Sunday, August 20, 2006

Randomosity...

I'm feeling a little random right now. Random like armies of clockwork mice. And the inedibilty of green.
My sister is going insane over painting her room. She wants to paint it this colour, which I think is a little... weird. But hey. There's a possibility that we'll all get to paint our rooms this coming holidays. That'd be pretty cool... I want to paint a tree in one corner, and have stars on the ceiling, and like, sunset colours round the walls... and I want to hang sparkly things off the ceiling, and... and... have my photos all in a pretty frame thing... and I want matching bed linen. Don't tell me I'm obsessive compulsive, but if I don't have matching bed linen, I get grumpy. I like white sheets. I like neat beds. And I keep my coloured pencils and textas in order. But on a larger scale, my room looks like it's been hit by several cyclones and a bunch of psychopathic bananas...
And like, it all gets funny when you add the colours. I like it. It's fun.
But hey. And then the golfball twisted into a spiral, and ate the cube. What cube, you ask. Ah, and to that I have no answer but potato. The potato. Like, The Potato. That one. Yes, that one. You watch out, you pigletted antelopes... And then they dance. That's the dangerous part. Hoo, boy. I'ma wanna spin in those shiney circles soon. And it all breaks down at the... something... got the muse in my head, she's universal... Lyrics, to something, some song, on some paper, that I've never heard. And the other one, in orange. I don't know, but I don't like healthy food.
Giggle, gaggle, gosling. And who doesn't like baby ducks? Nobody, I tells ya, nobody.
And the music. Can't let go of the music. It's stuck in my head. Like... elemental elephants.


Take me on a trip upon your magic swirlin' ship,
My senses have been stripped, my hands can't feel to grip,
My toes too numb to step, wait only for my boot heels
To be wanderin'.
I'm ready to go anywhere, I'm ready for to fade
Into my own parade, cast your dancing spell my way,
I promise to go under it.


It's... Music. I found the piano music for Mr Tambourine Man in a book t'day. It also had American Pie. Apparently, "It's Easy To Play Folk". I beg to differ. It's easy to play folk as it's written in that book, because there are no chords, no harmonies, no anything that makes music music. It's basically a choir book, for piano. Stupid thing.
I can see the light out over the valley. The sun's half-set, and the hills and houses are all... orange-ish... Sun-tinted...
And lo, on the hill, the shepherds beheld a lone sheep, bathéd in the golden halo of a sunrise. They lookéd upon the sheep, and the sheep said to them, "My shepherds, follow me, and I shall show you some wonderful grass." And so, the shepherds followed the sheep, and all were seated in a circle. The first shepherd saw that the grass was indeed wonderful, and ate it. The second shepherd saw that the first shepherd was indeed wonderful, and killed him out of spite.
The moral of the story is thus. Do not, under any circumstances, follow a sheep that talks to you.

The plural of moose is 'moose'.
It should be 'meese'.
Hey, Mr Tambourine Man, play a song for me, I'm not sleepy and there is no place I'm going to...

And the skyline is purple. I said that, to Izzy, and she thought I was on drugs. But it is. It's the tiniest beginnings of a sunset.
And I got 'randomly selected' by some government thing to take some test thing. So basically, they're all fucking government spies. It's a conspiracy. Seriously. And they're offering a free gift, healthy snack, and the results I get. Maaaaan that sucks. As if healthy food is going to make up for being forced to do some random test that I have to do cause I'm a genius.
Que sera, sera, whatever will be, will be.

I want to fly. I really wish I could fly. I want to sit in a cloud, and I want to spit on my maths teacher, and see things, see everything. I want to fly... north-west.


So this is the test I have to do... Oh, joyous joy of not giving a damn.
Meeeeeh... well. I'm off, catapault the crazéd sock of entirely opportunistic man-eating kangaroos. Where? Oh, you missed it. Then the marsupial television set off colours, and the sparkles came again.
*cough*
Yes.
I'm off. Buh byes *waves*

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

Then take me disappearin' through the smoke rings of my mind,
Down the foggy ruins of time, far past the frozen leaves,
The haunted, frightened trees, out to the windy beach,
Far from the twisted reach of crazy sorrow.
Yes, to dance beneath the diamond sky with one hand waving free,
Silhouetted by the sea, circled by the circus sands,
With all memory and fate driven deep beneath the waves,
Let me forget about today until tomorrow.

Bob Dylan is the greatest.

Nice blog.