struck gold; not really-- just my life.

.


'tis new year's eve and my muses have utterly abandoned me, gone to frolic and drink on their own.

pissin' hell.





today;

went out for lunch, ended up not finishing it and buying a very cute lavender knit sweater;
came home, called joann and agonized over article ideas;
wrote 20 lines of a poem, allotted those stanzas to the roman numeral I, then decided that it was unfinished;
went to borders with my father, spent a few hours there and bought:
the past 2 issues of all-story (wes anderson's hotel chevalier and coppola's youth without youth were in them! i always loved that magazine)
& a book called the pillars of the earth by ken follett
& fitzgerald's this side of paradise (which i've already started highlighting);
bought a protein burger from in-n-out on the way home;
ate said burger while standing up;
attempting to write part II of the aforementioned poem.

tonight i get in on at least 45 minutes of practicing my euphonium;
finish the college board's official sat online course (courtesy of lily);
edit this issue's op-ed;
start another painting;
finish that damn poem even if it damn near kills me.

i'm stuck on the middle of the 3rd stanza of part II.

fuck.









.

*keke*

.








his voice...
save meeeee from being too assssssiannnnnnn...
he callllls !!!!! .... >.<











.

even though it can not be said.

.




Worth unravels;
merit of a different age
paints my lips, garishly
and with open shame.

Light becomes nothing more
than the force that casts the shadow
of a cathedral spire.
And we pray, knees against stone
inside the apse, looking down,
rejecting even the muted sunlight.

We shiver as we mumble,
sweat and spit on our chins,
pathetic and unexcused, to heaven;
eyes up and slick hands clasped.

The sweeping lines of my grey dress
have collected dust;
your hair is longer now--
it sways slightly in front of your face,
matted with grease.

That is all that I can see of you.
It has been so long.
I have forgotten the words of my prayer;
nothing of that remains in my voice.








.

that they so wanted and deserved

.












good LORD.
i just came back from watching atonement... and i'm just.. flabbergasted. you would not believe.
the writing and the acting and everything was so brilliant-- the colors the sweet words the feeling.
i walked out of the theater at the end of it, half bawling and half wanting to curse at the old folks sitting to the right of me who kept adding their own comments to the screenplay.
it's definitely become one of my favorite films of the year. not only was it accurate to the book (not that that's what makes it a good film) but it was just so emotionally demanding-- particularly at the end when vanessa redgrave had her bit to play of briony's character. and robbie. fuck, robbie.
james mcavoy was just as brilliant as i expected-- during the confrontation between him and briony, when he gets angry and cecilia has to calm him down... damn i wanted to exhale and choke on my tears.
it was a beautiful, beautiful film.










.

note--
i hope everyone had a happy christmas. it was fairly enjoyable for me.











.

you must have some kind of expectations.

.











i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite a new thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like,, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big Love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you quite so new


--e.e. cummings









i woke up at 5pm.

i still have finishing touches to put on my mother's gift. marrrrgh.















the cure for anything is salt water: sweat, tears, or the sea.
--isak dinesen






.

you are my name.

.


yo.
today:

woke up late and went with clara and her mother and my sisters to church;
came back home and made my mother's christmas gift while watching american psycho;
arranged the shoes in the garage;
reminisced.


and now i'm at the house of this girl called stephanie.
she's quirky and laughs loud. all good for the soul, i suppose.













current read: les miserables-- victor hugo
current listen: wildcat-- ratatat
current watch: it started with a kiss... some supposedly well reputed taiwainese drama.



.

supposedly i'm a whore.

.








i apologize for not updating yesterday. it was a bit... hectic.


and i never knew that i'd be considered to be such a whore, but i guess i am.
just keep telling myself that it doesn't matter what the fuck anyone thinks of me.




marin is a very nice boy. i must say. conceited little bastard... but very... fatherly, regardless.





















.

o captain, my captain

.






i'm having a dead poet's day today.

oh, neil.









today was a minimum day. winter break now begins.
i went shopping for gifts.
i got my assistant's plato's republic;
william& john 2 vests each-- white and orange solids for william and grey solid and blue argyle for john;
the golden compass for andrew. just because his mother gave me a nice visa card;
two vests for my father (blue argyle and green argyle) and the dvd of 300;
musicophilia by oliver sacks for dave. which i plan on reading before giving to him. hee'
the daring book for girls and a nice tea strainer for my sister;
moon sand for my other sister (the youngest).
i still need to make my mother a journal.

tomorrow is fun fun. i'll do a bit of art history in the morning, watch a movie, then go to bingo setup, then go home and change into my new dress (yay!) then go to william and john's the to to alex's for journalism chrisssssssstmas.

yup.
or as mister keatings would say:
YAWP.
a barbaric yawp.





todd anderson: you push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. you kick at it, beat it, it will never cover any of us. from the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will cover just your head as you wail and cry and scream!












.

merit of a different age

.







musicophilia !









today i laughed like a tired creature and i realized that there's an ache behind my eyes that has been worsening.




.

rain fell like glass today. beautiful glass.

.





poll:
should gina break her 8-month sober streak or no?








ahhh-- my english teacher finally makes a good move and lets us watch DEAD POETS SOCIETY ! yessssah. she claims that it's because we're going to be starting poetry soon and because it relates to transcendentalism-- ha. it's just a good movie, miss.
but it's so sad. i was the only one that had watched it before in my entire class, and she said she got the idea to show it from one of my assignments-- a transcendentalism unit writing assignment-- in which i cited the movie.
oh hell. whatever as long as i get to watch.
one of my favorites.
but it's still upsetting that more people haven't seen it.














.

so divine to me

.






current listen: beloved one, ben harper
current read: on the road, jack kerouac








i am supposedly nothing but the bitch that licks the skin of your thighs and bites.








.

something about a bike.

.





thoughts for me tend to develop as they get older-- they accumulate more acidity and sting with a greater mercilessness than when the memories are fresh.
he speaks.












.

none of the lights are on.

.




ahhhhh.
i'm going to the opera tonight-- dorothy chandler pavillion to see la bohème;
purrty darn excited.

let me.. post some more of my work for you.
sorry if it's not pretty little thingish enough :/


the scan quality on both isn't necessarily.. great. particularly the second one.





and the way they move and the way they move their hands.

wolf parade.





.

smile upon.

.



today was the m.u.n. conference. i won a research award and the gavel for my committee.





some of my own pieces--


work in progress:



finished:










tomorrow night, i go to the opera !





.

like wildfire.

.






hello beautiful. i think-- i hope-- that i fixed the problem with my blog and that the posts from now on will show up when they are supposed to.


today:
re-read my favorite exerpts from atonement
didn't go to school until 6th per.
took my physics test, which i utterly failed
went to m.u.n dress rehearsal
went out to buy more hot chocolate mix
wrote love words in my journal
fawned over james macavoy in atonement specials
did the same for viggo mortenson while watching lord of the rings
ate fresh oysters
found my burberry headband

























.

a demon of the ancient world.

.









today is the birthday of a boy i used to love, a boy for whom my emotions will always be ambiguous. i did not say hello, or happy birthday, but i watched him from across the room and realized how much we've grown apart, how i used to know his skin very well and the way my chin fitted into the crook of his neck when i hugged him, the taughtness of his back when his arms reached for me. he is one of the those who have not loved me as much as i loved him; i loved him so, so much.


















.

without the right.

.













.

if not right now.

.








sometimes i just want to hug mr. gunderson. he acts so cute. and i like it when he smiles; it makes his ears look bigger.
pwahaha.










i had a dream. i was climbing a really steep mountain, terrified that i would fall; the slope was nearly verticle and i was whimpering and shaking in fear. it was humid and green. a lot of jungle. when i got to the top it was a plateau with various, random objects everywhere. jewelry, broken couches, clothes all over the ground and hanging on the multitude of sagging trees. there were old, victorian looking cabinets with moss on them and shattered glass from vanity mirrors. the sky was purplish.
then it became night. i was walking across a thin valley with monstrous, dry mountains looming over me, and the sky was filled, literally, with billions of gold specks of light--billions and billions-- and they were moving in dense swirls, as if dancing or fighting. the swarm of "stars" just kept moving and stretching and gathering...







.

on again off again

.





folks.
i think there's a slight problem with my blog-- if, for instance, i post an entry on the 8th, it'll only show up after the 10th. i don't know why, but i'm trying to fix it. but if you check on a day and it seems like i haven't posted, but then a few days later, the posts show up, know that that's why. yes ?






jean paul sartre and simone de beauvoir.
two of my icons.






don't you love it when you find pictures like this-- of two MINDS. the kind of intellects that flow in wrong directions and spout beautiful, beautiful bits of knowledge and truth. don't you love it when you see proof of two great intellectuals/artists/muses communicating with each other-- sharing, discussing, arguing, maybe, and letting their intellectual motivations flourish?
i swear. i want to be significant just so i can mingle with those i think are significant. i want to talk to people that i admire and have them respect my opinion too. you know?












.

crouching tiger

.


have i ever told anyone how much i love ang lee?
there are so many east asian directors that i admire so much...
ang& park chan-wook& hou hsiao hsien& lee chang-dong...
i've been delving more into asian films these days.
last year was my european fetish, i think.
but the more i search into eastern cinematography,
the more i'm shocked and amazed.
wonderful, really.

:]










tomorrow, the week wakes up and i attempt to keep my eyes open.
bring it on.














.

rudolph the poet, marcel the artist, schaunard the musician, and colline the philosopher

.




today was a very soft day.
i love this kind of whether.
i know that not many people do-- they say it's too cold and all,
but it's so refreshing and beautiful.
temperatures below 55 with a heavy chance of rain.
love.



I'M GOING TO GO SEE IT !
16 december, gina is going to the opera with angela, all dressed up for mr. puccini!!!



*SQUEEL*




.

signature they say signature

.






i'm diggin:
http://patrickwinfield.com/index.html
his appropriations and composites in particular.









.

love them welcome goodbye

.














.

i think i'll have to tell the sky that this is human.

.





my next journal. i finished my last one a while ago, but i went through a rough phrase and i couldn't decide on what kind of journal i should get. i usually use the five dollar borders brand, or i get a moleskin, but the former has too awkward of a size and the latter's pages tend to be too thick.
but hey, i make blank books from scratch as sort of a hobby, so why not just make my own journals.
but mind you, it was at four in the morning and i didn't attempt to make it too nice-- my journals always end up falling apart anyway.
so here is what i'll store my thoughts in for the next few months or so. asssuming that it lasts that long. oh, and i also posted the first page (the inside flap) of it.













.

one of my favorite poems

.










note to self-- post more often. even more than once a day is fine.



today i didn't look at either of them in the eye. but i did speak to one and he answered curtly.
i saw the other one sitting with his mom. i always liked his mom. she's sweet.
and today i enjoyed the sunset from my house.
i scratched my dog's ears as i had a cigarette near the fire pit,
just staring at the wide, wide expanse
of COLOR.
it made me want to make the sky a god. to worship and to love.
and then i thought about how i've never enjoyed the sunrise
as much as i do the sunset.
maybe because with sunrise, at that time of night/morning
i'm too consumed to bother
with anything outside myself and the work of my hands.
today i fell in love with a dress and got angry at my physics teacher.
nothing new.









.

arsenic.

.





those pictures of some of my journal pages that i wanted to post.. a bit late, yes. i know:








"the damaged crane"



"the deepest hosanah"






.

exactly my point.

.



i apologize for not posting for so long-- i've been swamped.

this weekend, i plan on posting some of my artwork-- i have so much new stuff to share, but i don't want to scan all of it-- i think i may just take photos of the pages.. but either way, tomorrow...

but for tonight i leave you with a pretty little thing. i haven't slept since tuesday except when i dosed off in french and in physics a couple times...
but like i said. either tomorrow or the day after will bring new things.











.

l'atterrissage

.












"do you believe in God? that's the wrong question. does God believe in us?"















in relation to the recent holiday that just passed:
albeit the impossibility of listing everything that i take for granted, i would say that the most significant people to whom i do not express sufficient gratitude are my younger sister and my father.
in the past, i've discussed my disassociation with both family members with my friends, and i've also written in my journals on the subject at length; i've found that with my sister, it is very easy for me to take her for granted and to mistreat her because of my own internal conflicts that frequently evoke a compulsion to act in a negative manner. my mother once explained to me that the reason my father finds it difficult at times to treat her with the affection that one might expect from a happily married spouse is that he himself has unresolved personal matters that he has yet to untangle; they have not yet released him, or he has not yet found a way in which to escape them and thus with the pejoration that such distress breeds, it becomes frighteningly easy to hurt some of the people closest to him. i mirror my father’s occasionally antagonism towards my mother in that with my self-implemented afflictions, my emotions make me incapable of nurturing an amiable relationship with her.
the fact that i take my father for granted is more simple in its roots in that it is a matter of minimal interaction—we don’t engage in discourse that is unnecessary, and although I remember us being relatively close when I was a younger age, in my recent adolescent life I have never felt close to him. However, the acknowledgement of his sacrifices for my family, and, more specifically, for me, are undeniable and thus at times the guilt of not expressing enough thanks is gripping.







.

so that she will remain unaware

.







current listen: human after all-- daft punk.






today, the grass smelled sharp and it forced a recollection of other, stronger smells; thus i found myself remembering him. and how i had been so familiar with his scent that i could have recognized whether or not he had entered the room. i had buried my nose in that smell, breathed in deep and fostered its merging with my own aroma. sometimes it was muted by a blanket or soapy water. sometimes it was even more aggressive as it lapped my skin and covered me inside and out.
but now it has begun to fade. and i still can't decide whether or not that is a good thing.










.

what do you do when you think someone may be ashamed of you

.







one day i will be part of the sea, and then i will be somewhat good enough to expect the waters to forgive me of my sins.










Psalm 28:1
To you I call, O Lord my Rock;
do not turn a deaf ear to me.
For if you remain silent,
I will be like those who have gone down to the pit.




.