dmd's New Writeups

Philadelphia (person)

2004-09-24T02:17:29Z

I love Philadelphia. I love my city in much the same way that I love really bad flash animations, frivolous lawsuits, and how-to instructions on bags of airline peanuts. They make me smile, even when I die a little inside each time.

One of the best parts of Philadelphia, apart from the open sewer system and total lack of tomato patches, is the crazy people.

Today's crazy person of note is now only a warm fuzzy memory. I was a freshman then; specifically, I was SarahTheGoodCatholicFarmGirl. I was pining for cows and pickup trucks and scared shitless of the public transportation system.

One day I found myself, after various Comedic Misfortunes, walking home from 30th Street Station well after midnight. The crazies were out in force. I got the whistles, the winks, the leers. I shuffled down into my coat and stared at the ground, scowling and…

she spins (person)

2003-03-12T13:15:53Z

She spins on the quad in circles, a pair of epicycles, round her own axis and another that only she can see, kicking up peat. Nobody else watches; my classmates have not yet woken, or haven't slept yet, studying Beckett, McLuhan, Dirac. Four AM. An hour ago I heard the click of her door, the E-sharp of the hinge, (one, two, ... eight), the muffled metallic thump of the fire doors. There's a space on the sill I can sit, legs compressed by the rough plywood of the cheap dorm bureau, and shade my eyes from the sodium vapor lamp adjacent to the window.

Her glasses fly off and she stops to retrieve them, falling to her knees and padding forward on her hands on the tangent she thinks they described. Going the opposite way. She stops, looks at the sky, a gray predawn blur to her; she crawls in expanding spirals, hands fanning out over the grass. I've never watched her alone; she is far…

autumn (idea)

2002-10-14T23:29:29Z

Autumn arrives; the promise of heating degree-days, gourds, New England's season in the afternoon's slanting sun. Cooling days, fifties (Centigrade's decades too broad for apt description), thermostat feeling fingerprints again.

Warm-blooded, these changes should be inconsequential; equilibrium controlled with a chatter, a constricted capillary paling the fingers. Yet consciousness hefts the internal difference, finds new words, crawls out of easy summer slumber, another season lost to mindless hibernation.

Dream Log: May 8, 2002 (idea)

2002-05-09T16:35:19Z

bizarre dreams about this book i was reading where it was about the human race's exodus to the stars... but at some point an ant somehow gained consciousness and then that consciousness 'spread' to all the other ants, and as the book progressed, more and more of the story was being told by the ants instead of the people, until the entire book was just about the ants...

I'M GUNNA BE WICKED RETAHDED: Come for the scenery, stay for the BAP (another E2 nodah pahty) (idea)

2002-05-01T15:40:39Z

The text of Clampe's service:

Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to speak a few words tonight about marriage. Marriage is a holy union made between two people; it is a guarantee that when you don't come home at night somebody will care. I know that this marriage may seem like it's temporary. I want you to consider, for a moment, that this will stick with these two people for the rest of their lives. Even should they move on to other marriages or should they become less attached to each other in the future, this night, with these people, who have met in this way, will become permanently imprinted upon their hearts.

So I want you, in all seriousness, to consider this union; to consider two people brought together, despite the boundaries of time and space, brought together for a marriage in which they may not be physically together, but in which, over time zones, mountains, and rivers, their two hearts will be as one.

You may exchange your vows.

I'm not going to sully…

Scenery (idea)

2001-08-26T23:30:44Z

The negative part of travel in my family (for lack of a better word for a single parent and single child; somehow the word 'family' conjures up images of parents, two siblings, and a mangy dog) can be summed up with an in-joke phrase coined on our trip to CO/NM/AZ/UT in 1988:
"Look at the goddamn scenery!"

There was quite a bit of treacherous driving to be done in the Rocky Mountains, and my mother kept threatening, while we careened down a two-way snow-covered, cliff-and-rockface-hugging road seemingly narrower than the car, that if I didn't look at the (admittedly mind-blowingly gorgeous) view, she would. (I, of course, was gripping the seat and staring at the three feet of road visible in front of us in the falling snow.)

It was humorous, but it's representative of the general tone of all my trips with her -- an unspoken (or, often,…