Below are the 5 most recent journal entries recorded in lilsoulbigworld's InsaneJournal:

Tuesday, June 17th, 2008
11:39 pm	ballet, from the French Ballet is from the French, from Earth-That-Was, from centuries and eons ago. All of its words are French as well. She knows them all, and they are all beautiful. Arabesque is a leg and arm in front, a leg and arm behind; serpentine, linear, spiraling. From the Islamic style. Plie - knees bent, back straight. From the Old French - plier, to fold, to bend. Balance has to be said with the accent on the last syllable, ba-lahn-SAY. Otherwise it's a term for walking the knife's edge, razor-sharp over the canyons of fire. Developpe - another word with the last syllable accented. Leg up towards the knee, holding and moving. Strength. One can jete across the floor, almost flying. When she learned the pirouette, she didn't want to do anything else. Spinning, spinning, spinning. It helped her forget. She should be somewhere else. She should be dancing. But she isn't. (1 Comment |Comment on this)
Saturday, June 7th, 2008
11:34 pm	best friends/no friends Kaylee says, Nothing is impossible. She has never seen anything like Simon and me. She's in love with Simon, a secret that I'm not supposed to know, but that has never stopped me before. Kaylee says, We've done the impossible. Oh, I wish she was here. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Sunday, May 25th, 2008
12:06 am	the physics of an argument The last fight I had with Simon was probably the stupidest fight I've ever had with anyone. It was about baseball. Baseball! And because I refused to admit that he might be right, he stormed away, cursing me in his head. I know this, the same way I know whole bunches of other things I shouldn't. Simon argued that girls' baseball - they used to call it something different, but I don't know what, and it doesn't really matter - was a "stronger" sport than boys'. A heavier ball went a shorter distance, and therefore went faster and was therefore harder to hit. I argued that a smaller ball going a greater distance had to be thrown with a greater force and was therefore going faster and was therefore harder to hit. It was simple physics. He ceded to me on that point, not because I was right - I'm fairly sure I was wrong - but because he was sick of arguing. Then I brought up the bat. What about the bat, he wanted to know. It's round for a reason, I said, all snotty-like. Well, of course it is. I explained that a flat bat, though it seems like it would make more sense, is actually less practical. With a round bat, the probability of having a well-placed hit that receives unilateral force is higher. With a flat bat, it is possible to hit the ball harder, but because of the non-unilateral shape, it's less likely. It's funny now - I don't even remember how we started arguing about baseball. It had something to do with Jayne and his arsenal of guns, something about the speed of wax-tipped bullets versus shot, something dumb like that. Wax-tipped bullets go faster but shot destroys more, just in case you're wondering. You weren't. It's okay. Now I'd give anything to tempt Simon into winning this argument, teasing him, smiling at him, popping out of a cabinet when he and Kaylee are trying to kiss or something gross like that. He'd like that, but he wouldn't let on. At least, not with his face or his words. But I'd know it all the same. I think I miss him. (2 Comments |Comment on this)
Friday, May 16th, 2008
10:41 pm	memories of a man who no longer exists Practicality sounds like her voice, like a drum, like the dance. I can hear her clapping, spinning, seething, worrying, loving, laughing, eating, chewing, hugging. She is in everything, flowing in my blood like veins. Who do we cease to be? She is too much, everywhere, nothing, dust, comets, sunshine, glitter, ceramic, tungsten, the taste of ice against your teeth. And then she is nothing, destroyed by a single breath, a single word, a single chance encounter. She remembers his face pressed against hers. She remembers his eyes. She mapped his pupils, his irises. If given an exam on him, she would pass. She would get every question right, but that doesn't mean she has all the right answers. She would ace the extra credit, too. (6 Comments |Comment on this)
Monday, May 12th, 2008
11:03 pm	thoughts upon hearing nothing He was mine. He was mine and now he's not. They were all mine, and they slipped through my fingers like sand on a beach. She doesn't hear but she sees and thinks and knows and moves and does. Sometimes it's just too much. Heartbeats irregular. One. Two. Eight. Sixty-four. Squares of numbers are not triangular. Triangular numbers are the best kind - make sense. Three-sided. Make sense. No more sense. Hands. Fingers. Fingernails. Imperfect. Keratin. Calcium. Teeth. He has perfect teeth. He was mine. He was mine and now he's not. (17 Comments |Comment on this)