902683343442674' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1028902683343442674'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1028902683343442674'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/09/not-so-dreamy-dreams.html' title='not so dreamy dreams'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-4608168117001575128</id><published>2007-09-07T00:15:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-09-07T00:30:29.027-05:00</updated><title type='text'>oh lordy</title><content type='html'>So. I am lazy. My house is disgusting- I didn't do anything all day. I have lots of homework- didn't do it. My dishes are dirty- haven't done them in 3 weeks. Maybe more. I finally got up at 8 pm after watching "The Office" all day long. Literally all day, save the 2 hour nap I managed to fit in between 5 and 7 pm. I skipped all of my classes. I don't remember the last time I did this and wasn't sick. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I've noticed a trend though: Usually I let things get really really really bad before I chin up and make themn good again. So this was the icing on the garbage can I guess. I went to Target tonight, where I spend 4 dollars and 9 cents on a fucking coffee. Then I went to Barnes and Noble, where I WORK IN THE CAFE and get 50 percent off. I didn't get upset because the trip to BN wasn't planned. It's cool, Starbucks deserves my hard earned dollars that they helped to give me. Working for the man, giving back to the man. Super. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I also misplaced &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;100 Years of Solitude&lt;/span&gt;, which I am reading for a class for which the reading now is not necessarily imperative, but I read it anyway because it consoles me to think that I'm doing SOME homework, even though the important homework hasn't been touched. I also picked up &lt;span style="font-style:italic;"&gt;The Road&lt;/span&gt; at work tonight. It's reallllly good. He writes in fragments. I lovehate that. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Last night Kelly and I went to seve47 for my first time. It didn't hurt that bad, but I bled a little. Everyone was a frat or sorost. And a shitty band played. We had to pay 3 dollars each to get in, but we were drunk so it was cool.We also went to Logan's and Othello's. Order those backwards, you'll have the course of the evening. The bartender at Logan's gave us some free shots that were actually big drinks. This after a bottle of wine and 2 tequila tonics. Yum. Then we danced on the dance floor with some dude and his friend. One of them gave me his hat. I just remembered that part. Then we went to Pita Pit, where I tried to make them put bacon on my falafel sandwich. I was found out though- I didn't pay for bacon. Then we ordered pepperoni pizza and I ate that too and also ate it all day today. God, I felt like a fresh 19 year old with a fake id. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;So, I blame today on last night.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This weekend though: it's gonna be good. I can feel it in my bones. "Good" meaning I'll do my homework. geez. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Had a dream that Kelly wanted to cuddle all night and lots of other crazy shit happened so that when I woke up I was confused and thought that all of it really happened. I was hungover too. I'm not allowed alchohol anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;p.s. Haven't seen Ralf in a week or so; I'm going to decide that it's a good thing. He is an unpractical crush. Still, half the reason I went to BN tonight was because I thought he might be there, and we could wax mathematics and gaze dreamily into each other's bespectacled eyes (if I'd remembered my glasses). Guess he must have been at Starbucks.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-4608168117001575128?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/4608168117001575128/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=4608168117001575128' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4608168117001575128'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4608168117001575128'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/09/oh-lordy.html' title='oh lordy'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-4084181599590675324</id><published>2007-07-03T10:41:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-07-03T10:48:57.748-05:00</updated><title type='text'>brief synopsis</title><content type='html'>dream last night: &lt;br /&gt;gave birth to a baby boy, smartest kid i'd ever seen. &lt;br /&gt;he was walking within minutes, &lt;br /&gt;was large like a toddler not baby. &lt;br /&gt;labor was not painful, baby was also talking within moments: &lt;br /&gt;full conversations. &lt;br /&gt;i looked at him and wanted to name him henry, though somehow &lt;br /&gt;couldn't decide between russell and henry. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;at one point in the dream,  discovered that &lt;br /&gt;throughout the pregnancy i had smoked cigarettes, &lt;br /&gt;did drugs and alcohol. it was as though i hadn't known &lt;br /&gt;that i was pregnant, rather the opposite: &lt;br /&gt;i hadn't known i'd been drinking etc while pregnant. &lt;br /&gt;people kept reminding me and i'd have vague memories &lt;br /&gt;and then say no no no i wouldn't dare... but i had. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think we also lived in a space station.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-4084181599590675324?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/4084181599590675324/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=4084181599590675324' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4084181599590675324'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4084181599590675324'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/07/brief-synopsis.html' title='brief synopsis'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-1252408104457162531</id><published>2007-06-16T19:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:13.169-06:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnR8U135P0I/AAAAAAAAAD4/7am6geKwVwg/s1600-h/garden.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnR8U135P0I/AAAAAAAAAD4/7am6geKwVwg/s320/garden.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076819377454137154" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-1252408104457162531?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/1252408104457162531/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=1252408104457162531' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1252408104457162531'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1252408104457162531'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/blog-post.html' title=''/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnR8U135P0I/AAAAAAAAAD4/7am6geKwVwg/s72-c/garden.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-8105888628157192526</id><published>2007-06-15T15:45:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:13.348-06:00</updated><title type='text'>express yourself</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnL9t135PzI/AAAAAAAAADw/KOtM7COTCnw/s1600-h/288772144_fdbf544690_b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnL9t135PzI/AAAAAAAAADw/KOtM7COTCnw/s320/288772144_fdbf544690_b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076398693997428530" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Super Serious time&lt;br /&gt;When I look back on old posts, I think of how orderly my life was: just because I was doing something: writing it down. My life has NEVER been orderly, but I like being reassured that I'm not a complete bored, boring idiot. &lt;br /&gt;Last winter/spring went by so fast that I wish I had something to grasp onto- I wish I'd wrote more, made more, etc. &lt;br /&gt;Simon and Clem are leaving on Monday: it seems that "only yesterday" we were picking them up from the airport. Yesterday I talked to Max on Skype and he has a MacBook now so I got to see him for the first time since August. I tried not to get too teary. &lt;br /&gt;I'm working on getting things together: doing instead of saying and doing what I want, not what I think others want. It's really hard to break old habits but it's working. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My dreams are all more patterned than before latley: all with my sister and mother. Some with my Dad and brothers. Oh, I could make a chart/graph/map. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I decided that I'm going to close my eyes and point on a globe and that's where I'll go. No exceptions, it's where I will go. I haven't done it yet I'm kinda nervous. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got "promoted" to 50 cents more per hour at the EIC desk, which means that now I'm a "Student Supervisor." I'm underqualified, seriously. But now I guess that's incentive to do work I should have been doing in the first place. &lt;br /&gt;I also do some work in the Reference Office and I like that- I'm getting to know the other librarians. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm working on being nic eto everyone- strangers even. I like it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I bought some film and tried out the Polaroid 669 film on my older 600 cmaeram but the shutter I think it is broken. So I ended up with lots of unexposed and weird stuff on the film- esp the ones I peeled before dev. time (90 secs). They look neat and I decided to turn a potential disaster (read: expensive)into something great. I started etching into the emulsion and I like what happened. &lt;br /&gt;I'm still working a lot with text and even submitted work to a literary journal, don't know what will happen. &lt;br /&gt;I have a hard time going to class still and missed two in a row in my sculpture class. So today I went and nobody was there. Serves me right. I'm going to try to do the casting alone tonight: one mold is finished and the other almost. I'm going to cast with paper too: see how it turns out. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have to clean today- don't know if I will but I haven't seen too many bugs lately so if I want it to stay that way (and not have them hiding alll lllll over) then I'd best get going. The state of my house is disgusting, really and truly.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-8105888628157192526?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/8105888628157192526/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=8105888628157192526' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/8105888628157192526'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/8105888628157192526'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/express-yourself.html' title='express yourself'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnL9t135PzI/AAAAAAAAADw/KOtM7COTCnw/s72-c/288772144_fdbf544690_b.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-6909923966702062721</id><published>2007-06-14T16:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:13.450-06:00</updated><title type='text'>amsterdamwithtree</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGz2135PvI/AAAAAAAAADQ/3fSVZpyY9G8/s1600-h/387207500_0082395baf.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGz2135PvI/AAAAAAAAADQ/3fSVZpyY9G8/s320/387207500_0082395baf.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076036009779085042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;This is one of almost none of the photos I took in Amsterdam. &lt;br /&gt;I went with Max and four of his friends, who were sometimes too rowdy. This day was one of the most peaceful. We stopped at an undercrowded coffee shop, and the Germans sitting next to us offered up their remaining hashish, as they couldn't take it home with them. We were in a quaint little neighborhood just next to a canal, and rode through someone's garden on our bikes to get here. &lt;br /&gt;I was stressed out the whole trip, as riding bikes amongst hundreds of othe bikes while watching out for hundreds of cars and pedestrians while stoned... you get the idea. It was hard to get used to.&lt;br /&gt;We camped just outside the city: was more like living outside- as there were hundreds of others. Though the campsite was over crowded- much like the city- word of advice, don't go in the summertime, the evenings were very peaceful and the community area had a well stocked ice cream vending machine. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I like the look of this tree and partial sign- also how I can just make out parts of the city beyond the tree. The blurriness and vignetting thanks to my vintage Zeiss 120 camera. It's a rangefinder, so many of my images were guesses and flukes. Some I feel I can't even take credit for. This one I can- it's one of the very few that I actually remember taking (really! and I was baked out of my mind).&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-6909923966702062721?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/6909923966702062721/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=6909923966702062721' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/6909923966702062721'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/6909923966702062721'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/amsterdamwithtree.html' title='amsterdamwithtree'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGz2135PvI/AAAAAAAAADQ/3fSVZpyY9G8/s72-c/387207500_0082395baf.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-1338887476227811106</id><published>2007-06-12T14:06:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:13.687-06:00</updated><title type='text'>from the train</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnG0V135PxI/AAAAAAAAADg/19tIWP0WG4c/s1600-h/237676402_81b1348e4a.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnG0V135PxI/AAAAAAAAADg/19tIWP0WG4c/s320/237676402_81b1348e4a.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076036542355029778" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i took this from the train window on the way from clermont-ferrand, france to marseille. there is a lot to see at the brief stops if you watch closely- even cliche, but quite real: french families and friends saying hello and goodbye, clothing drying on the line,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnG0b135PyI/AAAAAAAAADo/RSUgUap_O54/s1600-h/237676461_29d06319ba.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnG0b135PyI/AAAAAAAAADo/RSUgUap_O54/s320/237676461_29d06319ba.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076036645434244898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and just before the train picks up real speed (also when it's slow on certain tracks) it's easy to note vegetation and architecture, sometimes even people sunbathing near a river. kelly and i had our coach all to ourselves on this leg of the journey. the trains -long winded french ones especially- are remarkably hot in the summer time, making seats and coaches with other people virtual saunas. trains stop in just about every small town with a station on the way, so the trips take a long time, particularly when you have to change trains- this journey to marseille was around 10 hours. &lt;br /&gt;we had a short layover in nimes, about 4 hours down the road from this image. there, we ate pizza and smoked our cigarettes while we watched passersby (a man with a caged bird at a nearby table) and suffered mild heat stroke. &lt;br /&gt;there's not really much to see in this photo except the feel of fleeting glimpses which are so common from these kinds of windows. &lt;br /&gt;"nothing" is often my favorite thing to see- photos like this make me feel, imagine, and remember something more than something more descriptive. this stop was only 15 minutes or so outside of clermont; the sun rose as we made our way from this small station to the next.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-1338887476227811106?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/1338887476227811106/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=1338887476227811106' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1338887476227811106'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1338887476227811106'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/on-train.html' title='from the train'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnG0V135PxI/AAAAAAAAADg/19tIWP0WG4c/s72-c/237676402_81b1348e4a.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-1345452462936866064</id><published>2007-06-11T13:45:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:14.228-06:00</updated><title type='text'>mess room</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzV135PtI/AAAAAAAAADA/3mlcpHuzFz4/s1600-h/254556966_6324f83773.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzV135PtI/AAAAAAAAADA/3mlcpHuzFz4/s320/254556966_6324f83773.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076035442843401938" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my wreck of a bedroom in my old apartment on elm, which oddly is greatly missed these days. &lt;br /&gt;maybe it's because my new(er) place is just as messy, if not moreso. &lt;br /&gt;i need to clean up. i also need to find some chronic.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-1345452462936866064?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/1345452462936866064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=1345452462936866064' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1345452462936866064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1345452462936866064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/mess-room.html' title='mess room'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzV135PtI/AAAAAAAAADA/3mlcpHuzFz4/s72-c/254556966_6324f83773.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-4022311194724897463</id><published>2007-06-10T17:26:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:14.594-06:00</updated><title type='text'>roadwiper</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzFF35PrI/AAAAAAAAACw/S5uPxy0Qy3o/s1600-h/271983266_8cf4325905.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzFF35PrI/AAAAAAAAACw/S5uPxy0Qy3o/s320/271983266_8cf4325905.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076035155080593074" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzFV35PsI/AAAAAAAAAC4/LHwgv7UC52Q/s1600-h/271983216_ec00e8855b.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzFV35PsI/AAAAAAAAAC4/LHwgv7UC52Q/s320/271983216_ec00e8855b.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076035159375560386" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i came across a bunch of contact sheets in my locker today, this image was among them. i haven't printed it yet, but seeing all that shit piled up really gave me some inspiration to start working again. &lt;br /&gt;lately all my stuff feels stagnant, repetitive. i like finding things that i think of as new again; it's nice realizing that i haven't always been in a rut, and seeing things in my own work that i was unable to see before.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-4022311194724897463?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/4022311194724897463/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=4022311194724897463' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4022311194724897463'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4022311194724897463'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/roadwiper.html' title='roadwiper'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzFF35PrI/AAAAAAAAACw/S5uPxy0Qy3o/s72-c/271983266_8cf4325905.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-4591890638988045503</id><published>2007-06-08T14:51:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:14.856-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='photography'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bw'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='oklahoma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='single white female'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='film'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='exhibitionism'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='norman'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='home'/><title type='text'>pickard ave</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGyYV35PoI/AAAAAAAAACY/51lVErquaZg/s1600-h/410614946_5e1e991417.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGyYV35PoI/AAAAAAAAACY/51lVErquaZg/s320/410614946_5e1e991417.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076034386281447042" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGyYV35PnI/AAAAAAAAACQ/m_7yzrq-iug/s1600-h/410614939_8b001535a6.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGyYV35PnI/AAAAAAAAACQ/m_7yzrq-iug/s320/410614939_8b001535a6.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076034386281447026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i almost never shoot at night but i had a few rolls of bw and couldn't sleep so this is what happened. new house in norman. it's arranged differently now in the living room: the bedroom wall is above with my mom's pear painting. i really love the grainy qualities of these images, but the scans made the whites too bright, almost blue.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-4591890638988045503?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/4591890638988045503/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=4591890638988045503' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4591890638988045503'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4591890638988045503'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/pickard-ave.html' title='pickard ave'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGyYV35PoI/AAAAAAAAACY/51lVErquaZg/s72-c/410614946_5e1e991417.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-8006167542620480539</id><published>2007-06-07T19:54:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:14.982-06:00</updated><title type='text'>flat tire bikes vienna</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzl135PuI/AAAAAAAAADI/-epJbA9aJKU/s1600-h/387379726_d1e1f3cf45.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzl135PuI/AAAAAAAAADI/-epJbA9aJKU/s320/387379726_d1e1f3cf45.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5076035717721308898" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm going to start blogging one a day of recent/old photos. this was taken in vienna, austria outside of the museum of modern art. i didn't notice that the tire was flat at the time- this happens to me often in photos: the not noticing but somehow getting something relatively interesting. weird.&lt;br clear="all" /&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-8006167542620480539?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/8006167542620480539/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=8006167542620480539' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/8006167542620480539'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/8006167542620480539'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/06/flat-tire-bikes-vienna.html' title='flat tire bikes vienna'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RnGzl135PuI/AAAAAAAAADI/-epJbA9aJKU/s72-c/387379726_d1e1f3cf45.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-5234535562084480842</id><published>2007-05-14T13:50:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-05-14T14:16:06.652-05:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='art'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='self'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='avant-garde'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='experimental'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='writing'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='poetry'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='book'/><title type='text'>was so much a part of everything</title><content type='html'>entries from newest art piece: &lt;br /&gt;a book with poetry and images, both deconscructed. &lt;br /&gt;experimental i suppose,&lt;br /&gt;here are the poems not the images. will scen all later. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;THUS, a chapter of doing &lt;br /&gt;of seeing, &lt;br /&gt;see?&lt;br /&gt;just, i, um, &lt;br /&gt;i mean you&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;waking up                 or falling to sleep&lt;br /&gt;                     it wasn't real sleep&lt;br /&gt;           it was only for a moment&lt;br /&gt;                     on a piece of paper&lt;br /&gt;                     on a plastic stick&lt;br /&gt;                     i &lt;br /&gt;                     in a they did it in the ground&lt;br /&gt;                     and you&lt;br /&gt;           never seen her again            take it down&lt;br /&gt;                             taje it down&lt;br /&gt;                of dancing didnt dworn&lt;br /&gt;                   soffocating air don't remember&lt;br /&gt;                   &lt;br /&gt;sad little girls &lt;br /&gt;smell it anesthetic            in fluids don't remember&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;was no baptized in the          was no real &lt;br /&gt;                                     she definitley don't remember&lt;br /&gt;                                        water &lt;br /&gt;                                    only for it &lt;br /&gt;                                   momma hold hands saus not agin&lt;br /&gt;                    you better be careful now &lt;br /&gt;                            moment            was a &lt;br /&gt;                            talk on a phones on a piece &lt;br /&gt;                                                    of paper&lt;br /&gt;                                             bye bye&lt;br /&gt;                                        in a plastic stick&lt;br /&gt;                                             bye bye&lt;br /&gt;                                        in a memory of some&lt;br /&gt;                                             bye bye &lt;br /&gt;                                           non-place&lt;br /&gt;                                              bye bye&lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;                        i mean noboday would touch &lt;br /&gt;                                         never seen her agin said not again &lt;br /&gt; it begins its begins                     i sadit was not  &lt;br /&gt;          there wasnt                        the wrost&lt;br /&gt;                                          but to come &lt;br /&gt;that awful  &lt;br /&gt;        gun                                             i &lt;br /&gt;                                                    had no say it again &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                 olives o l i v e s &lt;br /&gt;                    in the olive trees &lt;br /&gt;momma              smell like dead babies&lt;br /&gt;                        leaves   those &lt;br /&gt;                    arethe bradford pear trees&lt;br /&gt;                     sticky sticky sap&lt;br /&gt;your bed            thinking of shit drips it on the car top&lt;br /&gt;           soggy south of it don"t exist like&lt;br /&gt;      that          sleeping science of &lt;br /&gt;  the bathroom corner       &lt;br /&gt;                            birds not like you are supposed to &lt;br /&gt;behind the door  or were 'cos we were supposed to &lt;br /&gt;      i we didn't want it we we &lt;br /&gt;            i still &lt;br /&gt;are! do &lt;br /&gt;UHMMMMMMMM &lt;br /&gt;           i still no &lt;br /&gt;        we go there id &lt;br /&gt;                      know nhope&lt;br /&gt;on not keep trying and maybe it will work &lt;br /&gt;                         kup trying adn myabe&lt;br /&gt;this thing i have to do         titlt wul wrok &lt;br /&gt;to go away say yill wrok &lt;br /&gt; work &lt;br /&gt;go away. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;eighteen years eighteen years&lt;br /&gt;  i took 19 years to               i'll be it where where &lt;br /&gt;how about a beer you wnat some crack cociane &lt;br /&gt;                            i'll break the porcelain&lt;br /&gt;i'd rather not thank how about an orange juice? &lt;br /&gt;                            cups in the cabinet all &lt;br /&gt;in the bathroom near the walrus &lt;br /&gt;                           keep the manatee safe marge&lt;br /&gt; will, wull, WAll  us take it down keep it down &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;underwater is not peaceful is not safe&lt;br /&gt; seventeeth year the seventeeth year&lt;br /&gt; God, you make me so anxious. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;   he doneup and died and keeled up over &lt;br /&gt;      underneath the doorknob&lt;br /&gt;                                i don't know iwas&lt;br /&gt;nt s'pposed to know abouttit so keep it&lt;br /&gt;                              she was a cunt&lt;br /&gt;             secret keep it safe&lt;br /&gt;                              little bitchy vitch&lt;br /&gt;                                 keep it secret keep it &lt;br /&gt;                                                         safe&lt;br /&gt;              drives a fucking truck&lt;br /&gt;don't go running aroundin no cherry trees&lt;br /&gt;never done nothing i mean nothing &lt;br /&gt;                               keep it to the apples&lt;br /&gt; but mean in her whole goddamnifrees&lt;br /&gt;                      i can't help where it goes&lt;br /&gt;     she soled it shot where the hoe sleeps in the shed&lt;br /&gt;                she took it out&lt;br /&gt;                        her daddy with that &lt;br /&gt;                              wand whacked him dead. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;          i loved the same music bar&lt;br /&gt;            &lt;br /&gt;                      every night the same thing&lt;br /&gt;           so where are you now not even &lt;br /&gt;    &lt;br /&gt;                     &lt;br /&gt;                   in nothing i could think of &lt;br /&gt;not even could imagine just think about it &lt;br /&gt;                the sky won't see you back &lt;br /&gt;  i had you for it &lt;br /&gt;                  i'll show you sparkling pussy streets&lt;br /&gt;no more shewing gum some cigs and matches &lt;br /&gt;                      so hard up &lt;br /&gt;                    some ashes on your polyplastic&lt;br /&gt; so hard and sky sky skytable looks just like wood&lt;br /&gt;    the dont even have a hardware store that day and it &lt;br /&gt;    never rains how could anyone live there &lt;br /&gt;so take it up oh my god how could you live there &lt;br /&gt;                              want as you like &lt;br /&gt; &lt;br /&gt;                    tell him to stay there his teeth &lt;br /&gt;                 aand you want it good take my heel &lt;br /&gt;            are chompers he8ll eat you up up &lt;br /&gt;                  tale your mouth &lt;br /&gt;                                     up&lt;br /&gt;                                       &lt;br /&gt;                                       up&lt;br /&gt;                        , for example i &lt;br /&gt;                                         up&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;an away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;                       you're pretty hip to it you lovely thang&lt;br /&gt;               let's get together make those hips sing alon&lt;br /&gt;g&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-5234535562084480842?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/5234535562084480842/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=5234535562084480842' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/5234535562084480842'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/5234535562084480842'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/05/was-so-much-part-of-everything.html' title='was so much a part of everything'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-4345437209219221141</id><published>2007-04-14T14:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:15.177-06:00</updated><title type='text'>artist statement</title><content type='html'>&lt;a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RiErWUDyCXI/AAAAAAAAABY/2Oni5QY6d0E/s1600-h/442602243_ecf013d2f9%5B1%5D.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RiErWUDyCXI/AAAAAAAAABY/2Oni5QY6d0E/s320/442602243_ecf013d2f9%5B1%5D.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5053367919228094834" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Prologue: &lt;br /&gt;In 1984 I was born to Leslie Lienau and Richard Gibbs. &lt;br /&gt;We moved all over. We moved away from Richard Gibbs. &lt;br /&gt;My home is in my thoughts, and unless I’m really hungry or I need a spliff, memory is my primary concern. &lt;br /&gt;If I’m not paying attention to you when you talk to me, I’m probably remembering the time I stepped on that bee in the backyard on N. Hammond St- I was seven. &lt;br /&gt;Or maybe how the first time I met you, there was nasty zit on your nose and I wanted to pop it for you. &lt;br /&gt;My memories shouldn’t be any of your business, &lt;br /&gt;but I’ll let you take a look if you don’t tell me what you think about it.&lt;br /&gt;Wherever I’m going next is wherever you aren’t. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Point: &lt;br /&gt;I’ll have you know that my professional and esteemed opinion is that the revolving door between memory and reality rotates awfully fast. I’ll also have you know that my goal is to stop it in its tracks, if only for a moment. &lt;br /&gt;You can tell me what you think about that but I won’t listen, ‘cause I already think it’s working and you ain’t gonna change my mind. &lt;br /&gt;Memory is the only thing that matters to me because it’s the only reason I do anything. &lt;br /&gt;My work is about memory; my memory is about my work. I don’t care if you like it, I don’t care if you understand it; it’s not for you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-4345437209219221141?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/4345437209219221141/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=4345437209219221141' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4345437209219221141'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4345437209219221141'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/04/artist-statement.html' title='artist statement'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RiErWUDyCXI/AAAAAAAAABY/2Oni5QY6d0E/s72-c/442602243_ecf013d2f9%5B1%5D.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-258832769922691955</id><published>2007-03-13T23:34:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2007-03-14T00:02:05.892-05:00</updated><title type='text'>oh gross</title><content type='html'>i had a dream that i stabbed myself in the back 6 times. &lt;br /&gt;every time i did it was a sharp pain and i would bleed but the blood was &lt;br /&gt;not dripping or seeping, it just was there. &lt;br /&gt;i stabbed myself like they do in the show rome when they &lt;br /&gt;really want someone to die. &lt;br /&gt;but i wasn't dying, i would just feel weak &lt;br /&gt;and walk around for a bit. &lt;br /&gt;i finally called 911 and they came &lt;br /&gt;and in the dream i told my sister after i called 911 &lt;br /&gt;i don't remember anything until i came home. &lt;br /&gt;the 911 call was weird. i was very calm &lt;br /&gt;but had a hard time explaining that i stabbed myself. &lt;br /&gt;i wanted them to know that it wasn't out of desperation &lt;br /&gt;so much as it was me wanting to know what it felt like &lt;br /&gt;to stab myself. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;they bandaged me up and i could see my wounds &lt;br /&gt;when i pulled back the gauze. i thought that i must have lost a lot &lt;br /&gt;of blood and wondered where my pain killers were: why didn't the doctors give me any? &lt;br /&gt;the wounds were thin and long, like i was a deep cutter &lt;br /&gt;and not a stabber. &lt;br /&gt;it's really disturbing me to write about this. more than &lt;br /&gt;it was to dream it, i wasn't so afraid in my dream. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;havilah came over and i told her about what i did &lt;br /&gt;and asked her not to tell anyone. &lt;br /&gt;she didn't. &lt;br /&gt;she wore a navy dress from the gap, a long one&lt;br /&gt;that i had wanted but couldn't afford. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i pulled the dress on over my bandages in the bathroom &lt;br /&gt;at my mom's house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my mom told havilah not to shop at the gap anymore because &lt;br /&gt;havilah was on an anti-consumerism rant. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i was at target and tracy our bartender &lt;br /&gt;at the library who i went to art school with &lt;br /&gt;worked there and i bought some stuff exchanged some stuff &lt;br /&gt;with sara. &lt;br /&gt;then tracy asked me if i wanted to change the world photo &lt;br /&gt;that was near the register &lt;br /&gt;but underneath the photo there was a big mess or leftover spaghetti &lt;br /&gt;food so i cleaned that up and looked through a book of photos &lt;br /&gt;and the one that was up was from india and that's the one i kept because it &lt;br /&gt;was the only one that was like the world. &lt;br /&gt;it was on a bridge with different kinds of people doing different kinds of &lt;br /&gt;things and some were looking at the camera. it was very graphic and broken up but still one image. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;then i went to the mall and drove like a maniac &lt;br /&gt;and saw women with their children in strollers and &lt;br /&gt;found some jewelry and asked a woman if a ring was hers and she said no. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;rick and joe and patrick and sierra and susanna and mike and jen &lt;br /&gt;and pretty much a lot of people who i know were at the beach outside of a store &lt;br /&gt;they were laughing around a campfire and having fun. &lt;br /&gt;patrick told me astory about how mike dyed part of his hair white &lt;br /&gt;and when i saw mike it looked like he had cotton balls burrowed &lt;br /&gt;at the ends of his hair moving outwards so it looked like he'd tipped &lt;br /&gt;his hair in white but it was fluffier  &lt;br /&gt;of his hair so i thought that was funny and i started laughing and &lt;br /&gt;laughed so hard that i had to go out to the hall &lt;br /&gt;and laugh &lt;br /&gt;and everyone inside wondered what i was laughing at but i couldn't &lt;br /&gt;tell them because i didn't want to hurt mike's feelings. &lt;br /&gt;some girls walked by in beach towels and looked at me like i was crazy. &lt;br /&gt;i couldn't stop laughing.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-258832769922691955?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/258832769922691955/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=258832769922691955' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/258832769922691955'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/258832769922691955'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/03/oh-gross.html' title='oh gross'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-4290772273005637224</id><published>2007-02-23T10:40:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-23T10:48:11.425-06:00</updated><title type='text'>sea, sex and sun</title><content type='html'>the days are beautiful and the vitamin d makes such a difference. &lt;br /&gt;i'm feeling better every day and it's good to have a broken car in this weather. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i keep forgetting to write my dreams down... rather avoiding it, but i'm going to get around to it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;my friends in clermont have a really great band that sounds a bit like "why?" they are pretty incredible. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.myspace.com/pastrycase"&gt;here's their "myspace"&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i hope you know how much i love you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-4290772273005637224?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/4290772273005637224/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=4290772273005637224' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4290772273005637224'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4290772273005637224'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/02/sea-sex-and-sun.html' title='sea, sex and sun'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-8867919684478295426</id><published>2007-02-19T19:19:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-19T19:20:59.766-06:00</updated><title type='text'>like shit</title><content type='html'>I never felt so sick in all of my life. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh I thought I could write about it but oh I was wrong. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh ugh woe is me.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-8867919684478295426?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/8867919684478295426/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=8867919684478295426' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/8867919684478295426'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/8867919684478295426'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/02/like-shit.html' title='like shit'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-2666453847942604068</id><published>2007-02-16T09:53:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-16T10:02:09.334-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='volvo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='tattoo'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='oklahoma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='bookstore'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='summer'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='christ'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='strange'/><title type='text'>dreamhouse</title><content type='html'>Had a dream last night that Sara Brooks was around and so was her friend Trevor. I thought he was cute and told her so found out that he was the first boy Sara had sex with and he was from Washington state. I asked Sara why he had a really cool Oklahoma tattoo with a star on Tulsa and she got upset because he stole that tattoo from her. She had one on her upper back just below her neck that looked like a messy woodblock print of a bird and a house. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I worked for a bookstore and for the library and my schedules were getting mixed up. A girl I know from highschool was having a big party and I was invited and I had to rush around to try to get there. It turned out that I didn’t have to work at the library at the same time as the bookstore, I found out on the facebook because Sherman told me in a video message. My mom had some kind of art show party that I was missing or needed to go to.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I got to the bookstore and it was a Christian store. I’d been in once before with my huge art history book and I looked at shelves and the owners and their kids. They played bad Christian music. I was afraid at first that they would think I was stealing the art book but I soon got over it. The place was open but crowded with sub-par books: change your life through Christ shit and children’s adventure novels. There were needlepoints framed on the wall and stuffy pink and faded yellow armchairs. The stereo was by the front door where there was a table and some chairs. The register was in the back, up a bit from the rest of the store on a kind of side platform.  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I left in my yellow Volvo. When I came in to actually work there, the owner was a skinny older man with gray hair. He told me that they had some music to play if I wanted to… “megan…” something. Some Christian smooth crap. He didn't train me and when tgey left he and his son were in the car and I asked questions but they were babysitting questions and their kids were going with them. I played my own music and my sister and brother (Seth) came to visit. In the other room (the bookstore was in a church that looked not unlike a house) there was a dormitory barely distinguishable from my viewpoint by the metal beds on the wall. A half naked black man was walking around like he lived there and looked like hed just gotten out of the shower and I was very confused. Havilah had to point out the dormitory to me and explain why he was there. There was a woman too and a social worker who they talked to on the stairs but I never saw the social worker; she was only implied by sound. Seth having disappeared when the black man and his friend appeared, Havilah and I left the bookstore… my shift may or may not have finished but that didn’t matter: it was time to go. At the library we talked to people -but not really there was no actual conversation- at the circulation desk and girls went in and out. I felt claustrophobic. There was some bright green somewhere, and pinks. Probably on someone’s shirt,  but that part was important. A girl confronted me with her eyes about listening in on her conversation. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The girl from highschool would call to confirm my rsvp and I’d have to call her to say I would be late. Dad was in the dream somewhere and  a house I didn’t know.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-2666453847942604068?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/2666453847942604068/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=2666453847942604068' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/2666453847942604068'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/2666453847942604068'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/02/dreamhouse.html' title='dreamhouse'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-4999494088475708469</id><published>2007-02-12T11:08:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:16.066-06:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='sister'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='vampire'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='blood'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='oklahoma'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dracula'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='crime'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='jackie brown'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='family'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='dream'/><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='boyfriend'/><title type='text'>the moving image</title><content type='html'>These are the things I watched on the television last night: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;JACKIE BROWN&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCj9fBc3xI/AAAAAAAAAAg/RCN0tU2SnPs/s1600-h/jackiebrown_poster2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCj9fBc3xI/AAAAAAAAAAg/RCN0tU2SnPs/s320/jackiebrown_poster2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030701060467777298" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;DRACULA ON MASTERPIECE THEATRE&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCkq_Bc3zI/AAAAAAAAAAw/lEbYTOWYbUk/s1600-h/dracula_01.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCkq_Bc3zI/AAAAAAAAAAw/lEbYTOWYbUk/s320/dracula_01.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030701842151825202" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCkwvBc30I/AAAAAAAAAA4/ZgCdt0f5Hsg/s1600-h/dracula_02.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCkwvBc30I/AAAAAAAAAA4/ZgCdt0f5Hsg/s320/dracula_02.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030701940936073026" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;LAW AND ORDER: SVU&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCkEPBc3yI/AAAAAAAAAAo/KTheLkntBFA/s1600-h/law+and+order+SVU.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCkEPBc3yI/AAAAAAAAAAo/KTheLkntBFA/s320/law+and+order+SVU.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030701176431894306" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A RECAP OF MY DREAM THIS MORNING: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;An ex boyfriend became a vampire and started to bite people. He wore a button-down worn in plaid shirt and jeans. &lt;br /&gt;I still had liked him I guess and he wanted to get together against the &lt;br /&gt;wishes of my mother and my friends. We did anyway and he bit me while we were having sex on a couch in a grey almost foggy room (it was more translucent than foggy) but I didn't die or become a vampire (when I woke up I thought that maybe there was some kind of time-lapse... We'd kissed after her bit me which would mean that I would have drunk blood but maybe it took a while until I became a vampire). I was afraid of his biting me but I also liked it. There was a woman who I didn't know who didn't want us to be together either and to whom I kept justifying my actions while telling her that I knew she was right. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Havilah was visiting from somewhere and had a big bag. We were staying in a hostel/grocery store/apartment. There was an ATM in the girls' showers and it kept moving, it was later explained to be a portable ATM machine. &lt;br /&gt;The vampire ex boyfriend kept leaving and coming back. He would go to parties and meet cute girls and bite them. He probably had sex with them too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We had a party in the grocery store living quarters and Vampire BF came with his friend. VBF kept coming close to me and we would hug or something but I really really didn't want him to bite me again so I was reluctant. There was a floppy bed and lots of people at the party. &lt;br /&gt;I had a feeling of being surveilled by the state, especially at the party. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;There was a woman who stood in between Havilah's room and the kitchen near a chair and a Latino man. She was tall and solid with big black hair and a blue suit that she had made herself. She and I spent a lot of time talking about how she made the suit. She was self-concious about how she'd put breast pockets with buttons on the front. I told her that they looked nice. I thought maybe she was in the navy and asked her continuously what organization she belonged to (cause she definitely belonged to something) and she kept telling me but the music was too loud or her voice was too distorted so I missed it every time. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Havilah's huge bag had something in it that I really needed and I kept sorting through her clothing and soap but never found anything. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Mom and Havilah and I went to the mall and were shoe shopping. Someone was watching us there too and we were supposed to meet someone like my brother Seth. The shoe store was small and cramped and Mom found some nice ones. I kept trying shoes on and Havilah was watching in a corner. Lots were mismatched but still tied together. There were no true blacks: only plums and off whites. The white shoes were birkenstocks but looked like heavy flats. They hugged my feet very tightly and had great arch support. Havilah and Mom might have been getting impatient but they weren't showing it too much. The clerk was cold. The shop was surrounded by windows. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The colour pallette for this dream was very subdued: A lot of haze and plums, greys, light browns. Maybe some swamp greens. These were all the colours until I spoke to the woman in uniform. Her suit was bright blue and looked like polyester. Her shirt was very white and slightly wrinkled, her face was kind and very very worried, like someone was watching her or she was botching up a heist, and the kitchen had wooden light brown varnished rounded back chairs and white linoleum floors. And the part with Havilah's bag had some yellows and was a bit more detailed.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-4999494088475708469?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/4999494088475708469/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=4999494088475708469' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4999494088475708469'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/4999494088475708469'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/02/moving-image.html' title='the moving image'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/RdCj9fBc3xI/AAAAAAAAAAg/RCN0tU2SnPs/s72-c/jackiebrown_poster2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-3638347049034576351</id><published>2007-02-11T17:28:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2008-11-12T19:37:16.224-06:00</updated><title type='text'>old stuff</title><content type='html'>&lt;a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/Rc-m4_Bc3vI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-krPvjmEEqQ/s1600-h/amsterdamedit2.jpg"&gt;&lt;img style="float:right; margin:0 0 10px 10px;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/Rc-m4_Bc3vI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-krPvjmEEqQ/s320/amsterdamedit2.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5030422806716538610" /&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i worked on photos today and am thinking of staying all night at the ceramics studio. all semester - one month now- i've been to only one class time. it's pathetic.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i keep having dreams about my old apartment and the bedroom floor. i dream that i still live there or i'm visiting and the landlords have refinished the wooden floors and put carpet beyond the bed. the floors were beautiful: light and well polished. i was angry and anxious; i wasn't supposed to be there. &lt;br /&gt;needless to say i suppose, the dreams are nerve wracking and scattered. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm happy to be working with europe images again. &lt;br /&gt;my free time will involvethem for a while i think and that's great just great.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-3638347049034576351?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/3638347049034576351/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=3638347049034576351' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/3638347049034576351'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/3638347049034576351'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/02/old-stuff.html' title='old stuff'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><media:thumbnail xmlns:media='http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/' url='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_ZsWseI_AVpA/Rc-m4_Bc3vI/AAAAAAAAAAM/-krPvjmEEqQ/s72-c/amsterdamedit2.jpg' height='72' width='72'/><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-1591822199021360418</id><published>2007-02-10T15:09:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-10T15:20:28.828-06:00</updated><title type='text'>hey "babay"</title><content type='html'>&lt;div id="tt"&gt;&lt;span style="font-size: larger;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;got stoned last night, wrote an email to max.&lt;br /&gt;babysat this morning for todd's kids who are adorable. really cute kids, and really well-behaved.&lt;br /&gt;housewives of orange county is the biggest waste of time on television.&lt;br /&gt;maybe something can be gleaned from it... like how f-ed up rich mostly white people are.&lt;br /&gt;i'm hungry veggie pizza delicious. movie stonight havilah's having a party so i'll go there need to do dishes think i'll bake cookies.&lt;br /&gt;i like the new blogger... now it's easy photo posting i guess. i'll do that later though.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;captain's courageous was on tcm the other day and i remember watching it when i was about 9 or 10 because grandma made a tape of it for us. spencer tracy is in it and does a really phoney latin american accent. there's mickey rooney too. i used to watch movies of him with judy garland. like the andy hardy movies. i loved those. they were too wholesome and i think i knew it but i like the old fashionedness of them. i never finsihed captain's courageous, and 2001: a space odessey is on now and i've never finished that either. i'm gonna eat this pizza and take a nap. very cold today: overcast. i like it but not being in it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;joke that mom used to tell and which i later saw in pulp fiction, only to even later wonder if she told the joke because she saw it in pulp fiction: &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;momma tomatoe, pappa tomatoe, and baby tomatoe are walking home. baby tomatoe starts to lag behind. pappa tomatoe walks back to him, stomps on him, and says "KETCHUP!"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;hahahahahahahahhahahahhahahhahahhaha&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;script type="text/vbscript"&gt;Function VBGetSwfVer(i)   on error resume next   Dim swControl, swVersion   swVersion = 0   set swControl = CreateObject("ShockwaveFlash.ShockwaveFlash." + CStr(i))   if (IsObject(swControl)) then     swVersion = swControl.GetVariable("$version")   end if   VBGetSwfVer = swVersion End Function&lt;/script&gt;&lt;script&gt;function FlashRequest() {} function Player_DoFSCommand() {}&lt;/script&gt;&lt;div class="mhc"&gt;&lt;div id="mh_0"&gt;&lt;table class="mhc" id="mm" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr class="mht"&gt;&lt;td rowspan="2" id="_cc" class="ctln"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td colspan="5" class="ctopn" height="4"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td rowspan="2" valign="top"&gt;&lt;table id="omt_1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr id="cbt_1"&gt;&lt;td id="_cbt_1_l" class="cbul" height="23"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td id="_cbt_1_m" style="padding-top: 5px;" class="cbum" height="23"&gt;&lt;span style="padding: 1px 0pt;" id="_r_2_1" class="h"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/reply.gif" class="cbui" /&gt; &lt;span class="cbut"&gt;&lt;u&gt;R&lt;/u&gt;eply&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td id="_cbt_1_s" class="cbus" height="23"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td id="_cbt_1_d" class="cbud"&gt;&lt;span style="display: table-cell;" id="_so_1" class="h"&gt;&lt;img unselectable="on" style="visibility: hidden; -moz-user-select: none;" src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/card_button_d.gif" height="23" width="24" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;div class="om" id="om_1" unselectable="on" style="display: none;"&gt;&lt;span id="omi_1" class="oi cbut h"&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="r_3"&gt;&lt;img title="Reply to all" alt="Reply to all" id="r_3" class="mi" src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/reply_all.gif" height="15" width="15" /&gt; Reply to all&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="omi_1" class="oi cbut h"&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="r_4"&gt;&lt;img title="Forward" alt="Forward" id="r_4" class="mi" src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/forward.gif" height="15" width="15" /&gt; Forward&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="omi_1" class="oi cbut h"&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="prm"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/reply.gif" style="visibility: hidden;" height="15" width="15" /&gt; Print&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="omi_1" class="oi cbut h"&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="astc"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/reply.gif" style="visibility: hidden;" height="15" width="15" /&gt; Add sarah to Contacts list&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="omi_1" class="oi cbut h"&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="tr"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/reply.gif" style="visibility: hidden;" height="15" width="15" /&gt; Delete this message&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="omi_1" class="oi cbut h"&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="or"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/reply.gif" style="visibility: hidden;" height="15" width="15" /&gt; Show original&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;span id="omi_1" class="oi cbut h"&gt;&lt;span style="display: block;" id="dor"&gt;&lt;img src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/reply.gif" style="visibility: hidden;" height="15" width="15" /&gt; Message text garbled?&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;tr class="fhr"&gt;&lt;td class="msr"&gt;&lt;img id="_ss" class="h" src="http://mail.google.com/mail/images/star_off_sm_2.gif" height="13" width="13" /&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td class="au"&gt;&lt;span id="_user_somnolesence@gmail.com" style="color: rgb(0, 104, 28);"&gt;&lt;span style="padding: 0pt 1px 1px 0pt;"&gt;&lt;img name="_pressomnolesence@gmail.com" class="bzpb" style="vertical-align: bottom;" src="http://mail.google.com/mail/im/available_white1.gif" /&gt;&lt;/span&gt;sarah capshaw&lt;/span&gt; &lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="padding-top: 0pt;" width="100%"&gt;&lt;table class="rc" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0"&gt;&lt;tbody&gt;&lt;tr&gt;&lt;td id="_mr_110aacc594b8fb02"&gt;&lt;div&gt;to &lt;span id="_mr_110aacc594b8fb02_0"&gt;&lt;span id="_upro_maxime.chasles@gmail.com"&gt;Maxime&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td style="padding-left: 4px;" align="right"&gt;&lt;div id="sd_110aacc594b8fb02" class="ll"&gt;show details&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;td align="right"&gt; &lt;span id="_date_Sat Feb 10 2007_2:37 AM"&gt;2:37 am (12 hours ago) &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/td&gt;&lt;/tr&gt;&lt;/tbody&gt;&lt;/table&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div id="mb_0"&gt;Hi. How are you?&lt;br /&gt;Do you want to start writing emails again?&lt;br /&gt;I read some of our old ones the other day.&lt;br /&gt;Some of them were really nice to see again.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is your internship?&lt;br /&gt;My job is good, I meet a lot of interesting and bizarre people everyday. &lt;br /&gt;I wish you could be here. There was a party tonight at Joe, Yasmeen, Gavin, Ashley and Shereen's house.&lt;br /&gt;It was really fun. I just got very stoned and wanted to dance. But the dancing was kind of boring.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;How is France? Is it cold? It's cold here. We had a really nice day the last time we talked, but the next day was really&lt;br /&gt;cold and it's going to stay that way for a while. I rode my bike tonight anyway.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;School is not bad, I'm very happy with most of my classes. I'm having a hard time explaining&lt;br /&gt;my artwork and talking about what I want to do with it- what i want to say- but I think I'm&lt;br /&gt;making more progress than I did in the past. I'm starting to write again. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I really miss you Max, and I hope you are okay. Tell me about your job and where you live. I like to think about what it looks like&lt;br /&gt;on yoru end when we talk, especially when you talk to other people at the same time as to me. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I'm listening to Gonzales right now, the piano. It's nice. I always think of Lyon when I hear it.&lt;br /&gt;I watched some clips fom Paris, Je T'aime on YouTube the other day. They have whole sections!&lt;br /&gt;I watched the one with Natalie Portman and the one with the American woman who is alone. &lt;br /&gt;I've been listening to Francoise Hardy and Serge Gainsbourg. Do you often listen to The Moldy Peaches?&lt;br /&gt;I bought The Science of Sleep too. I haven't been able to see the whole thing yet; I've just watched it in sections.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Can you do me a favour? I want to know from you what you remember from this summer. If that's hard for you then don't worry about it, but I want to use some of it for my project and anything you have to say will be really good to use. Anything at all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Okay, well write soon.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;gros bisous,&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;sarah&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;--&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span class="sg"&gt;sarah capshaw &lt;/span&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-1591822199021360418?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/1591822199021360418/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=1591822199021360418' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1591822199021360418'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/1591822199021360418'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/02/hey-babay.html' title='hey &quot;babay&quot;'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-117078109333383870</id><published>2007-02-06T10:44:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2007-02-09T08:26:38.943-06:00</updated><title type='text'>i, um, i mean yeah</title><content type='html'>So I don't do this very often lately but I think it's time to again &lt;br /&gt;or at least to organize or something. &lt;br /&gt;New house in a duplex next to Matt and that's really nice. &lt;br /&gt;I thought a lot last night about how to make the backyard look nice. There is a big backyard, it's big and long and I'd like to have a garden or something that would be nice. &lt;br /&gt;I've been taking some photos but not very many, mostly writing things down lately and mostly thinking a lot about everything. &lt;br /&gt;I've made two books so far, and both I made early. I have urges now to create create create. I guess this means that the stagnant period might be over for a while, though that doesn't yet apply to my new house. I still have boxes and boxes of paper and junk and my film canister of good pot is hiding out somewhere in there. &lt;br /&gt;A part of me is really afraid to go through all of that shit, but moving was part of getting out of the lazy, cramped, filthy life I led on Elm Ave. Charming is was, practical it was not. &lt;br /&gt;I'm worried about finances but happy that I'm being frugal... kind of. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyway, no more trips to anywhere until I get it together. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I have another Library job, this time upstairs in the EIC. I watch people and help them print and talk to some of them. Jana still tries to weild her great power from down below in CPR. I was 10 mins late to my 7:30 am shift and she did notice. "I've got people" on my side though (thanks H&amp;R Block). &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I go to the sauna almost daily... working up to riding my bike instead of driving there. &lt;br /&gt;I want to go somewhere big and get lost. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Today is really nice... 67 f for the high I believe. I'm learning to be happy about nice days in February, though it still gets my goat a little bit. It's FEBRUARY. I don't like being tricked into thinking it's spring time coming when it's not. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I started reading Flannery O'Connor stories on the internet. I'm slightly concerned that maybe I'm missing little bits of the stories. There are a lot of spelling errors. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People aks a lot of questions up here and I feel like the only answer I can give them is "I don't know." Sometimes the questions are common sense... the kind of things I'm not trained to answer, like "How do I turn on the computer". Common sense stuff that most teach themselves. But other questions are more complicated and I don't know WHO knows the answer. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Well, that was boring.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-117078109333383870?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/117078109333383870/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=117078109333383870' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/117078109333383870'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/117078109333383870'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2007/02/i-um-i-mean-yeah.html' title='i, um, i mean yeah'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-116318040713786176</id><published>2006-11-10T11:27:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-10T21:09:36.616-06:00</updated><title type='text'>two words thank you</title><content type='html'>two words&lt;br /&gt;No Explanations.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;1. Yourself: kinda hungry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2. Your boyfriend/girlfriend: far away&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3. Your hair: very short&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4. Your mother: very wonderful&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5. Your Father: kinda crazy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6. Your Favorite Item: never existed&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7. Your dream last night: has disappeared&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8. Your Favorite drink: always delicious&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9. Your Dream Car: doesn't exist&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10. The room you are in: cold, messy&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11. Your Ex: pretty, tall&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12. Your fear: utter failure&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13. What you want to be in 10 years: utterly successful &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14. Who you hung out with last night: the best&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15. What You're Not: very decisive&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16. Muffins: yes please&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17: One of Your Wish List Items: plane ticket&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18: Time: is fabricated&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19. The Last Thing You Did: ear scratch&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20. What You Are Wearing: shirt shorts&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21. Your Favorite Weather: is perfect&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22. Your Favorite Book: is delightful&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23. The Last Thing You Ate: french fry&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24. Your Life: weird now&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25. Your Mood: don't care&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26. Your best friend: cares sometimes&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27. What are you thinking about right now: my car&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;28. Your car: how weird&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29. What are you doing at the moment: looking around&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30. Your summer: magical unicorns&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31. Your relationship status: very confusing&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32. What is on your TV: remote cds&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33. What is the weather like: bit chilly&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34. When is the last time you laughed: last evening&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35. Perfect Day: snowy trains&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36. Where are you? powerful nation&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-116318040713786176?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/116318040713786176/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=116318040713786176' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/116318040713786176'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/116318040713786176'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/11/two-words-thank-you.html' title='two words thank you'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-116239762440316635</id><published>2006-11-01T10:04:00.000-06:00</published><updated>2006-11-01T10:20:17.430-06:00</updated><title type='text'>recap, new cap</title><content type='html'>I don't really know where to start ever. &lt;br /&gt;Lately most people I know, myself included, are in a rut. A big fat apathetic one.&lt;br /&gt;I don't know if it's the weather changing or our age or Oklahoma or what or why. &lt;br /&gt;The cold weather makes me want to bake lots of pumpkin pie.&lt;br /&gt;I'm smoking fewer cigarettes, very few now. Out of the ordinary for wintertime but I'm happy about it. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The Blow and Jenny Lewis and Will Scheff were all wonderful in concert. They all were magical. Will Scheff only played about 4 songs and seemed frustrated when he left the stage. This was justified as most people were talking during his set. &lt;br /&gt;During Jenny Lewis and her stupendous band's set, the trademark (i guess it's mandatory at every great musical concert) idiots who don't give a shit about the music itself, who rather care more about people knowing that they know the music... they were right behind us. Easily remedied though: we moved up, though they sang at the top of their voices to Jenny Lewis's solo "Rabbit Fur Coat". As loudly as they could. They ruined that one. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Oh well. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Halloween was just mediocre this year, I won't elaborate but it was. Mediocre is sometimes worse than awful. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I babysat on Saturday and took the kids to a soccer game. Olivia and Jackson are 5 and played. They go to one of those mega churches that has a parking lots big enough for 100 small houses but is instead full of expensive cars owned by white people. Only white people. One that probably has it's own spa and McDonald's. This one does have Starbucks actually. &lt;br /&gt;So, not surprisingly, they also have an enormous soccer area with multiple playing fields and multiple teams. &lt;br /&gt;They stopped the game (really kids playing with the ball and eachother) at halftime for prayer time and bible study. &lt;br /&gt;For five year olds who don't understand and spent most of it picking at the grass or each other. &lt;br /&gt;And the kind mother next to us scolded her son for not paying more attention to the game which was being played without goalies or rules. &lt;br /&gt;Poor kid. He'll probably end up just like his tight-ass parents.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Anyhow,&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-116239762440316635?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/116239762440316635/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=116239762440316635' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/116239762440316635'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/116239762440316635'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/11/recap-new-cap.html' title='recap, new cap'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-116069162346283405</id><published>2006-10-12T17:18:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-10-12T17:20:33.273-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i don't care.</title><content type='html'>i have 22 years. &lt;br /&gt;thakns yuo. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;nyc was fun even though the moma was closed &lt;br /&gt;people are so crazy all the time&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;cab driver said "i'm american, i don't care, i do what i want, i don't care."&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-116069162346283405?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/116069162346283405/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=116069162346283405' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/116069162346283405'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/116069162346283405'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/10/i-dont-care.html' title='i don&apos;t care.'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115896026940398091</id><published>2006-09-22T16:22:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-22T16:24:29.416-05:00</updated><title type='text'>jello</title><content type='html'>i'm still confused. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i need a shower, i got to shower in gelatin last night.&lt;br /&gt;we sized our paper which means we got it ready for nonsilver printing &lt;br /&gt;and it was so messy. &lt;br /&gt;i also printed all morning and i still smell like chemicals. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i don't mind that much though. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm listening to this american life and it's one about &lt;br /&gt;things without names. before they have names. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i need something like travel.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115896026940398091?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115896026940398091/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115896026940398091' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115896026940398091'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115896026940398091'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/09/jello.html' title='jello'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115817826969808912</id><published>2006-09-13T15:10:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-09-13T15:11:09.706-05:00</updated><title type='text'>i'm confused</title><content type='html'>it's cold at work. &lt;br /&gt;there is alot going on &lt;br /&gt;and i don't know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i just don't know. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm going to buy some pants and shirts after work. &lt;br /&gt;maybe some shoes  too. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i miss havilah a whole lot. &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i want to make something magical happen.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115817826969808912?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115817826969808912/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115817826969808912' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115817826969808912'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115817826969808912'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/09/im-confused.html' title='i&apos;m confused'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115610519344887298</id><published>2006-08-20T15:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-08-20T15:19:53.500-05:00</updated><title type='text'></title><content type='html'>1) Do you talk in your sleep? yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;2.) Ocean or pool? ocean.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;3) What's your favorite song at the moment? gemini (birthday song) from why? and anyone else but you from the moldy peaches &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;4) Current crush? maxime&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;5.) what's your favorite color(s)? green&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;6) If you won the lottery, what would you do first? collect my check.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;7) Ever met anyone famous? yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;8) Do you feel that you've had a truly successful life? i don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;9) Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? i don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;10) Ricki Lake or Oprah Winfrey? none.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;11) Basketball or Football? none.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;12) How long do your showers last? not very long.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;13) Do you know how to drive stick? yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;14) Cake or ice cream? ice cream.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;15) Are you self-conscious? sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;16) Have you ever given money to a bum? i've given money to people who ask for it. but not all of them.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;17) Where do you wish you were? les cerqueux sous-passavant with maxime.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;18) Have you ever ridden in an ambulance? i don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;19) Last gift you received? max bought my ticket to see le science des reves.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;20) Last sport you played? i don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;21) Things you spend a lot of money on? clothing and shoes and travel.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;22) Last wedding attended? clint and nicole&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;23) Most hated food(s)? black licorice.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;24) Can you sing? yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;25) Last person who called you? i don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;26) Whats your least favorite chore? dishes maybe or dusting. dusting.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;27) Favorite Drink(s)? demi peche/ mojito/ water/ wine&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;29) Are you a vegetarian? not anymore.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;30) Do you believe in Heaven? no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;31) What jewelry do you wear 24/7? none "24/7"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;32) Are you eating? no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;33) Do you eat the stems of broccoli? no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;34) Do you wear makeup? sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;35) Would you ever have plastic surgery? if i were severely injured.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;36)What do you wear to bed? it depends on the season.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;37) Can you roll your tongue? yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;38) What kind of shoes? all kinds.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;39) What is your Hair color? blonde.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;40) Future child's name? i don't know yet.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;41) Do you snore? sometimes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;42) If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be? somewhere magical.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;43) Do you sleep with stuffed animals? no.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;45) Gold or silver? silver.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;46) Hamburger or hot dog? neither.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;47) If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life what would it be? french cheese on bread.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;48) City, beach or country? all three.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;49) What was the last thing you touched?the keyboard.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;50) Where did you eat last? the library.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;51) When's the last time you cried? yesterday.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;52) Do you read blogs? yes.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;53) Would you ever go out dressed like the opposite sex? this is stupid.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;54) Ever been involved with the police? i don't know.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;55) What's your favorite body part on the opposite sex? hands maybe other parts too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115610519344887298?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115610519344887298/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115610519344887298' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115610519344887298'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115610519344887298'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/08/1-do-you-talk-in-your-sleep-yes.html' title=''/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115393660900294013</id><published>2006-07-26T12:55:00.001-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-26T12:56:49.003-05:00</updated><title type='text'>berlin</title><content type='html'>is amazing.&lt;br /&gt;amazing. i want to stay here forever.&lt;br /&gt;that's all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;and it's fucking hot.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;okay, that's all.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115393660900294013?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115393660900294013/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115393660900294013' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115393660900294013'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115393660900294013'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/07/berlin_26.html' title='berlin'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115278145651072342</id><published>2006-07-13T03:55:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-07-13T04:10:06.403-05:00</updated><title type='text'>oh my goodness gracious</title><content type='html'>kelly and i are in marseilles.&lt;br /&gt;i am in love, but not with kelly.&lt;br /&gt;and not with france.&lt;br /&gt;okay, maybe both kind of.&lt;br /&gt;the beach here has sand that is really rocks.&lt;br /&gt;rocks. really.&lt;br /&gt;the ocean is light blue and warm at night. well, not warm but comfortable.&lt;br /&gt;the hostel is fucking hot at night and i sweat and sweat. i will have to take three showers a day.&lt;br /&gt;french improving, it's strange that i actually understand people when they speak to me.&lt;br /&gt;in clermont before kelly came i went to a mountain lake, saw three world cup france matches (france lost the last one-- domage). i am in the home city of zinadine zidane, the most famous football player. or one of the most famous.&lt;br /&gt;kelly and i are trying to find an h and m. we do not have a city map.&lt;br /&gt;i also climbed a mountain in clermont, a volcanic one. or it was next to a volcanic one, i don't remember.&lt;br /&gt;i have eaten A LOT of cheese. more than ever before i think.&lt;br /&gt;i don't regret it.&lt;br /&gt;not so much wine as beer, and i have to quit smoking.&lt;br /&gt;french people are still weird, even though i understand them.&lt;br /&gt;i want to smoke hashish.&lt;br /&gt;i went to le-puy en velay and saw the oldest cathedral i have ever seen in my life.&lt;br /&gt;10th century. it's a small town and everyone knows eachother.&lt;br /&gt;the french people think it's boring, i think it's old and cobbled and beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;the country side is fantastic and green and also beautiful.&lt;br /&gt;the french people think it's no big deal.&lt;br /&gt;we ate at a fancy french restaurant and the mayor was there too and&lt;br /&gt;i ate rabbit.&lt;br /&gt;it was delicious. and bony. i didn't like the bones.&lt;br /&gt;oh that was probably the best meal i will eat in years.&lt;br /&gt;hopefully not though.&lt;br /&gt;okay, i have more but nothing else i have to find a city map.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;ohhhh oh oh oh yeah i cut off my hair. i did it. and now it is trés frais.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i love you.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115278145651072342?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115278145651072342/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115278145651072342' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115278145651072342'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115278145651072342'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/07/oh-my-goodness-gracious.html' title='oh my goodness gracious'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115140066803797934</id><published>2006-06-27T04:28:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-27T04:31:08.050-05:00</updated><title type='text'>la poste, il est ou?</title><content type='html'>i have to find a box to send things home.&lt;br /&gt;i am leaving tomorrow for angers, and then going&lt;br /&gt;to les cerqueux.&lt;br /&gt;problem: ted seth jacobs hasn't written back and i don't know&lt;br /&gt;if i should book a hotel in angers or not.&lt;br /&gt;my train leaves really early in the morning, too... 7:30! ahhhhhh.&lt;br /&gt;i suppose that if all else fails i can book a train to clermont and be&lt;br /&gt;there within a few hours. no problem, not at all.&lt;br /&gt;paris isn't bad.&lt;br /&gt;went to centre pompidou and saw great things.&lt;br /&gt;i also like the luxembourg gardens. i'm not really&lt;br /&gt;crazy about being in the big city anymore.&lt;br /&gt;i want to go to castles to drink cheese and eat wine.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;okay, i have to go find a box and a baguette. i am so french.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115140066803797934?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115140066803797934/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115140066803797934' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115140066803797934'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115140066803797934'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/06/la-poste-il-est-ou.html' title='la poste, il est ou?'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115132076671009701</id><published>2006-06-26T06:16:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-26T06:19:26.720-05:00</updated><title type='text'>oh shit</title><content type='html'>in paris and i hate the keyboards.&lt;br /&gt;i am renting a room from a french guy&lt;br /&gt;who stays at his girlfriend's.&lt;br /&gt;it is a charming place and his roomate is nice.&lt;br /&gt;only problem is the landlady lives next door and&lt;br /&gt;wouldn't be happy if she knew i was there, so i am&lt;br /&gt;like an open-air refugee.&lt;br /&gt;london was fun and ridiculous and i really like the parks&lt;br /&gt;and the museu,s.&lt;br /&gt;it doesnt feel like summer time and it's cloudy and rainy&lt;br /&gt;and i'm hungry and nervous. i don't know why i'm so nervous.&lt;br /&gt;i have to go to the postoffice today and get a box. maybe i'll do it tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i feel disconnected... i should really eat some food.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;a bientot!&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115132076671009701?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115132076671009701/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115132076671009701' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115132076671009701'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115132076671009701'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/06/oh-shit_26.html' title='oh shit'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-115100772657086064</id><published>2006-06-22T15:13:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-22T15:22:06.583-05:00</updated><title type='text'>I DON'T CARE!</title><content type='html'>i am in london. this is it. i am drinking beer that tastes like beer at home but i can't put my finger on it so i don't care.i love you. i lourve you. i will be in france in three days. i went to the tate today and to two bars and now i am drunk. if you walk around all day you will think you are hungry and you will eat but your appetite will be minor and really what you will want is beer (i really mean 'i' instead of 'we' but i don't care).i love you, post is coming soon for some of you. there is a kandinsky exhibit opening the 22nd (i almost wrote 33nd but that doesn't esxist in our calendar so i erased it) at the TATE so i will go back and the good people (almost wrote goose) will get postcards. i saw 'un chien andaulsia' for the first time today and some stupid man ray film that had pretty imagery but stupid french music that was like amelie but really i liked it even thought it was trite and stupid and man ray was an a-hole but so were bunuel and dali i guess. i had to go all the way to london to see it (both but i really mean 'un chien...'). i liked it but i think art critisism is shit shit shit so i wont comment, I REFUSE!we are going to brighton tomorrow. i like that. i like london more than paris because paris smells like dog shit. and london has tons of parks that are prety. i am sad that i don't have my dig. camera. hopefully in france i will but today was so good and every moment i wanted a photo. tomorrow i will take my film i think. i am so excited about everywhere else. iloveyou (only some of you you know who you are i won't make a list.)sarahlienaucapshaw.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that was yesterday. now it's today.&lt;br /&gt;national gallery and trafalgar square and buckingham palace&lt;br /&gt;i went all over town.&lt;br /&gt;now i'm at the internet cafe and all alone.&lt;br /&gt;i like it.&lt;br /&gt;it's cold here but apparently for the locals that's not cold.&lt;br /&gt;it might rain tomorrow.&lt;br /&gt;i saw the van eyck painting from my art history class and&lt;br /&gt;it was so magical. so was the man in the red turban. they were&lt;br /&gt;both so small. i ate a pasty (they say pasty like we saw pasta and pasta like we saw pastor). i can't understand anyone even though they all speak english.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;met a cute french boy in the park. his name was steven and i showed him how to use my ikon because he has a similar kodak that was his grandfather's. he's on a grand english vacation like i am on a grand european tour.&lt;br /&gt;i miss everyone. the beer is good and not too much, but the exchange is $1.80 to every £1. yowza.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;anyhooo. i miss i love and it's all happening happening happening.&lt;br /&gt;i want my digital camera too.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-115100772657086064?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/115100772657086064/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=115100772657086064' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115100772657086064'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/115100772657086064'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/06/i-dont-care.html' title='I DON&apos;T CARE!'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114964233245277153</id><published>2006-06-06T20:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-06-06T20:05:32.466-05:00</updated><title type='text'>oh shit!</title><content type='html'>so that feat failed.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;europe in two weeks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's all happening, including the anxiety attacks.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i feel like i work all the time, even though i know it's not true.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;oh i am freaking out.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114964233245277153?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114964233245277153/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114964233245277153' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114964233245277153'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114964233245277153'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/06/oh-shit.html' title='oh shit!'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114857344534507297</id><published>2006-05-25T11:04:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-25T11:49:00.816-05:00</updated><title type='text'>in lieu of boredom</title><content type='html'>here begins a documentation of food consumed each day.&lt;br /&gt;i'm not sure about quantities... well, maybe i'll include those too.&lt;br /&gt;i just want to know why my poops look the way they do, and i think this will help.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;okay, i'll start with yesterday because that's as far back as i can remember.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;YESTERDAY&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;morning:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;slice of white "country bread" with whipped cream cheese. flavor: honey almond.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;afternoon: &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;water and two pints of beer&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;evening:&lt;/em&gt; &lt;strong&gt;(post-drunk munchies)&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;-in no particular order-&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;water, strawberry poptart, grilled sandwich on two slices of honey wheat bread with spinach, tomato, "christian cheese" from dodson's (it doesn't taste better than the pagan cheese i usually eat), butter on outside, salt, and powdered garlic. also, about 4 sour cream&amp;amp;onion ruffles, two peanut butter twix bars, two double chocolate milano cookies, at least 1/2 cup of roasted lightly salted peanuts. more water.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;TODAY:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;morning:&lt;/em&gt; approximately 1/2 cup of ginger hemp granola, 1 cup of coffee, black.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'll finish this later.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;lunchtime edit:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i went to buy a sandwich before i had to work again. here are the stats.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;afternoon: &lt;/em&gt;1/2 sub sandwich from jimmy john's and a 20 oz. water with ice.&lt;br /&gt;in the sandwich:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;white bread with approx. 8 (!) thin slices of provolone cheese, brussel sprouts, shredded iceburg lettuce, avacado spread that doesn't really taste like avocados, 6 or so tomato slices. i think that's all.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i'm full. more to come for dinner, assuming i can eat anything else today, probably will just be beer.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114857344534507297?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114857344534507297/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114857344534507297' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114857344534507297'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114857344534507297'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/05/in-lieu-of-boredom.html' title='in lieu of boredom'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114780015342546950</id><published>2006-05-16T12:19:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-16T12:22:33.436-05:00</updated><title type='text'>failure</title><content type='html'>i'm going to europe.&lt;br /&gt;i leave 20 june and return 17 august.&lt;br /&gt;since i bought the ticket, my stomach has jumped&lt;br /&gt;up to my throat and my heart fell to my toes.&lt;br /&gt;i'm having miniature anxiety attacks everyday,&lt;br /&gt;and i've started applying for au pair jobs because&lt;br /&gt;i'm so afraid of spending all of my money in one week.&lt;br /&gt;hostels are expensive! train travel is expensive!&lt;br /&gt;eating could be cheap. i'll have to quit smoking for sure.&lt;br /&gt;oh my goodness what was i thinking?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i guess i wasn't thinking.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this is going to be the best trip of my life.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i might die.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114780015342546950?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114780015342546950/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114780015342546950' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114780015342546950'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114780015342546950'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/05/failure.html' title='failure'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114739114743598660</id><published>2006-05-11T18:43:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-11T18:48:20.743-05:00</updated><title type='text'>librarian</title><content type='html'>sometimes when i am drunk, i think&lt;br /&gt;that everyone else is drunk too.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;grand total of hours worked today= 8.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;that's alot for part-time.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;school is over but i can't tell. i'm ready to get on that&lt;br /&gt;airplane and fly over the sea. oh boy oh boy oh boy.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i think the magic might be peeking again. or peaking? both,&lt;br /&gt;yipee!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i decided not to hate anybody anymore.&lt;br /&gt;it's hard work.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://mcsweeneys.net/links/lists/11DavidAbrams.html"&gt;http://mcsweeneys.net/links/lists/11DavidAbrams.html&lt;/a&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114739114743598660?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114739114743598660/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114739114743598660' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114739114743598660'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114739114743598660'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/05/librarian.html' title='librarian'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114727877012812996</id><published>2006-05-10T11:27:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-10T15:46:32.963-05:00</updated><title type='text'>don't tell me what to do, bitch.</title><content type='html'>&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;no more finals. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;one more critique. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i kind of want to squirm and&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;bury myself right now. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;i saw a bird making gathering wet leaves for a nest. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;it helped me realize that life doesn't matter anyhow, &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;because mother's still eat their young and birds still use&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;cigarettes and mulch to make their nests &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;and people still hate eachother and i still &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;want to eat cheese and i will always hate dumb bitches&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;who tell me what to do. &lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;&lt;/span&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:85%;"&gt;there is no more magic, it's all lost now.&lt;/span&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114727877012812996?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114727877012812996/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114727877012812996' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114727877012812996'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114727877012812996'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/05/dont-tell-me-what-to-do-bitch.html' title='don&apos;t tell me what to do, bitch.'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114663472406026276</id><published>2006-05-03T00:36:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-07T01:07:19.733-05:00</updated><title type='text'>have you seen it, well i've seen it too.</title><content type='html'>my bike and i have a special relationship.&lt;br /&gt;maybe i take it for granted.&lt;br /&gt;tonight = second night in one and a half weeks&lt;br /&gt;that i've been under some kind of influcence and have crashed and&lt;br /&gt;inflicted some form of physical harm to myself.&lt;br /&gt;it only makes me want to ride more.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i've been listening to the devendra banhart "white sessions".&lt;br /&gt;every song he's ever done that was ever creepy in any&lt;br /&gt;way no longer is. i adore him.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i have so much to do.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;europe is looming and i have a conflict. it makes me&lt;br /&gt;want to do do do everything i need, but it also makes me want&lt;br /&gt;to get there and be there and inhale and think of nothing else.&lt;br /&gt;i'm on the verge of obsession with leaving, and i've been contemplating&lt;br /&gt;ditching summer school and making it june-august.&lt;br /&gt;i really believe that i can make this happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i want to make so much happen.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;magic magic magic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114663472406026276?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114663472406026276/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114663472406026276' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114663472406026276'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114663472406026276'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/05/have-you-seen-it-well-ive-seen-it-too.html' title='have you seen it, well i&apos;ve seen it too.'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114650563307981615</id><published>2006-05-01T12:35:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-05-01T13:01:01.170-05:00</updated><title type='text'>the morning sickness</title><content type='html'>i'm very nervous today. i wanted to lie in bed this morning, but&lt;br /&gt;the sun was up and i was thirsty. i made a real breakfast this morning,&lt;br /&gt;egg and toast and coffee. i smoked a cigarette before work. this made me more nervous.&lt;br /&gt;the nicotene and coffee always upset my stomach, but i always do it anyway.&lt;br /&gt;at work, someone brought down a platter of bagels, stale fruit, and mini muffins.&lt;br /&gt;there was half a donut and two cookies, too.&lt;br /&gt;i shouldn't have made such a real breakfast.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i couldn't find my prints from the last critique at home, and i don't know whether or not they are in my locker.&lt;br /&gt;i don't have enough images, and the new ones are insufficient.&lt;br /&gt;they aren't good enough, and they won't stand alone without the others.&lt;br /&gt;i keep hoping that they are in my locker with images i don't need, but&lt;br /&gt;i cannot fathom that it could be so.&lt;br /&gt;i've been reading again, short stories. i'm happy about it.&lt;br /&gt;i feel so nervous that i want another cigarette, but i'm afraid that it&lt;br /&gt;will just make things worse.&lt;br /&gt;1:15 and i'll be finished working. then i can find out&lt;br /&gt;whether or not i'm doomed to everlasting shame.&lt;br /&gt;shame from myself, i'm too difficult.&lt;br /&gt;i know it will be alright, but the images are not exact. they need to be&lt;br /&gt;exact, and they are not. and there are not enough. the rest are still at&lt;br /&gt;the processor's.&lt;br /&gt;stop being so lazy. i have so much to do.&lt;br /&gt;i get so anxious.&lt;br /&gt;none of it matters though, i just have to do it.&lt;br /&gt;everything else is more important, more important.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;this feels a slightly like the upright citizen's brigade bit&lt;br /&gt;with alfred einstein making audio diaries and scolding himself&lt;br /&gt;not to masturbate anymore. and he crawls under the rug, talks&lt;br /&gt;about mending his dinner coat. oh, i want to watch that&lt;br /&gt;right &lt;em&gt;now!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;some people say that a fetus is a parasite living off of&lt;br /&gt;the mother, and it made me wonder whether or not&lt;br /&gt;that's why women get morning sickness.&lt;br /&gt;but if it's a parasite, then there wouldn't be a womb, right?&lt;br /&gt;or a fallopian tube, etc. women would just be men if it were a parasite.&lt;br /&gt;i looked up parasite and it's classified as something that subists on&lt;br /&gt;the host for most of its life. so if it is a parasite, then could you say&lt;br /&gt;it's not really a human yet? it's a different kind of life in the womb,&lt;br /&gt;but maybe that doesn't mean that it isn't real yet.&lt;br /&gt;and it does inflict harm upon its host, a great deal.&lt;br /&gt;but there can be good, too.&lt;br /&gt;maybe we've learned to accept that it's a parasite, maybe we don't&lt;br /&gt;mind because many of us choose to host it.&lt;br /&gt;but i don't really think it is, not in the true sense of the word.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;but what are words, anyhow?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;a href="http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-allen1may01,0,3923328.story?coll=la-news-comment-opinions"&gt;http://www.latimes.com/news/opinion/commentary/la-oe-allen1may01,0,3923328.story?coll=la-news-comment-opinions&lt;/a&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;it's quiet at work today even though there are many students. just no student workers.&lt;br /&gt;i'm actually pretty happy about that.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;there is so much magic.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114650563307981615?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114650563307981615/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114650563307981615' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114650563307981615'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114650563307981615'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/05/morning-sickness.html' title='the morning sickness'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-27288278.post-114634982611346070</id><published>2006-04-29T17:29:00.000-05:00</published><updated>2006-04-29T18:01:49.110-05:00</updated><title type='text'>neat</title><content type='html'>first post.&lt;br /&gt;i think i'll keep this one.&lt;br /&gt;this blog i mean.&lt;br /&gt;things are happening,&lt;br /&gt;and i guess i'm pretty important, so&lt;br /&gt;people should read about me and my&lt;br /&gt;life and how important i am&lt;br /&gt;and about what i think is important, because that&lt;br /&gt;is the most important thing, i am.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;the rain was really nice today, and now&lt;br /&gt;that i'm working i'm irritated&lt;br /&gt;because the outside is beautiful and i&lt;br /&gt;have things to scan and print.&lt;br /&gt;some of the images are too pixelated&lt;br /&gt;and i will have to change many things.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;i wonder how many people come into the library everyday.&lt;br /&gt;we keep tallies, but not of how many people. it would be impossible&lt;br /&gt;unless a computer did it, or unless there were&lt;br /&gt;some kind of system with people counting all day. even then,&lt;br /&gt;there would probably be discrepancies.&lt;br /&gt;i have two library jobs now.&lt;br /&gt;neat.&lt;br /&gt;"the squid and the whale" sort of changed my weekend.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;magical things happen every day.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/27288278-114634982611346070?l=sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/feeds/114634982611346070/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://www.blogger.com/comment.g?blogID=27288278&amp;postID=114634982611346070' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114634982611346070'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/27288278/posts/default/114634982611346070'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://sarahcapshaw.blogspot.com/2006/04/neat.html' title='neat'/><author><name>sarahcapshaw</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/02761019890343848525</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='16' height='16' src='http://img2.blogblog.com/img/b16-rounded.gif'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
