propaganda panda

12:50pm: i think that i am done with livejournal. my posts have become few and far between and scarcely hold any interest for me anymore, so i can imagine that they don't really impart anything interesting to you. faithful reader. devoted and oft-disappointed reader. i am going to stick to paper and perfunctory email from now on. goodbye, and thanks for your interest.

7:59pm: time to see what's become of me
while i look around. just sat through a two hour class that apparently will serve as an introduction to my honors project. only been in school for three years; already they expect an honors project. so, will write a forty page paper on books or how awesome they are. or something. sat down and after rearranging (kate is awesome) my schedule for one half hour i have determined that it will be mostly impossible to graduate in four years. oh well. i will finish my english degree this year, though, but that leaves no room for faith and science until next year. maybe i can do it.

still full from the dinner tiffan bought me. feel extremely guilty. what happened, effectively, is that tiffan bought me gwinn dinner to talk to me, but neither of us realized that that probably would not happen with class a mere forty minutes away. feels like i traded disappointment for a nice hot dinner, which doesn't seem fair.

i miss you, tiffan. quite a lot. i hate that you're sick, and that we're always busy. i love you. i don't know that this journal entry is properly conveying how helpless i feel, but maybe it is.

be well, please. i'm still here.

12:23pm: blink
i am currently seated next to mr. wharton, who i (believe) is checking livejournal as we speak! it's kind of exciting for me. after an entire summer of lurking and reading his posts, here is one that potentially will be written right next to me! eeee. h.

classes. yeah. we all have them. oh yeah.

i really could do with some furniture about now. the Den of Iniquity (as it is called behind our backs by high ranking officials at school) is wearing a bit thin. kate was right. there's just nothing you can do without a dresser. your clothes explode and that's that.

i really really could use some socks, too. this is the third day. tif, your socks didn't sign on for this. luckily, they are made of pretty stern stuff and they still don't look like they're anywhere near their third day. but it is. the third. day.

i'm going to try and find tiffan. i'm craving some Lost in Translation. and some wheat thins.

11:52am: still, after two weeks, the Best Tape Ever
ooweeooweeooweeooOO

---

hey, Trees, do you want to play in Port Townsend? someone is trying to attract Bands to a place called the Boiler Room.

ben, i need to call you or email you or something.

kate, even though you probably can't read this, i am coming tonight to stay. yay.

1:08am: hot damn, toast!
oh man. is there anything better?

today i sat at home and was frustrated by how Wrong everything seem-ed. it's like, everyone is in their own little bubble, and we're imminently preoccupied with yelling at the other bubbles that surround us for This and That, when there is so much else to be doing. where is the love! but finally, i have gotten all my boxes over to the Kate and Emma Show. and i saw Bubba Ho Tep.

mrrrargh.

"so you go back to 1943, churchill sees you in, say, a 'flirty ensemble'. the old boy forgets about the war. fuhrer flakes for breakfast."

"never. he'd fight harder for an english rose like me. probably fly a lancaster bomber straight into hitler's face!"

-scary go round

1:53pm: warning: here comes a gigantic toy
having spent the morning playing parsec47 and thinking, i have come to the conclusion that i have nothing important to say. such a relief. so many shapes shooting so many bullets have taught me that much, at least, that most of the time it is more important to dodge than to shoot back. ah, shooter zen.

11:49am: shirts
yesterday i read 'one flew over the cuckoo's nest'. i just imed nate to tell him that i was reminded of him; to clarify! one of the chronics in the book (or lifers, if you prefer 'girl, interrupted') is named 'ellis': a victim of Too Much Electroshock Therapy. and so! he spends the rest of his days nailed to an imaginary crucifix. so i wasn't really reminded of nate, so much as nate kept superimposing on this other ellis. kind of unsettling.

just after mass now, with the family milling around in the wake of my grandparents. lots of Utility this weekend; we built some shelves, and painted a room, and i sold some books. i'm looking forward to moving into the apartment, despite how comfortable it is here. despite the advice that i continually give my dad. it is hard to enjoy awesome full-family dinners with zwieback and split pea soup and home-canned peaches when i remember how wickedly things are going to change. but, things always change.

i hear my father explaining these things to laura, now.

anna stomping around.

time to leave, time for lunch.

12:09am: tape tape
this is the best tape i have ever made.

12:02am: shower
my hair is clean, my skin is smooth, and i've just emerged from the tangled debris of yet another meaningless wreck. pick your battles, kyle.

3:59pm: tape
i'm downstairs, mixing a tape together for someone i don't know, and i've hit the point where i need to retrieve my computer for the (few) songs that it contains. i'm switching to past tense.

i found a tracklist for a tape i was making for mae; a tape that was never made, for whatever reason. do you still want the tape? it wouldn't be more than thirty minutes to put it together. i can make you a cover and everything.

i was listening to 'little bird flies through a (big) black cloud'; i hadn't listened to it in awhile. i don't have the record; just a tape zach made me. which means, at some point, i have to make a tape for zach.

how many tapes do i owe people? i feel if i could catch up with all these tapes...actually, i don't know. something cool would happen to me, maybe.

the entire POINT of writing this entry has been lost, apparently. well, not quite. we're doing a show in one week. one week from today. the day is sunday...here:

SUNDAY AUGUST 29TH
8:00 PM @ S.S. Marie Antoinette
1235 Westlake Avenue North
(under the Rock Salt sign)

JASON ANDERSON
THANKSGIVING
THE RABBITS
Y.A.C.H.T.
A.H. / G.L.

$3

if you can come, please please do. this show will be really fun, really cheap, and a nice time in general. i'm going to be playing some new songs. it would be nice to say that julianne gibson will be there, but we haven't practiced (for that matter, she hasn't heard the songs) so that will have to wait. Thanksgiving has a new record out. Jason is incredibly nice. Y.A.C.H.T. will rock your world (provided we get a PA for him...something i'm not thinking about now).

yeah. come one, come all.

10:46pm: leafy archways
spent most of the day planting azaleas. it seems that digging holes anywhere in issaquah guarantees at least fifteen rocks to every square foot of earth. dad was telling me a few days ago about cutting wheat in north dakota. he said that kids in north dakota have to go into the fields every day to clear paths for the plows and combines. i guess most farms don't even need fences anymore, due to all the rocks piled up against them.

finished 'seymour, an introduction' today in the truck on the way to the gonzales plantation, making the sum total of stories that i have read about the glass family four. are there any others, i wonder.

discovered at approximately 8:45 pm that ms. julianne gibson departed in the morning; i will mail her the tape, i suppose. school isn't terribly far off. i hope she found a house or apartment to live in.

walked to the house of the rising tigers today; more accurately, i drove the van into seattle and parked on the hill, one street over, whereupon i walked down the hill, turned right, omitted a few words and walked down the stairs to the beat of 'the moon and antarctica'. jamie wasn't home, so i left a hello with rachel's sweatshirt. used a person this time; i hope she gets the message. i feel bad, but i didn't catch any names. the music was loud, though.

walking back to the van felt dishonest; the girl at the door had obviously taken me for some sort of pseudo-bhikku with my backpack and ridiculously tattered clothes and wide-eyed inquiries, but really i drove the van into seattle and parked on the hill, one street over. at least...the doors don't close. and it's low on oil.

i drove past the house at the top of bertona with bare lawns and fruit trees and i thought about kansas again. i remember when i was young and we were moving and i pulled up in the van and ran across the dead grass to bash my knee soundly on the concrete steps of the back door. every time we moved i managed to hurt my knee, usually jumping in or out of the van. for some reason, this became both comforting and lonely, like basketball with my brother, or tea before daylight.

tonight i don't have a pain in my knee, even though i've moved three times in the past year. i have a pain in my eye. i don't know how it happened, but a grain of sand (or something of the sort) took up residence in my left eyelid two days ago. i'm trying not to think of parasitic creatures and their devious, instinctual machinations. my face is gradually emptying of expression, smoothing. my very own thorn in my very own flesh. the pain (if i can still call it that) is seeping into the rest of my head, too.

i had things i wanted to say with that paragraph. i wanted to tell you (saluted by buddy and myself, with your 'enviable golden silence'; with my self-consciously obtrusive Voice) that it doesn't matter, anymore. i am Elsewhere. it is nice here. leaving the sweatshirt felt like burning an albatross. i no longer Think Critically, thank God. you may, in all fairness, consider me Foolish.

this all feels contrived, cheeky, sly, pick-an-adjective. gimmicky. i'm not sorry; i can't help it. i was going for 'bold', or 'liberated' or somesuch, but i will settle for 'false'. i'm leaving with my dad to drop the truck off at the betz's and when i return home, i will apply a hot compress to my eye.

9:23am: bunnies and monnnnkeys
yass yass yass. two hours of sleep and i'm! going. that's just about all i can say, but it's glorious. last night was lottts of swingging. we are both sick after what seemed like five minutes of swinginggg but in actuality was something of an hour. so nice to just talk and hear each other and not have to Fit Into A Schedule. so nice that the park feels like home; right now Club Swingmonkey is coming out of an epic story arch, and things are settling into Normal. everything is peaceful and lovely. tea was lovely, mass was lovely, the alarm clock was...well, harsh and jarring. sally was lovely. much better to wake up to a kitty than a Cold Digital Being.

hum. great to see you, kate.

9:51pm: pommel
i am talking with mark on the a to the i to the m and it is nice. today has been a day for reconnecting with a lot of people, actually; it's amazing what a trip into seattle will do. nate, i'm sorry i didn't get your message, but i did laugh when i did. you know that muffins are dear to my heart.

now i'm going to go and watch sling blade. i would like to stay and talk to mark longer, but i'm trusting that he won't die between now and the next time i talk to him, so it is ok.

that is ironic, no? mark? this is directed directly at your general direction.

7:57pm: on behalf of rachel's sweatshirt:
rachel, as tempting as it is to issue some sort of tagline right now, i don't think i have anything that can measure up to your particular brand of dark, seething vitriol. but you may have your sweatshirt back; do you want to hang out, too? i know i was kind of a dick the last time we spoke, but maybe we could meet under the guise of planning and coreographing our deathmatch. we'll ad lib, mostly, but it IS nice to have the general structure of these things planned out; makes for a better show. of course, after the first ten minutes, gloves come off, so to speak, and someone dies. it would be nice if we could work a show around it, too, so that if i die, i can leave some money with the other Trees so they can reanimate me. because i'm pretty sure that's how it will go. but then, who knows?

as for the rest of you, i'll post an invitation here once rachel and i figure it out. something like, 'you are cordially invited to witness the grisly dismemberment and subsequent death of kyle reimer and / or rachel schneider on ____ at ____" with some other accoutrements, such as gold ink.

tum tiddle-um.

11:43am: addresses disguised as exclamations
last night tiffan and i made muffins with the ever present blackberries, which reminded me of you in that way, jamie. this post is actually a thinly veiled comment because 'nine comments is enough', or however many you have collected by now. so the subject really should be 'jamie', or 'hello, jamie', and possibly even 'to jamie', but i made it about muffins, because i had three of them already.

patrick! we took a little soymilk and we took a little sugar and we mixed it all together and the muffins were still too soft. next time, we are using vegetable oil.

patrick doesn't even read this journal, to my knowledge. or any journal, really.

two sentences (or one sentence and a fragment) a paragraph do not make. ben! i came across the best title for a hardcore song, ever. let me see if i can find it. ah yes.

"The Liberatory Potential of Hardcore Squandered by the Individualistic Manifestations of Sub Culture Diffusion, or Youth Crews and Hipster Fashion Do Not a Revolution Make."

the band is the November Group. maybe you should listen to them.

i went back and changed the subject. so disregard the bit about the muffins.

haa. that is actually the sound of a sigh; i am not sure why it is ever spelled any other way. i might accept 'hmm', though. that is to say, summer is tracking me down. it won't be long now. i've said it before, that i really need the structure of school or SOMETHING rather than the endless tangle of things-having-to-be-done strung out over three months; or, give me nothing to do whatsoever. but this constant packing of days and appointments and deadlines is worse than school. it's pulling me out of shape.

who am i kidding? i've been unfair to you, and to you, and you, and you. i have no one to blame but myself. too supple, or too firm, and never both. i need to slow down for a few days and think.

10:27pm: just got home today from lake chelan, where i was a chap-eh-rone for the high school youth group of my church, who coincidently, happened to be there. it was a good time, but rained sometimes and i somehow ended up not sleeping last night.

i am upstairs talking to nate over the internet (or, rather, waiting for nate to respond; i think that the tennis ball is kind of disarming in a bad way) and feeling ex-haust-ed.

lay me out
cut me wide
leave no room
for catamounts to hide

wrote tif half of a long letter.

letters
make any day
better


i am looking forward to finishing it tomorrow.

and nothing.

10:33am: how naked
the show was amazing...amazingly roasting hot. in more ways than one. the best time probably goes to the blow, despite the last-minute decision to not play 'how naked are we going to get' and to instead play another song from the 'love songs' ep, but SO GOOD. jona was on the laptop and khaela was adorable and sort of dangerous and naive. so nice to finally see her live. tiiiif and i danced through the whole set, and we didn't mind the nearly unbearable heat because it seemed to fit.

kimya dawson was also amazing, in wonderful form despite loud chatter from the beer garden. damn the beer garden. honestly, why pay seven dollars (or however much) to get roaringly drunk and shout at the stage when you could pay nothing, get just as drunk, and shout just as loudly at some sports game in a bar? and not incur the wrath of the gathered faithful by the stage. she says hi back, lacey, and she was very happy to hear from you. through me. she being aforementioned kimya dawson, and not the female embodiment of the beer garden.

kate, i can see why you don't ever do the bunny dance in pantomime form. it's embarrassing! thanks for dancing with me and tifannee and for being cool and helping us find parking. i am calling you from our show tonight to play you a song.

my knee hurts so bad. something interesting that happens when zac pennington is around is that i go kind of all luff lorn, so of course we had to see him parking a car on our way into the show. then, as i was walking, kate handed me a steve burns button, which found its way onto my clothing, sparking a concern for looking well-groomed. zac's name was mentioned as a reason, at which point it was pointed out that he was 'right behind me', which was an exaggeration. as i turned to check, though, i

BASHED

my knee on a metal thing about waist high. portland, why!

i am so hungry and tired, but leslie jensen, you are worth it. thanks for staying up so late for us, you were in spectacular form. after going to bed at three we woke up at five and arrived home in time to get tiffffny to work in a sort of timely manner. she was only late by fifteen minutes. times two.

miillllllissaaaa your brother's shirt is in your mailbox, with a hastily scrawled note. i think i heard you getting ready to go (micro)scope some mosquitos, but i didn't want to yell at someone who might not have been you.

and before you all think "creepy", come to see me and patrick elkins and jason voss and justin shay play a show tonight in the park across the street from robbins apartments. the address for the apartments is, again,

2701 third avenue west.

in seattle. seven o'clock. call my cell phone if you can't make it on time to find out where we are. i think we are going carolling.

3:39pm: TREEZ R BETR THAN PEPL
i just put the finishing touches on the new shirt design for the tangle trees; the words are the words in the subject line. it is very exciting. maybe i can upload a picture later. tiffan, the shirts you got for me to paint are top notch. they are soft and perfect. how did you find them? they aren't your shirts, are they?

the show was awesome; thank you everyone who came. if you came, you know that we recorded it; if you didn't, you'll be happy to know that we recorded it! thanks to all the people who played, too. dennis, i just called you because you left your notebook at the apartment. we need to give it a good venue name; there have been two shows done in the apartment, now, and it would be a shame for a third to happen without a proper name. how about "number 309". it's accurate, descriptive, and kind of...catchy...

i'm about to head down to portland with tiffan to see the blow, mirah, mount eerie, little wings, and kimya dawson. i am so excited. i haven't been to a show in a place where shows usually happen for a long time.

damn, that is a sweet earth!

5:09pm: hey hey we're the YOU ARE COMING TO THE SHOW
so! here's the deal! i never use livejournal for evil but this is a post specifically designed to MAKE LACEY MAD and inspire her to come to my show. we (that is, in ascending order:

ARCHERY FRIENDS
GOODTIME JOHN
TIGER SAW
DENNIS DRISCOLL!

) are having a little get together on the 20th of july at miss tiffany gartin's apartment. the address? robbins apartments 2701 third avenue west, #309, 3rd floor. the time? eight o'clock, but maybe sooner? how much money? that is a trick question! there is no money, but if you can spare any, give it to the touring folks. or buy a cd. or pour perfume on their feet, if you do that sort of thing.

you spokane types: this would be a great time to fly upward over the mountains and come and see us in seattle. that means you, BEN! you never replied to my huge email, or maybe you didn't get it. i'm not mad, but i do miss you a ton. mark, we've already discussed this in a previous entry. oh, and tif, tell nat that she needs to invite bangs, because i don't have her number or anything. and speaking of numbers, can anyone get me julianne's number? in blaine? i've written some songs; we need to sing them.

as for kennewick: the same goes for you, lacey. bring your friends. caravan. that is an order.

i'm going to go swimming.

1:43pm: how much catholicness can we fit in one entry?
i'll answer this one with another question.

q: how do you make holy water?

a: boil the hell out of it.

last night father derek came over and blessed the house. he brought his book of blessings and sprinkled holy water and stayed and talked with us for awhile. he's a young priest; i don't know what order he belongs to. he was very kind and peaceful. i feel like the house is ours, now; it was really nice to have the whole family together, too.

i spent most of yesterday building a retaining wall with my father and brothers at sister rose's house. we've been working there for a week and a half doing everything at once, so we finally decided to finish the retaining wall. i build the foundation and jeff and dad drilled through the timbers and peter and ben hammered the spikes in. sort of. seven hours of digging. and hammering. and drilling. not in that order. oh well. honest work is honest work is honest work, even when you are repairing your own mistakes. i suppose.

confidential to juli: even though she can't possibly ever read this: today i wrote some songs for us to sing. i think i might join kate in badgering michael to come see you.

12:38am: lights
chairs are firewood
you could fetch us some sumac
we will be warm tonight

we will be warm tonight

a friendly neighbor's clothes
cover mouths and noses
the steam must stay inside the room

the steam will stay in me and you

we know we cannot stay
home will be a town away
tomorrow draws another neighbor's ire

the night will bring a body and a fire

12:41am: sleeptalking
'you guys you guys hey dudes you guys you guys hey dudes guys...'

what john?

'well you should know that i was there before, and i mean right after, before and right after, and i was there'

go to sleep!

'stupid punks'

of course, there was a lot more gibberish inbetween these things.

11:52am: teeth
today i am empty and i feel like anything can happen. i am craning my neck awkwardly like a worm waiting for a bird. i am aware that worms don't have necks, proper necks.

i will be spending much of today packing my things back together and moving them into another house. i have been moving so often that i think that i shall simply keep everything permanently in boxes. it will be easier to eliminate things that aren't useful.

i am not serious. i have songs to record, which means i have to unpack the microphones and tape recorder. i have books to read, which means i have to unpack...the books. i have tapes to listen to. these things will not fit in a backpack. not any backpack that i can carry, anyway.

mae, i have rachel's sweatshirt. i am sorry that i've held onto it for so long. i also have a tape for you. if you will make me a muffin, i will give you these things. i actually have no idea if you even read this, so i suppose i will look for another forum to reach you.

12:27am: basement
light has to hit the walls of the house before it can slide down into my room. by the time it staggers out of the window wells it is nearly blue.

there won't be any more light until tomorrow; this seems like it should be obvious, but at the moment i am grateful for a respite. the most obvious things are the most comforting.

this is not permanent. less obvious, but still comforting.

i will crawl into my sleeping bag in a moment and ask it to swallow me. it will swim far away and spew me onto foreign shores, where i can claw at my cheekbones for a couple of months. maybe i will grow a beard. it would be a good opportunity to try.

i learned some things today.

i mean to doubt i'll not turn out a caricature. ha ha.

not mine.

pp cabled today from the aleutians. he'll be gone for most of the summer.

6:29pm: confidential to mae:
i have succeeded!