.
shit yeah, yo'.
i finished my journal! yes baby. my new one ( moleksin sketch ) is rather small, though, and based on my average daily amount of writing, i should be finished in about three months.
ah, the smell of ink and raw paper.
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i went to south coast plaza today and helped my aunt pick out a bag at LV and some beauty things and kiehl's while she listened helplessly to my ramblings about fashion and vuitton's milk-maid themed spring '07 collection. i felt kind of bad for her. oops.
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i little thing i made for eric. i passed it on to him through a mutual acquaintance, though, so i'm not sure if he likes it or not.
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and my english haiku assignment. we had to decorate it. for goodness sake's we're not in kindergarten anymore. either way, it was fun.
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______________________________________________________
and a poem:
desolée
I.
the weight of her head,
so full of stagnant thought,
filling the pale palms
of her hands
with heaviness
and heat.
the cigarette,
half smoked,
resting on the vicious edge
of the ash tray
about a foot away;
the smoke dancing upward
from the softly whispering tip
that steadily ebbs away,
emitting the rotting scent
of burnt tobacco.
the room is filled
with even more grey.
II.
eyes closed in a grimace,
brows drawn closer,
a look of exhaustion.
the window was left unclosed
and the door ajar
having stopped its lazy swinging
after being throw open,
slammed, and victim to inertia.
the air trickled in,
feeling foreign
amidst the darker,
contained atmosphere.
the imprint of his presence lingered
as if reluctant
and angry.
she felt his disbelief,
his hurt, and
the slowed beating of her heart.
III.
her limbs, thin and still,
elbows propped
on the sweetened wood
of the table
at which, once,
he painted, using his hands
and his colors
as if the canvas
was her skin.
shivers ran up her arms,
the curve before her knee,
the back of her neck.
as if he was there again.
"c'était une
méprise."
she can still smell
her clothes, and
the cold has not yet dulled.
samedi 31 mars 2007
fawkes is a pheonix, harry.
jeudi 29 mars 2007
change is, at times, terrible.
eric really is the sweetest boy i know. him and mark. really.
and. today i got a peek at mark practicing break dancing with his friends--i think its for some sort of club. or maybe its just boys. but anyway; break dancing involves a lot of looking at the world upside down, in case you haven't noticed, and mark was in such a position for a few seconds and, you know boys and their baggy shirts, his stomach was exposed. good lord.
and i couldn't see eric at mr. chang's on wednesday because he had a swim meet.
sports. sports and boys. sports and their affect on the physique of boys. the physical make up of boys.
oooh, gina. you dirty little ...
anyway. must push those thoughts out of my mind.
must. difficult, but you can do it, gina!
gina wants CANDY.
______________________________________________________________
today, chris and mayor came to my house (mayer? i don't know. i'm horrid with spelling--sorrrry) and my sister literally went chicken legged and owl eyed at the fact that i had boys over without my mother there. animals are useful for figurative language. anyway. mayor/mayer ventured down to the deep corners of my garden and was attacked by grasshoppers. the funniest shit ever. it really was hilarious. the two of them also ate a lot of my sister's rice krispies. she didn't like that too much.
we hung out for a couple hours, meandering and eating and laughing and insulting chris, just because it's too easy. then we walked down to schoolio.
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my aunt is here from korea. yay.
she brought me fashion magazines. yay.
i wish i could read korean perfectly fluently. boo.
i just used two adverbs to modify one verb. yay.
but i'm not sure about its grammatical correctness. boo.
but at least i used them. yay.
the world will eventually be overrun with BUSH and his non-adverb using minions. BOO.
case in point: "i did good."
boo.
boo.
boo.
.
so not funny.
mardi 27 mars 2007
and so, she returns.
.
i'm back, yo' . miss me?
i'm feeling slightly better.
but remember how i usually post at least twice a day, and you end up having to read a gazillion entries whenever you visit this blog?
no worries. entries will be a lot less frequent now. i'm going for the whole quality vs. quantity approach. easier for me, easier for you. boom. everybody wins.
plus, i'm trying to focus on school a bit. for the obvious academic reasons and for the purpose of distracting me from doing other, less... healthy.. things.
so.
drink up, thirsty eyes.
she had angry fists. clenched & quivering, and he wouldn't look at her face. but he took that fist into his hands. grazed the smooth slopes of her knuckles with his lips; closed his eyes; let that softness overcome him, opened his mouth a little & whispered into the lines between her fingers; "i made a mistake."
.
vendredi 16 mars 2007
announcement
hey everyone.
i'm going on a haitus.
i need a break. i need to find something inside me that will make me... i dunno. i just need a break.
just give me a week or two.
jeudi 15 mars 2007
mercredi 14 mars 2007
daylight savings is the devil.
mardi 13 mars 2007
let
you will never ever be the things that i wanted to breath, but i breathed you in anyway and allowed for your scent to enrapture me, take me away from the resistance that i've always held in the palm of my hands...
a gift for the soft looking boy in my calc class. he's in my english class too, which is zero period. today, he had morning hair and a huge smile because someone was teasing him about how poofy his head looked. he looked so cute and gentle. his smile made me smile too, even though i was across the room.
and in calc, he said it was his sixteenth birthday, which of course made me want to do something for him. i've always thought he was sweet, but he really is one of the nicest people i know. granted, i only know him from a distance, and vice versa, but it's nice to have that sort of connection with someone. also, he tends to give me the impression that he genuinely cares, even though he doesn't really know me.
for instance, we had bio together last year, and he caught me drinking vodka one day. i guess he got the hint that i'm not exactly clean, and he always gives me this look whenever i'm agitated on fridays, waiting and yearning for the weekend. he never mentions it, but when i say things like "crazy, crazy, crazy weekend. yes." he always says something along the lines of "don't get too crazy. you're so smart."
we used to write notes on my spare notebook last year when we sat next to each other, and he still has pretty hands. so, i just made this for him. it didn't take long, and when i wrote his name all fancy and doodle around it on a scrap piece of paper when i was bored in calc one day, he really liked it and kept it in his binder. so i hope he'll like this. i really value people who make me feel calm like that. even if i don't really know them.
his name is mark.
overcome
lundi 12 mars 2007
FICK YOY
and also.
dimanche 11 mars 2007
crow
have you ever been surprised to hear a voice in you speak that you thought was silenced by an old lover so many years ago
how smart, gary
HAHA.
show me that sign, show me that sign, show me that way in which the world shines.
samedi 10 mars 2007
vendredi 9 mars 2007
party monster
ecstasy of weak wings in the wind of your breath; i am rendered beautifully confused and somewhat vulnerable to the sweeping grace of such air
jeudi 8 mars 2007
leave your mark.
just got back from working on impact/coffee/good conversation with Eric& Angela.
yum.
mercredi 7 mars 2007
still untitled
a poem i posted a few days ago, revised. the second stanza is a little better now, i think, and i changed rhythym of the last stanza a bit:
while you slept,
i kissed you in the morning light,
on the lips, like you've always
wanted—but i always said no;
it’s too Intimate. too close.
i placed my mouth against
yours, trembled there,
trying to memorize
the gentleness
of your breathing and
the slope
of your nose.
II.
the air was half grey,
cold and sweet, like peace,
the handle of the door
was unforgivingly cold,
and i tried my best to stop the screen
from squeaking.
i think you heard anyway.
i think you already knew
and thought,
maybe,
that it had been inevitable.
III.
and in the lull of waking up
you swallowed the sudden hurt,
closed your unfocused eyes,
wished
you were still asleep,
and said goodbye
before touching your lips
with the gentle pads
of your fingers,
sensing a trace of honesty, there,
lingering with my smell.
3:02 AM
it's three in the morning, i'm feeling slightly tainted. i want to take a shower and go outside to breathe the stillness in; it smells so nice outside when all the people are asleep, and all that disturbs the air is my own, slow inhaling, and perhaps the always wild movement of my thoughts...
mardi 6 mars 2007
oh do i love theater
Dramatis Personae
Torvald Helmer (HEL.)
Nora, his wife
NORA [after a short silence]. Isn’t there one thing that strikes you as strange in our sitting here like this?
HEL. What is that?
NORA. We have been married now eight years. Does it not occur to you that this is the first time we two, you and I, husband and wife, have had a serious conversation?
HEL. What do you mean, serious?
NORA. In all these eight years—longer than that—from the very beginning of our acquaintance we have never exchanged a word on any serious subject.
HEL. Was it likely that I would be continually and forever telling you about worries that you could not help me to bear?
NORA. I am not speaking about business matters. I say that we have never sat down in earnest together to try and get at the bottom of anything.
HEL. But, dearest Nora, would it have been any good to you?
NORA. That is just it; you have never understood me. I have been greatly wronged, Torvald—first by Papa and then by you.
HEL. What! By us two—by us two who have loved you better than anyone else in the world?
NORA [shaking her head]. You have never loved me. You have only thought it pleasant to be in love with me.
HEL. Nora, what do I hear you saying?
NORA. It is perfectly true, Torvald. When I was at home with Papa he told me his opinion about everything, and so I had the same opinions; and if I differed from him I concealed the fact, because he would not have liked it. He called me his doll child, and he played with me just as I used to play with my dolls. And when I came to live with you——
HEL. What sort of an expression is that to use about our marriage?
NORA [undisturbed]. I mean that I was simply transferred from Papa’s hands to yours. You arranged everything according to your own taste, and so I got the same tastes as you—or else I pretended to. I am really not quite sure which—I think sometimes the one and sometimes the other. When I look back on it it seems to me as if I have been living here like a poor woman—just from hand to mouth. I have existed merely to perform tricks for you, Torvald. But you would have it so. You and Papa have committed a great sin against me. It is your fault that I have made nothing of my life.
HEL. How unreasonable and how ungrateful you are, Nora! Have you not been happy here?
NORA. No, I have never been happy. I thought I was, but it has never really been so.
HEL. Not—not happy!
NORA. No, only merry. And you have always been so kind to me. But our home has been nothing but a playroom. I have been your doll wife, just as at home I was Papa’s doll child; and here the children have been my dolls. I thought it great fun when you played with me, just as they thought it great fun when I played with them. That is what our marriage has been, Torvald.
HEL. There is some truth in what you say—exaggerated and strained as your view of it is. But for the future it shall be different. Playtime shall be over and lesson time shall begin.
NORA. Whose lessons? Mine or the children’s?
HEL. Both yours and the children’s, my darling Nora.
NORA. Alas, Torvald, you are not the man to educate me into being a proper wife for you.
HEL. And you can say that!
NORA. And I—how am I fitted to bring up the children?
HEL. Nora!
NORA. Didn’t you say so yourself a little while ago—that you dare not trust me to bring them up?
HEL. In a moment of anger! Why do you pay any heed to that?
NORA. Indeed, you were perfectly right. I am not fit for the task. There is another task I must undertake first. I must try and educate myself—you are not the man to help me in that. I must do that for myself. And that is why I am going to leave you now.
HEL. [springing up]. What do you say?
NORA. I must stand quite alone if I am to understand myself and everything about me. It is for that reason that I cannot remain with you any longer.
HEL. Nora, Nora!
NORA. I am going away from here now, at once. I am sure Christine will take me in for the night.
HEL. You are out of your mind! I won’t allow it! I forbid you!
NORA. It is no use forbidding me anything any longer. I will take with me what belongs to myself. I will take nothing from you, either now or later.
HEL. What sort of madness is this?
NORA. Tomorrow I shall go home—I mean to my old home. It will be easiest for me to find something to do there.
HEL. You blind, foolish woman!
NORA. I must try and get some sense, Torvald.
HEL. To desert your home, your husband and your children! And you don’t consider what people will say!
NORA. I cannot consider that at all. I only know that it is necessary for me.
HEL. It’s shocking. This is how you would neglect your most sacred duties.
NORA. What do you consider my most sacred duties?
HEL. Do I need to tell you that? Are they not your duties to your husband and your children?
NORA. I have other duties just as sacred.
HEL. That you have not. What duties could those be?
NORA. Duties to myself.
HEL. Before all else you are a wife and a mother.
NORA. I don’t believe that any longer. I believe that before all else I am a reasonable human being just as you are—or, at all events, that I must try and become one. I know quite well, Torvald, that most people would think you right and that views of that kind are to be found in books; but I can no longer content myself with what most people say or with what is found in books. I must think over things for myself and get to understand them.
-- A Doll's House, Henrik Ibsen
peinteur
Because great changes in economy, government, and industry are so influential on the lives of its participants, they are often accompanied by parallel movements in other fields, such as art and literature. In the latter, the turn of the century witnessed a movement described as Modernism, which encompassed Naturalism and Symbolism. Naturalism dominated literature in the late nineteenth century as many writers accepted the material world and adopted a form of realistic writing. As a continuation of Realism, this development addressed social problems and made an effort to contribute to an accurate, unbiased comprehension of the world. However, Naturalism differed from its predecessor in that it rarely included the optimism towards humanity that was a major aspect of Realism; writers often depicted characters unwillingly and inescapably caught in unfavorable forces. In contrast with the Naturalists’ realistic approach to literature, writers, primarily poets, known as Symbolists believed that an objective reality was impossible and that truth was as the individual perceived it in the mind. This blurred portrayal of reality also trickled into art in a preamble to modern painting. Impressionists painted as the felt as an alternative to painting as they saw, meaning that they attempted to illustrate their individual, emotional realities. Lines and exact replication of form was often disregarded and color, as a substitute, was stressed. Impressionism eventually drifted even further away from realism, giving way to Post-Impressionism, which, although is was more focused on form, maintained an emphasis on light and color while stepping even further out of the boundaries of realism and endeavoring to generate a personal account of reality, an expression of inner feelings, rather than a simple imitation of worldly objects. This belief, a vestige of earlier Impressionism, broke away from its antecedent in that while the former retained a sense of realism, the latter shifted completely towards subjective reality. “Individual consciousness became the source of meaning.” This is strikingly evident in the development of Cubism, the use of geometric designs in the recreation of reality in the viewer’s mind, and Modernism, another departure from visual actuality that rarely offered any account of reality whatsoever, focusing even more intently on color to speak directly through the piece and to the onlooker’s emotional response.
Starry Night Over the Rhone --Van Gogh
Theme of the Last Judgement --Kandinsky
Bust of a Woman With a Hat --Picasso.
The Eternal Feminine --Cezanne. my absolute favorite by this artist. it's much darker in real life.
lundi 5 mars 2007
one of the twins. oh.
dimanche 4 mars 2007
rush yourself rusha russia
his eyes are unfamiliar to me. i know his skin and his smell, i know his touch and the way his hair moves when he laughs. i know his lips and his jaw, and the complex shape of his knee. but i don't know and neither can i begin to understand his eyes... he doesn't let me look into them, says that eye contact with me is too jarring, too full of honesty and some form of hurt. i didn't understand that either.
i feel myself growing quiet, wondering if, perhaps, such silence will be transferred to lull the constant voices inside my head. maybe that's wishful thinking, but i don't know what else to do
here's to
samedi 3 mars 2007
sweet wasted pages
i can't wait to see this-- i'm sure you all remember Kate Moss and Corinne Day's collaboration fifteen years ago that virtually shifted the tendencies of fashion photography-- beautiful pictures, so provocative and controversial/ influential... the two are working together again :] this time on a project for the National Portrait Gallery.
you know, i've never like Kate Moss all that much, but there's no denying that she's a great model. extremely versatile. i really can't wait to see what's coming.
went to Borders and did my periodical rounds. here's my report, ha:
Harpaar's was mediocre in content, but they had a couple editorials that were entertaining, to say the least (Bazaar+Klein by William Klein and Galliano's Glorious Reign by Simon Proctor)
British Vogue was disappointing; there was a rather exhaustingly cliche article on the now outdated model weight controversy, but New Order by Craig McDean and Pop Hit by Nick Knight was nice as well, although i didn't like the styling much...
W had great editorials, as always, but nothing particularly striking. i liked Welcome to My World by Alas&Pigott (i like almost everything by those two. ingenious, really), Xurbia by Steve Klein, and Ile de la Mode by Michael Thompson, which feature the always dazzling Sasha :]
Zink was slightly disappointing too; it was such a great magazine in its earlier days, it's losing its touch, i think. but still, i liked Thawed by Room 1463 and Room and Bored by Fulvio Maini.
Anthem was the only one that i enjoyed reading. they had a great four page spread on the Cold War Kids'tour, a piece on Placebo, and an all-too short article on e. london night culture. i loved their editorials too; Plastic Fantastic by Catherine Servel, Room Service by Nicolas Wagner, Brooklyn Yards by Jelle Wagenaar, The Outsiders by James Dimnock (Long Nguyen styled it beautifully too)
Nylon had one soft looking editorial, Pink, Lady by Stacey Mark, but that was about it for me. there was an interesting article about Elijah Wood's record label and another piece on Air, but overall i've seen better from them :[
i also got Album, Be Aggressive, and This is Our Youth. no, the latter two are not self help novels. actually, all three of them are new plays-- i'm slipping back into my infatuation for dramatists. last time it was tennessee williams and his darling, tortured characters, now i'm in love with more contemporary plays, raucous language and all. :] cheers.
ouvre
old blood& new steam
when i'm feeling down, rereading Deconstruct just.. does me in.. seriously, man.
unsuppressed mischievous smile
the second stanza needs work, i think:
I.
while you slept,
i kissed you in the morning light,
on the lips, like you've always
wanted—but i always said no;
it’s too Intimate. too close.
i placed my mouth against
yours, trembled there,
trying to memorize
the gentleness
of your breathing and
the slope
of your nose.
II.
the air was half grey,
cold and sweet, like peace,
the handle of the door was cold
and i tried my best to stop the screen
from squeaking,
but I think you heard anyway.
i think you had known already
and thought that it was
inevitable.
III.
and in the lull of waking up
you swallowed the sudden hurt,
closed your unfocused eyes,
wished
you were still asleep.
and said goodbye
before touching your lips
with the gentle pads
of your fingers,
sensing a trace
of honesty, there,
lingering with my smell.
vendredi 2 mars 2007
jeudi 1 mars 2007
wha-- what what?
those are clouds-- the view from my backyard a few minutes before 6 am. no flash. long exposure.
little anecdote
yum. marek&associates have added a handful of new material to their portfolios. ch-ch-check it out, man. good stuff.